So yeah, the Oscars. Too long, too boring, what the fuck was with that dance bullshit, etc. etc. Same as it ever was (as Dustin said last night, though, “good for the fucking Dude”). The lowlight was clearly seeing Tyler Perry on stage, particularly because his comment about how that was the only time you’d see him up there wasn’t self-deprecating as much as it was laced with “they’ll never appreciate and reward my greatness.” Fucking smug prick. The highlight could have been, of all things, Best Documentary Short. That was where the crazy white lady apparently Kanye’d shit up, bum-rushing the black director and going on a rambling minute long speech.
Shortly after the awards, Salon tracked down both the director/producer of the award-winning Music by Prudence, Roger Ross Williams, and that crazy lady, producer Elinor Burkett. Turns out, these two fucking hate each other and had been involved in a lawsuit over the doc (it settled out of court). Williams says the Academy had made it clear that only one person was supposed to accept the award, and he vaguely suggests that the Academy’s publicist told him he’d get to be the one. But I don’t quite buy that because, as the interviewee notes, he fucking bolted for the stage and if you read the brief interview, he deftly avoids addressing the situation directly.
Crazy-white-woman Burkett, for her part, basically says that Williams is an unappreciative dick, not talking to her, not inviting her to any of the pre-Oscar events, etc., while Williams says she parted ways with him and the movie a year ago. Anyway, the article is a good, quick read, and it got me thinking. Wouldn’t this shit be ten times better if you let Hollywood settle these types of differences live, on stage, Thunderdome-style. Seems like there are these behind-the-scene fights every few years. You know, like who gets to be an officially nominated/winning producer? Two men enter, one Academy Award winning producer leaves!
And fuck it, if there’s not a good fight ready to be settled, they can figure something out. This year, what would the ratings have been if you knew Kathryn Bigelow and James Cameron were going to fucking Thunderdoming it? Super Bowl level, baby! (Not to mention the added bonus of Bigelow ending that smug prick, cause you know she’d take him handily.)
Academy, when it comes time to hire a director for next year’s show, call me. I won’t give you any dance numbers, I won’t give you bullshit James Taylor during the In Memoriam, and I’ll blacklist Randy Newman from Oscar eligibility (sorry, he’s as overrated as overrated comes). But I will give you a motherfucking Thunderdome, and I guarantee you that, the following Monday morning, people will actually be talking about your show with excitement: “Holy fuck did you see the freaking Oscar’s last night? That shit was in-sane! I can’t believe Harvey Weinstein crushed Brian Grazer’s larynx with his gut!”