redemption, clowns, and happy endings gasper noe style.

i believe it was kierkegard, or delores o'rierdon, who once uttered the immortal phrase "everyone else is doing it, so why can't we?" with that in mind and with nuvo "critic" ed johnson-ott's horribly crap version of an oscar spectacular still gunking up the classic american muscle car fuel injection engine my brain, and since this is like a year of redemption (through buffoonery) i said fuck it, put on my clown makeup and decided to roll out my big ole oscar extravaganza...

i'll start with director, since i'm of the auteurist mind set and that's the only catagory we here at the beer cannes really give a fuck about. and since they just happen to be the contenders for best picture, and since i think the same way on both, i'll just go ahead and blow my load early too. and then we will unroll it in reverse like i am gaspar noe.

contenders

opie, umm...no thanks...but, hold your head up little buddy, i'm sure i will like you again for the next film you make directly after the dan brown bomb that you are about to drop on us again. i mean, even you would admit, that your nixon film was probably just nominated because hollywood had to have something to trumpet from an absolute clap outbreak of a year that they just had. and as to where the fincher got the token hollywood "art" nomination, you took the choice "important" film nomination. hollywood really did turn a shit spigot on their audience this year didn't they? sorry opie.

as for the aforementioned fincher....are you fucking kidding me? a gimmick like that...a man born elderly and who dies a baby, for real? you had just turned that corner where you didn't need some narrative stroke job ironic bullshit to guide your obviously lush visual style, and then you expect me to plop down ten bones to feel this c.h.u.d. baby unspool...fuck that...you are the new wes anderson, as you are in a coma, on life support, within a hair's width of being dead to me. and i fucking liked zodiac, you fake piece of shit.

and that brings me to the dickcheese eater who directed the rather trite billy elliott, the absolutely, offensively putrid oscar bait trash heap topper that was nicole kidman's prosthetic nose and now the will never be seen by me reader. the fact that this limp oscarbation ejaculate is now three for three in oscar nom's and no film comment writers have stormed the red carpet with guns really speaks poorly to the state of film fandom in this country. (self)important trash like this makes me want to send the time haters to go back in time and cap the lumiere brothers. as dead as wes anderson and david fincher without a miraculaous recovery are about to be, they will never be as dead to me as you, you fucking douchebag.

i see that danny boyle likes to move his camera. and that people react like insects to bright flashing lights and get caught in bug zappers like this...it sure was fun while it lasted, but now your body lays soulless. the combination of these two makes this my surefire, liberal, reader of the new yorker who only goes to the movies once a year and generally has no business around the business of awarding films lock for best picture...and tragically, in a suicide inducing moment, the best director trophy as well. hollywood loves it's happy endings, the more unbelievable the better.

which is a shame, because that award should go to gus van sant. in an unbelievably weak year for movies, i feel it is important to give career achievement awards when the terrible canidates for these awards don't really deserve them. it's well documented that i wasn't crazy about milk, but that's only because i have come to expect way more from the only true artist in this competition. these other hacks aren't fit to suck gus's dick(not that he'd have any of these old dried up hags anyway...ok, maybe opie. like thirty years ago.) so i beg of you oscar, don't disappoint me. go home with the guy who has meant the most to the advancement of the medium. give both best picture and best director to gus van sant. if only to prove to me that you actually fucking like movies even a little bit.

actors go like this

richard jenkins is wooden and really, really, incredibly boring to watch. christopher cross and al jureau called, they said get some soul you vanilla, supertramp listening, chai drinker. seriously, if you were the only guy trapped in a room in the latest saw film, that jughead guy would fucking forget about you because you are so boring to watch.

same for you sean penn. one of the fascinating things about milk is that the film is clearly penn's as he is in all but like four scenes, yet the supporting characters, some of which had but a few lines, remain the most memorable and serve as the most prominent imagery in the well rendered atmosphere of this film. i mean, you ought to call and thank gus every day of your life for putting you opposite the awful diego luna, therefore insuring you look good because, well, at least you aren't him. for that, you get no oscar from me, and you probably won't from them either. but if you do, if you get gus's oscar...you will have turned into mr. hand, spicolli. you're a dick.

