Lola asked me last week if I was going to live blog the Oscars, and although that seemed like a good idea for a moment, it would have involved sitting in front of the TV with a laptop and being all focused and stuff, and would have interfered with the drinking and gambling. Actually, there was little of that last night, but in the past years we’ve had Oscar drinking games, where you do a shot every time someone a) thanks their parents , b) squints at the teleprompter or c) admits that they’re nervous. The gambling is a time honoured tradition – we throw poker chips in the pot for every category, and whoever gets it right gets the pot, or splits it. A dollar a chip – you can collect a tidy sum, and the kids pick up valuable lessons in bribery and extortion.
Last night, however, was a sober affair, both on screen and off. I did take notes, in the form of passing thoughts and fleeting observations:
I can’t find a single red carpet show that doesn’t make me squirm with embarrassment. Ben Mulroney is so … so … vapid. He makes Ryan Seacrest look like David Frost. Kathy Ireland is a complete twit.
The women look great, but why are so many men orange? George Clooney actually looks dreadful. Hey George, how about a haircut? I think the Oscars count as a special occasion.
Standout dresses: Carey Mulligan (I think those are tiny scissors and knives on her dress. And she came without her boyfriend Shia LeBoeuf. Hmm. There’s an edgy, emasculating note here). Sandra Bullock looks like an Oscar, and therefore must win one. Rachel McAdams has the most beautiful dress – the colour of Monet’s “Water Lilies”, but why does she always look slightly annoyed? Mo’Nique looks good, but I’m worried about her hairy legs. She says her husband likes her unshaven. Two words: wookie nookie.
Neil Patrick Harris sings and dances the opening number. You have to have NPH on your awards show now. It’s the law.
Martin and Baldwin. They’re funny. Edgy even. Oh well. They won’t be back.
Christoph Waltz. That’s a bingo.
Ryan Reynolds! Take your shirt off!
Cameron Diaz called her co-presenter Steve Carrell “Jude” because she was SUPPOSED to present with Jude Law, but Steve stepped in at the last minute. Way to go with the flow, Cammie.
Chris Pine! Take your shirt off!
John Hughes tribute. Very touching. But look how all those Brat Packers have aged. Thank God I myself haven’t changed a bit.
I am SO tired. But if Ed Asner and Christopher Plummer can stay awake, I have no excuse.
Bradley Cooper and Gerard Butler! Take your shirts off!
I’m going to take a 30 second nap while they honour the Whore. Oh wait – it’s the Horror.
Oh no. A dance number. Just what we need – a musical tribute to bomb defusers in The Hurt Locker. These guys are actually pretty good. Debbie Allen take note.
Best Documentary Short: Who is that dreadful woman pulling a Kanye and storming the stage? Quick – who has the Academy stun gun?
Sandra Bullock and Jeff Bridges. Very nice, but I can’t keep my eyes open.
Zzzzzzz. Barbra Streisand. They wouldn’t have asked her to present Best Director if they didn’t know for a fact that Kathryn Bigelow was going to win. Zzzzz. Best Director: Kathryn Bigelow. Yay estrogen. Here comes Tom Hanks now in a bigass hurry. Best Picture: Hurt Locker. No, really? I’m so shocked I might actually wake up.
And that’s that for another year. In a word? Meh. I didn’t so much win the Oscar pool as end up facedown in it.