Oscars 2009: The Good, the Bad and the Beyonce

Did you watch the Oscars last night? If not, never fear. You can relive it here. For the sake of time and/or your sanity, I won't chat about every little detail of every single award. But I can't promise this thing will be short, either.

And yes, there are links. For visuals.

(First, read my red-carpet rundown here.)

LET THE OSCARS BEGIN:

It's starting, it's starting....

It's a recessionista's dream. Oh, how the set design makes me smile. Critics can't agree on this, but I don't care. It's fun and fresh and campy and awkward.

Hugh. In a tux. With that accent. I melt. Unexpectedly. It's the self-deprecation. "I'm an Australian, playing an Australian in a movie called Australia...." I can't believe that I once lumped him into a category of men who wore sweatpants in public.

Singing to Kate Winslet: "I would swim a sea of human excrement." (Watch Slumdog Millionaire to make sense of the lyrics.)

The dancing. The song. The props. My inner theatre geek is totally won over. He makes Anne Hathaway cool. "I'm Wolverine!" [WATCH OPENING HERE]

To Mickey Rourke: "If you win, we switch to a 20-minute delay."

I kind of love this whole shake-up. I don't know what's coming next. Weird. Past winners announce the current nominees. Strangely heartfelt tributes.

Whoopi to Amy Adams: "It's not easy being a nun." Ha.

This is going to be a super-teary-eyed show. Man. These producers are BRILLIANT. People are crying before the first award is handed out.

Penelope Cruz wins. Shoot. I wanted Taraji.

Phone rings. I miss Pene's speech, but don't really care. In fact, I end up missing all the writing stuff too. But I see Tina Fey look lovely. And it appears as though she and Steve Martin are being hilarious.

I have a crush on Milk's screenwriter. So I check out his acceptance speech on YouTube later. Yes, I know that it's pointless to have a crush on a gay man. Thanks, people. This was his FIRST screenplay. And he writes for Big Love. And he wore the greatest outfit at the Spirit Awards the night before. If I were a boy, I'd dress like him.

(Re: YouTube'd speech - HERE. I almost cried. "You are beautiful, wonderful creatures that are valued." Cyber-hug to Dustin Lance Black.)

Simon Beaufoy wins for Slumdog screenplay. The winning streak has begun.

Phone call done. I turn off the cell.

Jennifer Aniston and Jack Black chitchat. Producers cut to Angelina. Oh, drama-creation. I think they're adults. They can handle hanging out in the same massive room. (I like the little braid in Jen's hair. Remind me to braid mine someday soon.)

Wall-E! The director thanks his high-school drama teacher. I can't wait until I get to write an acceptance speech. So many random people to thank. Like Bono, Peter Jackson and the girl who told me my pants were too short in the sixth grade.

SJP and Daniel Craig. I'd rather be James Bond than Carrie Bradshaw. Okay, her dress is better on-stage. I love the stage. I'm in a really happy, non-critical mood right now. I'm giddy just thinking about movies.

Robert Pattinson and Amanda Seyfried. Romance in 2008. None of the clips are making me want to fall in love. Well, maybe the shot of Aaron Eckhart (who was also super-handsome at the Spirit Awards). Or the Slumdog kids. The clips of people screaming "I hate you" aren't helping the situation. Call me old-fashioned, but I'm not really into the love/hate thing. It's so junior high.

Natalie Portman and Ben Stiller. Ben as Joaquin. Amazing. Ron Howard also finds this amazing. [WATCH HERE] Too bad this very same make-fun-of-Joaquin Phoenix-skit was done at the Spirit Awards already. But with a foul-mouthed Batman added. I was probably the only viewer, so no biggie.

Cinematography: I say Slumdog. So does the Academy.

Jessica Biel is awkward. And is chuckling at her own non-funniness. Go back to Seventh Heaven. I'm having drama-class flashbacks. She's the know-it-all aspiring soap star.

Pineapple Express spoof. I love James Franco. (Oh, and if you ever watch PE, turn on the subtitles. I hear they're fantastic.) The Love Guru got its clip. Oh, but James Franco.... How I admire your stoner-brilliance. Funniest Oscar-montage clip EVER. I can't explain it here. I would destroy it. Best DP-involved presentation ever. Enter YouTube. [SERIOUSLY, WATCH]

(P.S. Yes, The Reader is about a young boy having sex with a Nazi. The Academy has crazy taste in art. And yes, it's a good movie.)

I nominate James Franco for host in 2010.

"The musical is back, ladies and gentlemen." Wait for it, folks.... [OR WATCH IT]

Beyonce?! GO HOME, SASHA FIERCE. You are not welcome here. A Gene Kelly line. A Grease medley?! Now Zac Efron is singing. With Vanessa. My poor brain. With Mamma Mia people. Huh. I expected more. Is that weird? Baz Luhrmann, you should have called Ewan and Nicole. Does Beyonce know that "At Last" isn't her song?

Dear, 2010 producers, Beyonce has overstayed her Oscar welcome. This is her third year of making me fake vomit. In her place, try asking AN ACTOR. Or A NOMINEE. Or ANYONE ELSE.

