Oscar, Oscar, Oscar, it’s the Oscariest night of the year!
Yes. The night is finally here when easily distracted idiots such as me — Oo, a firetruck! — get to learn which films are to be honoured with an award that has, in previous years, validated such brilliant films as …
Yes. The night is finally here when easily distracted idiots such as me — Oo, a firetruck! — get to learn which films are to be honoured with an award that has, in previous years, validated such brilliant films as Out of Africa, Forrest Gump and the wrong Crash. Oh, who am I trying to snark? I love the Oscars. For all their idiocy they remain as reassuringly reliable a constant in world affairs as the Eurovision Song Contest, double-dip recessions and failed sit-coms featuring Friends cast members. Not that you care, I have got a variety of beers in my fridge and a large bag of triangular orange American “crackers”.
For those of us who do give a hoot, this is one of the most interesting ceremonies for years. True, almost all the acting awards are sewn up, but for the first time since 2003, we have a neck-and-neck race for best picture. I still think that (sadly) stupid Avatar will take the top prize. Early clues will be few and far between. If The Hurt Locker beats Inglourious Basterds to best original screenplay then Bigelow’s films looks on much surer ground. If — later on — Cameron does bag best director then The Hurt Locker is doomed to a few minor gongs.
A few other things to watch out for. Has the Academy finally sorted out the problem in best foreign language picture territory? If anything other than The White Ribbon or A Prophet wins then expect the person responsible to retire to the library with a bottle of gin and a pearl-handled revolver. If you’re inclined towards supporting the home team, then keep your eye on Granny O’Grimm’s Sleeping Beauty in the best animated short race and (more likely) The Door in the best live-action short competition. Digital boffin Richie Baneham is a dead cert for his work on Avatar. Up against, well, Up, the boys from The Secret of Kells have a near hopeless task.
Oh, blah, blah, blah…
You can read my predictions in the main races here.
Glug, glug, glug. Ooo! Will you look at that dress. My cleaning lady wouldn’t wear that to the dump. Oh, somebody’s got a bun in the oven. Darling, if that’s not a wig then I’m Kirk Douglas. And so on.