Monday, February 28, 2005

77th Annual Oscars

The. Worst. Ever.

Chris Rock: well, he said "s^&s" and "a**" in the first three minutes of his opening monologue, and I couldn't agree more. I'm too much of a lady to say it, but I appreciate that he said it for me.
He was a disastrously bad host. Out of place, stiff, terrible material, nothing witty about him. See you back at HBO where you belong, Chris.

Technical errors and ill-conceived directorial decisions abounded. This wasn't a case of "somebody's gonna lose their job." This was more like, "None of the people involved in this travesty should ever work again." WHOSE idea was it to drag all the nominees onto the stage like a black tie version of "The Weakest Link" again? Fire him first.

Worst gowns ever. It was the year of Zombie Skin Grey. Did you see yummy young thing Natalie Portman looking like something off the side of a Grecian urn, only more stiff? The color scheme was beyond dreary, and Beyonce's glittery black eyeshadow would scare even Celine Dion (she of the perpetually Black Buttered Eyelids). And ladies, no more yellow, I beg you. PLEASE. Renee Zellwegger got away with it a few years ago because it was a cheery vintage shade. That should have been the end of that. I'm telling you, it's not doing any of you any favors. Not even you, Miss Cate Blanchett, but you looked beautiful anyway.

You can blame Jennifer Lopez for the ubiquitous "flesh-colored lips" shade of lipstick that washes out even the likes of Selma Hayek (in ridiculous choppy bangs) and Penelope Cruz (Ay, Dios! Not a beehive!!) Let me make it really clear, girls, since you obviously weren't listening to me last year: You can only wear that color lipstick if you're blessed with the dewiest skin and your make-up artist has given you petal pink cheeks. You cannot rock that look if you're haggard and emaciated, and you really shouldn't attempt it if you're over 50, no matter how good your facialist is. Helen Mirren, I'm talking to you, luv. Elegant and stunning at any age, but m'lady, rouge and lipstick are your friends.

Vanessa Paradis just sat there with her dishy French self, smirking in her bright red lipstick. Vanessa is Womanhood Personified. She lives with Johnny Depp and bears his love children. You wouldn't *catch* her in flesh-colored lipstick. He, on the other hand, was so badly dressed as to cause my mother to keep murmuring "Oh, just look at that." Peacebang and her mother always watch the Oscars together on the phone.

Annette Benning, darling, they already cast "Finding Neverland" and you didn't get the part of Peter Pan. That spiky quasi-punk boyish haircut is so out, honey. Please. It's more OUT than Barbra Streisand's molto grande tummy, which La Babs vainly tried to cover with "creative" chiffon sleeves. Isn't it good to see La Babs chunky and happy?

And I don't care... I'm still not interested in seeing "Million Dollar Baby." I feel so sorry for Martin Scorcese I can hardly stand it.


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