Thanks be to God.
He's so no-bullshit, which is what I need right now.
Best picture?
Excuse me? Jack almost had a heart attack, as did everyone else in the theatre.
Crash.
Well, hell.
Hell.
I'm going to reiterate, then, what I said before with the disclaimer that I'm uninitiated: must a Best Picture nominee have shock value now? Are we all supposed to be reacting against complacency? Are we all supposed to be shaken out of our worldviews?
It's no surprise that people don't usually go to the movies for that purpose. So will the Oscars continue to lose relevancy with the moviegoing public?
That's all I heard this week: is Hollywood losing middle America? No. But those aren't the movies you've seen honored tonight.
Pink Panther? Cheaper by the Dozen 2? Have at it, Kansas. The rest of us thinkers are going to the art house.
The dichotomy that separates voters into wide, generalized swaths is the same that Hollywood panders to. In the end, the Oscars are Red State v. Blue State. And the Oscars are blue through and through.
The Hollywood Dream Factory is fracturing. Different dreams for different dreamers. And with the continuing rise of cable and TiVo, it's harder than ever to capture the dreamers' attentions. The successful indie film may be nearly dead. Not because it's hard to make them – quite the contrary. With the advent of the digital camera and easy editing programs, making a movie has rarely been simpler. But to get that movie out to a wide audience, to get any sort of notice, you need part of the Factory behind you. So the indie goes to the festivals, hoping to get picked up by part of the Dream Factory. And at that point, the indie vision gets picked apart.
The true independent filmmakers may now be the ones who can do whatever they wish: Spielberg, Coppola, Lucas, Scorsese. And God help us all, Woody Allen.
I'm stating the obvious. Of course. Then again, I have been drinking vodka since I sat down this evening.
So I'll end the rambling here. Good night, everyone. And good luck.
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