thanks for playing...frank langella.

brad pitt, get the fuck off my stage...no, for real...who the fuck invited you?

mickey rourke will win, and that will be good as frankly this is the best of the nominated bunch. really quite sad in a way that permeates the atmosphere and causes the air to go down heavy in your lungs. on par, insofar as pure despair, with something like strozek, it almost resonates as more disappointing as the wrestler is tinged with a feeling of hope recently lost as opposed to strozek witch is less devastating because of its complete hopelessness. rourke really revels in the failure for this one, a beaten down jester, who used to be king, in tights. jarvis cocker asks if you like happy endings.

ladies...

four of the actresses in this category need to be shot for their crass showiness in supposedly depressing roles. people who are really sad, and are really that pathetic don't scream out to the world to "look at me." they hide, they are more reserved. all these bitches got caught living out loud in bullshit weepies this year and deserve no gold for it...

so, melissa leo by default...because judging from the preview there is nothing glamorous(therefore overdone and bullshitty) in that performance. i don't want any piece of that film, it looks like the female version of mickey rourke, or maybe strozek. hopeless.

but as far as the academy goes, kate winslet will get her happy ending. because she'a wanted it so dearly for so long gub'ner.

in the nuvo's infinitely simplistic oscar examination, professional dipshit ed johnson-ott states that this category isn't worth discussing, because old tears of a clown has got this sewn up like the scars on his face. but "critical" cop-outs aside, i think it is very much worth discussing. sure the bat-villain is probably gonna walk, hollywood loves to pat itself on the back for being so respectful of their fallen "talent." but he doesn't deserve it. hell, after hearing christian bale rip into that d.p., i'm not so convinced that he shouldn't have played the joker(la ti da)...that is worth discussing.

if hollywood really wanted to pat itself on the back for being ultra heartfelt and forgiving, they would throw it to old robert downey jr. i mean here is a no quotation marks needed talent and to get an oscar nom, fuckers in hollywood made him play a robot/atm machine and made him essentially do a minstrel show al jolsen style, mammy. and when he sucks it up, musters the intestinal fortitude to comletely swallow his pride and completely brings it in two films that were made even plausibly watchable only by his presence, hollywood can only throw him a supporting actor nomination in a catagory against a ghost and pat him on the back and say better luck next time. fuck hollywood cause they specialize in happy endings and they seldom get them right.

philip seymour hoffman has become pretentious in positive correlation to john c. reilly's assimilation to stupidity. i wish they would both go away for awhile.

who the hell is michael shannon? really...i have no idea...anyone?

the only way i will forgive hollywood for putting robert downey jr through the wringer in this category, is if josh brolin wins. because frankly, he did the best job. and the best part, the juicy irony, is that he portrayed the similar moral duality that the joker supposedly signified in a way that blows away ledger's histrionics with the subtlety and menace of a true maniac. truly disturbed people don't announce their presence, they pounce, like a cat, from a eerily still position, as if the true madness is created by the fact that they seem to have been stuck in the moment of moral dilemma, agonizing over their eventual spring to the utter insanity of violence forever. that's how josh brolin rolls. the best acting performance in milk, hand's down.

supporting actress works like this.

i love me some amy adams, but this film just seemed like a showcase for "actors" to "act" like assholes. i want her to win one for a film in which she sings a song.

marissa tomei has nice, non saggy breasts...unfortunately they were the only nuanced part of her one note, stock character, hollow cration in the wrestler.

penelope cruz sucks in any language.

taraji henson is usually good, but in a perfect, beer cannes world she can't win because...

viola davis has to win, just so i can see merryl and phillip seymour act like ashley tisdale in high school musicals and wear pissy faces when they realize that they got showed up in their showcase by someone as previously anonymous as viola davis. you go girl, thanks for fulfilling my dream where...

pretentios phil and old, haggard, boor merryl won't be again rewarded for their mediocrity,

robert downey jr and josh brolin tie,

happy go lucky wins best screenplay(sally hawkins wuz robbed), dustin lance bland does not.

and gus van sant wins big time,

and old heath is looking down empty handed from heaven. smiling.

yes jarvis, i believe in happy endings.