Therefore I watched the awards from bed, with heaps of pillows and a fleece blankie and a patchwork shearling coverlet and Vicks Vapo-rub (I am addicted to that stuff, the camphor/eucalyptus makes me feel so comfy and six years old again) and ice cream and chicken soup and all the rest of the accouterments of bed rest.
Not so impressed, really. Of the nominated movies, I had seen only “The Queen”, which was amazing and Dame Helen so deserved to win. There were no really great gowns. There were no really awful gowns. There was absolutely no good jewelry, which lack I most bemoaned.
I was glad to see Marty Scorsese win, even though I hate all his movies. And it was nice to see his good pals Francis and George and Steven up there. Almost as if they knew….hmmm.
I did, however, think it was the most boresome, snoozeful, excruciating slooooooow-paced show in recent memory. No big awards till the end. Stupid opening. Stupid montages. And Ellen De Generes, who is by no means stupid, but she is guilty of that TV-person-hosting-the-Oscars sensibility. It’s not your show, Ellen! (Any more than it was Letterman’s, when he hosted…) She made it small and unfocused and cutesy and just plain dull. And I was so looking forward to something fun to take my mind off my respiratory troubles.
Ah well. Next year.