If anybody is planning to be in the Philadelphia area on February 26th, let me know, because I WANT TO HAVE AN OSCARS PARTY SO BAD, YOU GUYS, and you all will be invited.
Everybody else can have their Christmas and their Girl Scout Cookie time, but for me, the “awards season” is the most wonderful time of the year. Partly it’s because I went to film school, and so I take the Golden Globes and the SAG awards and the Oscars pretty seriously, but also it’s because I love the movies, love watching them and talking about them and debating which ones are better than others, and also because I love watching beautiful people put on fancy expensive sparkly clothes and give each other awards for making movies.
You all can have your Super Bowl, if you want it, is what I am saying – I’ll be perfectly happy sitting at home staring at George Clooney and Brad Pitt and Kenneth Branagh and that dirty-hot French guy from The Artist in their tuxes making small talk with Ryan Seacrest and coveting the gowns and the shoes and the jewelry that Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer and Melissa McCarthy and Rooney Mara will be wearing while they’re carrying around borrowed bedazzled handbags that cost more than my house as they tell Joan Rivers who they’re wearing.
I can’t help it. I’m part magpie. (And my answer to the “Who are you wearing?” question would probably be “Colin Firth, if he’s interested,” but I am COMPLETELY INAPPRORIATE.)
This year, I don’t know enough about any of the nominated films to make any kinds of predictions. There are like 40-something pictures that got nominated across all the categories, and I’ve only seen five of them: Bridesmaids, Rango, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, The Muppets, and Rio. And of those, only Bridesmaids got nominated in any of the so-called “major categories” (Best Original Screenplay and Best Supporting Actress).
Yes, that’s right: I didn’t see Moneyball, or The Artist, or Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, or Kung Fu Panda 2. I haven’t even read The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. And I know there is probably a special place in Hell reserved for me right next to people who wear white shoes after Labor Day, but I haven’t seen The Help, either. Yes, everybody, I AM THE ONE WOMAN IN AMERICA AGED 24-59 WHO HAS NOT SEEN THE HELP. The terrorists have already won.
No matter. I still think it would be a hell of a lot of fun to throw an Oscars party. I’d love to put the kid to bed early, have friends over, put on my fanciest dress, set up a “movie night” buffet of giant bowls of popcorn and dishes full of movie-theater candy, and serve cocktails inspired by the Best Picture nominees (blue Hawaiians in honor of The Descendants, for example, and champagne as an homage to Midnight in Paris). We’d turn on the Big Show and “oooh” and “aaah” and “ewww” over every little sequin and Jimmy Choo and potential wardrobe malfunction and geek out over every outdated Hollywood reference that Billy Crystal will undoubtedly make in his opening number and take a shot of Jaegermeister every time someone thanks their agent in their speeches and weep during the “In Memoriam” segment and openly question whether certain actors and actresses had bad Botox or good plastic surgery and jump up and down and clap like a circus seal whenever the presenters open their envelopes and announce the names of stars whose work I really admire.
Yes, yes, people in Hollywood or Hollyweird or La-La-Land or whatever you want to call it, they’re not like us, but who the hell would want to watch someone like me in a Major Motion Picture? Pretty much nobody, that’s who. I’ve written a screenplay, you guys, and it’s hard. It’s really hard work. That’s why I don’t it anymore, and just watch from the sidelines with a bottle of cold Jaegermeister. And maybe I do get a little bitter and brokenhearted every time I hear (or even think) the words “Academy Award winner Ben Affleck,” but maybe, just maybe, the reason why I love to keep watching the Oscars is that, eventually, it’s entirely possible that one of those winners, one of those beautiful people, could be someone I know.
And when that happens, you guys? I hope to be having an Oscar party at home, sitting on the couch in my fanciest dress, drinking my Jaegermeister and clapping like a seal for them, too, along with a billion other people all over the world.