As I sit here watching the Academy Awards, the show is entertaining for so many reasons,, especially the gowns. The women choose their gowns well in advance. Some are fabulous, some are horrible, some are fish like (think Anya from the Queen’s Gambit). The make-up category winner wore a bizarre shiny dress that looked like a garbage bag with a hole cut in the top of it for her head, no kidding.
Jimmy Kimmel looks perfect in his black tux and matching beard.
“The male body is not a joke.” “Mine is.” Who was that hunky dude who came onstage to introduce the costume award? I should know his name. Not The Rock. John Cena.
Poor Things is cleaning up, with three so far.
The stars’ dresses are more daring than the costume designers’. The jewelry is important. Lily Gladstone has the most stunning necklace. I don’t remember her dress at all, just the necklace.
Jodie Foster looks great and doesn’t try to Botox her way out of her age bracket. She owns her wrinkles. I love that. Catherine O’Hara looks her age, too. The star of Nyad also looks her age. Yay for her, too.
Billie Eilish is so funky. I love her jacket, her shoes, her headband. One woman was super tall in her glittering pant suit. She won for adapted screenplay. Her vertical stripes made her legs look a mile long.
At times I get tears in my eyes, when the black woman from the Holdovers won. She was amazing. Emily Blunt’s weird dress won’t stay on her shoulders but has straps that are five inches above them. She’s going to look back with regret. I know the dresses need to be sturdy to hold in the boobies, but what the heck are those super strong straps for?
The drummers and singers representing Killers of the Flower Moon are awesome. We need more stuff like that. Now they’re dancing, shot from above. Kudos to whoever thought that up for the show. I don’t like the red lighting, but that’s just because yesterday I had a conversation about sports teams with offensive team names. I argued that Redskins was more offensive than Braves. The men I was talking with didn’t get it.
Now Bad Bunny is speaking Spanish. His partner onstage is The Rock. They are introducing foreign films. Bad Bunny reads the winner: The Sone of Interest. There is no z sound in Spanish, so he can’t say zone. The speech by the winner mentions Israel and Gaza. He’s the first political speech of the night. There might be more.
Ryan Gosling is glittery, and so is Emily Blunt and her sturdy straps. They speak of the Barbie-Oppenheimer rivalry. Ryan gets in a good zinger. Emily comes back with another. Their acting is believable and cute. They are discussing stuntmen (and women). Cue footage of men falling down stone stairs or jumping off cliffs. They don’t announce any awards.
I always say I watch for the fashions, but that’s only part of it. I love seeing a first-time director give a speech about how the studios should make twenty ten-million-dollar movies instead of one 200-million-dollar movie so that more directors would get a chance to succeed. His speech got a rousing round of applause. Now I have to go see American Fiction.
Then Short Round from Indianna Jones introduces my fave actor, Randall, from This is Us.
Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo win the prize for the two craziest dresses, if you can even call them that. Ariana looks like a huge piece of chewed bubble gum in her pink crepe-y satin, and Cynthia looks like a space alien in her green leather. Oh, I get it. They are being Elphaba and Glinda from Wicked.
Billie Eilish won and thanked her teacher Miss Brigham. How cool is that?
Andrea Bocelli and his son! Wow!
The back of Emma Stone’s dress is unhooked! She won! It was supposed to be Lily Gladstone. I’m happy for Emma.
The show is finally over, a marathon. Oh wait! Best picture is left.
Jimmy Kimmell makes fun of Trump, yet again.
Then, bum, bum bum — best picture.
Al Pacino.
Oppenheimer. 7 Oscars. Not bad.
Scorsese isn’t too happy.
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 