There are still A LOT of clips for a show that is apparently radically different from previous shows filled with clips. Hmm. I feel bad for Cuba Gooding Jr. Why do we keep reminding him that his career peaked with Jerry Maguire?!

I feel a Heath moment coming on. I hope I cry. Is that morbid?

HEATH LEDGER.

Standing ovation. His gorgeous family. Brad's in tears. And Adrien Brody. And Anne. And Angelina. "On behalf of your beautiful Matilda."

Man on Wire wins. Another check mark for me. I'm still in a solemn post-Heath mood. And then the wire dude balances his Oscar on his chin. WHAT?!

Short Documentary was another random non-correct guess. The winner says "Lucky me" in a tone that sounds suspiciously sarcastic.

Post-production stuff. The Dark Knight should finally start picking up. Clip of Wanted. Highly recommended if you like crazy-creative gunfire. And/or James McAvoy.

Will Smith. In describing visual effects, takes a beautiful jab at Mr. Pretty: "They can take Brad Pitt and turn him into a garden gnome." Hear, hear.

Visual Effects: Benjamin Button! Yep, I got that one right too.

Sound Editing. The Dark Knight? Yes? Please, Academy.... [drum roll] The Dark Knight! I should have bet that annual toonie. When I win my first Oscar, I'm going to thank Christopher Nolan. I'll add him to my list.

Sound Mixing: I call The Dark Knight. The winner: Slumdog. But no hating here. Did you see Dev Patel's face? LOVE HIM. Man, I'm in such a hug-everyone mood.

Just noticed that a Twitterer wants an Oscar limit on movies. Apparently she's not into Slumdog. Or she's just dumb. I kind of want to hit her. But she's a stranger, and I typically reserve violence for people I know.

Film Editing: Should be Slumdog. Is Slumdog. All is right in the world.

I forgot that Eddie Murphy was nominated for Dreamgirls. "Nominee" with his name doesn't sound right. Not after Norbit. He is not exactly in Jerry Lewis' league. So why is he handing him the award?

I appreciate the orchestra. I really do. But why does it feel like there's so much filler in this supposedly streamlined show? I'm so torn. I no longer have any idea how I feel about this show.

I think Goldie Hawn just yawned.

Is Alicia Keys wearing the same dress as Natalie Portman? Close. It looks better on Natalie.

Original Score: Slumdog. Happiness.

Then the winner for Original Score sings and dances. (MIA is not singing. Apparently giving birth super-recently is now an excuse for missing the Oscars.) Um, Academy, why did you snub Springsteen? I need to get the Slumdog soundtrack. I could run a marathon to it. The Oscar goes to..."Jai Ho." So the winner/performer is a winner again. And says "I chose love." So did I. I think.

This is going to be over before midnight. SHOCKING.

Uh, oh. Queen Latifah is going to sing for the dead. Don't do it. I can tell the producers are trying to distract us from the applause. So we can't tell who the audience is favoring. It's not working. Man, it was a rough year for Hollywood. Half of the town died. Although the cameramen aren't letting us read the dead folks' names. All I know is that Paul Newman wins as most-loved dead guy. It's because of the salad dressing. So good.

Reese Witherspoon. In something dark and dramatic and refreshingly non-ethereal. Lainey calls her dress "a bruise."

Best Director: Danny Boyle! Amazing. And completely non-surprising. He jumps up and down "in the spirit of Tigger, from Winnie the Pooh." Aw. Because he promised his kids he would.

Best Actress: Come on Kate. You can do it....

Shirley McLaine made Anne Hathaway cry.

Melissa Leo can't win. Remember, her hair qualifies her to be Prince Charles' next wife.

Sophia scares me.

Nicole Kidman looks great. How? Why? And Angelina is still gorgeous. And terrifying.

KATE!!! I love her. Too much. "It's not a shampoo bottle now." Yes, she's an emotional, earnest, off-the-cuff spewer. But I like her frankness. Her dad whistles at her. Seriously, how much more endearing can you get? Oh, and her forehead moves.

Best Actor time. My (fake) money is on Mickey Rourke. I hope he thanks his dead dog. Seriously.

De Niro is petitioning that Penn win because "he's a great human being." Um, I guess Mother Teresa should have had a bookshelf of gold men. Or at least a couple more than Penn.

Adrien Brody needs to shave. Apparently he's "not a fan of Google." WHAT?!

Brad Pitt is a great actor, yes. And actually underrated. Except today. He will not win.

Sean Penn?! Oh, right. Because the Academy likes him. And Rourke has burned 95% of his bridges. Princess Buttercup is crying. And now he's getting political. I guess that's what happens when you're in a political movie. "Mickey Rourke rises again. And he is my brother." Bad boys unite.

Okay, Best Picture time. If it's not Slumdog, there's no point. I quit life.

Filler, filler, filler....

Spielberg says: Slumdog Millionaire!!!!!! And they're bringing the kids on the stage. No, wait. They're bringing EVERYBODY on stage. Seriously, this is why they won. Because it's an ensemble of amazingness. No stars, no power, no muscle. It was supposed to be direct-to-DVD!

Midnight. Bedtime.


You do realize that Slumdog's success all began at the Toronto Film Festival. Which means you should all come visit me in September and we'll party it up with next year's Best Picture folks.