Whether it was the general lack of suspense and sense of preordained coronation in the air — with really only Sandra Bullock’s Best Actress victory being the only category of the four main acting awards still a bit up in the air — or just my own bloated seasonal malaise, I couldn’t really get that amped leading up to the Academy Awards this year, and neither could I be counted on (obviously) to tap out exhaustive analysis after the fact. I’m not an awards blogger; it’s just not in my bones.
In addition to that crazy
bitch producer going all Kanye West on the short film documentary winner (they have beef, don’t you know: history here), I thought the telecast was its usual mix of orchestrated, well-oiled tedium and enjoyable, sometimes emotionally piercing acceptance speeches (which are always the highlights of Oscar evenings). One thing I do love, though. It is a mortal lock, the morning after every single Academy Awards ceremony, that there will be competing qualitative-judgment narratives, with some camp proclaiming them the most boring/awful ceremony ever, and others calling them the best ceremony of all time.