Dear Hollywood,
It is nearly time for your most treasured awards ceremony, the Oscars!
Are you excited? I know I am.
I love the Oscars.
I love the bright lights, the glitter and the static face of Nicole Kidman.
I love the idea of a hundred Xanax bottles being prepped in the back of limousines, and a thousand manicured feet being forced into crystal encrusted shoes and a million tuxedos being strapped over whale boned girdles.
Every year I stay up, maxed out on caffeine, waiting for the sweet release of the ‘Best Picture’ winner.
But we all know the Oscars are not a true representation of cinematic achievement.
Deep down we’re all too aware that it’s a guilty pleasure: much like my lust for Zac Efron in High School Musical.
The ceremony itself tends to be a load of old back slapping tedium that celebrates the obvious, and in turn, rather ironically, misses the obvious.
Colin Firth wins Best Actor for The King’s Speech. Obvious.
Tom Hooper wins best director for The King’s Speech. Obviously stolen from Fincher.
But this year you have royally fucked up Hollywood.
You left out Drive, the best film of the year according to my sources (that’s everyone with eyes) and no, “Best Sound Editing,” does not count because it means Harry Potter has more nominations.
To punish you for this I am going to lambast you by telling you how you can make the ceremony a little more interesting and a little less political.
I do appreciate that this request comes a little too close to the ceremony, and you’re busy preparing Salmon Vol-au-vents, thawing out Billy Crystal and hovering the red carpet, but please do take a moment to read this and take stock of my advice on how to make the Oscars that little bit better.
Firstly, criteria for voters must be tougher.
Any Academy Award Member who has not been to the cinema eight times of their own accord and does not own a copy of Brief Encounter should be discounted.
All members must be kept away from the Weinsteins, issues of Vanity Fair and should be able to name at least five films by Woody Allen.
All their knowledge of nominees must come from IMDB forums, the dude behind the counter at Blockbuster and more importantly their own brain.
The Academy Award members should be given a calendar that doesn’t go past June 2011, just so they remember that films came out in the first half of the year.
Any films that have not come out in the rest of the world before the ceremony should be discounted, or the whole event should wait until everyone in the UK has a chance to see Albert Nobbs.
They should jazz up the statues by making them more anatomically correct, perhaps throwing in a female Oscar every now again with the ever present breasts of Christina Hendricks.
In fact give her an Oscar for having to spend every interview dissecting the measurements of her body instead of talking about her latest film role.
There should be cameras in the bathrooms, so instead of ad breaks we cut to Reese Witherspoon and Kirsten Dunst comparing the panther-like love making skills of Jake Gyllenhal, before buying lollipops at inflation busting prices from toilet attendants.
After this highly entertaining interlude, Kirsten Dunst should be given an Oscar for Melancholia, because at no point did she call herself a Nazi.
She deserves it more than Rooney “oh yawn” Mara.
A trap door should be installed on stage that is automatically activated by disingenuous tears, mentions of deities, L. Ron Hubbard or hilarious chidings of children watching at home when they should be in bed.
We get it, you procreated.
If George Clooney wins he must thank every single similar looking girlfriend he picked up around Oscar time and explain why he can’t seem to settle down.
They should have a montage sequence featuring all the past winners who went onto disappointment, drugs, straight to DVD erotic thrillers or increasingly badly scripted HBO vampire romps (I’m looking at you Anna Paquin and your dubious southern American accent.)
They should have the most powerful man in Hollywood, Tom Cruise, read out a list of apologies and corrections regarding past Oscar awards. For example he must apologise for the Academies decision to award the Best Picture Oscar to Dances with Wolves in 1990 rather than Goodfellas.
Perhaps to cement this apology he could give Martin Scorsese the severed head of a wolf. That way they won’t have to keep overcompensating by nominating his current films. Hugo is perfectly entertaining but that’s about it.
All presenters should test out their material much like a comedian preparing for a tour, taking it to small local hotspots to see what works and what doesn’t.
They mustn’t invite James Franco back until he apologises for his arrogance or writes a heartfelt thank you to Anne Hathaway (on scented notepaper) for her attempts to plug holes in last years sinking ship.
Until then let him get on with breaking some more fourth walls by enrolling in culinary school and proceeding to cook and eat himself as his final project. Or whatever.
Take heed of my advice Hollywood, and one day you might have a far less predictable ceremony on your hands.
Regardless of this though, I shall be watching and be all too aware that my soul is being crushed, one badly read auto cue at a time.
Love,
Ellen
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