Random Oscars Thoughts

I have a superpower. It's called, The Ability To Consistently Not See Any Best Picture Nominees.

Now I see a good 30-40 movies in the theaters each year. Considering that out here in LA, buzz travels quickly and you get a good read on what movies are contenders for the Big O and which ones are gunning for it; I try to ride that buzz and see the movies that have a chance. But yet, every year, I manage to see every other movie except any of the nominees for Best Picture. The Titanics, Lord of the Rings and Million Dollar Baby's of the world...I'm sorry I missed you. I was spending money on the likes of The Other Sister, Johnny English and Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle (yes, I believed all of these were contenders). Chicago? I hate musicals. English Patient? You looked boring. Braveheart? Heard you were 3 hours long.

So this year, I tried to at least see one of the nominees so I could somewhat weigh in on Oscar night. I wanted to see Million Dollar Baby, but opted for The Aviator, which, let me tell you, is the WORST choice of a movie to see at 10pm on a Friday while running on a sleep deficit. It was gorgeous, the acting was great, and the subject matter was quirky. But I couldn't tell if it was my being so tired that made me think it was an hour too long, or if it was in fact, really boring in parts.

So based on word of mouth and my own experience of The Aviator, it sounded like Million Dollar Baby was the best of the bunch, though many felt that the academy owed it to Scorsese, making him a shoo-in for winning. And then he gets shafted again.

This is what I think, Martin Scorsese, director of such film school staples as Raging Bull, Taxi Driver and Good Fellas. For your next project:

Shit in a paper bag and put it on a three-legged hot-pink Formica kitchen table, next to a mechanical toy monkey clapping his cymbals and a framed signed headshot of The Snapple Lady. Set up a stationary camera and film it continuously for six hours. In the final 2 minutes, set it on fire as Pauly Shore, the fat girl from Wilson Phillips and a naked Matthew McConaughey con bongo drums dance around the table. Maybe even throw in the Taco Bell chihuahua wearing a southern belle outfit. Have a soundtrack of a children's choir chanting, I don't want no coconuts, coconuts are hair-y, I don't want no coconuts, coconuts are hair-y... over and over getting progressively louder until you smash cut to black, fading back in on a hand-scrawled, used napkin reading, "Fin...a film by Martin Scorsese."

Trust me. You're gonna win it all next year.

Lastly, Clive Owen didn't win. I'm beyond upset.