Movies take backstage to sequins at ‘Super Bowl for women’



This Sunday is the Academy Awards or, as my wife calls it, the Super Bowl for women.

Like a lot of women, she has very little interest in the awards themselves — focusing instead on the elaborate gowns worn during the pre-show red carpet. I still don’t really get this — the idea that instead of watching the event, you prefer watching people walk into the event. It’s like you don’t like watching Bronco games, but you want to see Champ Bailey walk from his car to the locker room.

Yet each year we watch the red carpet, where celebrities are interviewed and talk about themselves while answering the tough questions (“What makes you so talented?”).

Between the nauseating celebrity interviews and bland co-host chit chat, the red carpet show could use some more excitement. I don’t wish anyone any harm, but if, say, Meryl Streep were to drop dead from a heart attack live on E!, it would at least make the evening a little more interesting.

Part of it comes from the entertainment reporters. Every question is the same: “Who are you wearing?” There has to be a more pretentious question in the world; I just can’t think of it.

I want to scream, “It’s not WHO. It’s WHAT. WHAT are you wearing?” But I don’t, because screaming at the TV is pointless, unless it’s the playoffs.

They don’t ask the men that question, because the answer would always be the same.

REPORTER: “Who are you wearing?”

MALE CELEBRITY: “Lenny’s Big House of Bargain Tuxedo Rentals.”

What’s also bothersome are the unrequited butt-kissings lavished on each star, even if undeserved. Every star gets the same compliment: “You look absolutely stunning!”

I don’t say the following to be cruel, it’s just that being mean-spirited is my nature: Not everyone was blessed by God to be gorgeous. George Clooney was. Sarah Jessica Parker and I were not. So as an entertainment reporter, it undermines your credibility if you use the exact same compliment for Angelina Jolie and the big chick from “Precious.”

Just once, I’d like to hear some red-carpet honesty: “Wow! You look like a water buffalo that got caught in a sequin tornado.” Or, “So can I assume you’re currently in litigation against your plastic surgeon?”

Especially annoying are the interviews with the out-of-touch, up-and-coming young actresses.

REPORTER: Who are you wearing?

YOUNG ACTRESS: Alexander McQueen. I was going to wear Valentino Couture, but the free dress they sent me only cost $10,000, which was obviously very insulting.

REPORTER: Well you look fabulous.

YOUNG ACTRESS: Yeah, I know.

REPORTER: What’s it like working with (random older star).

YOUNG ACTRESS: Oh she’s great. She can still act and has a lot of spunk. I hope I’m still in this business when I’m as old as her.

REPORTER: She’s 42.

YOUNG ACTRESS: Yes, but she’s like, still very sharp for her age.

Unlike most years, I’ve actually seen one of this year’s nominees for Best Picture, “Lincoln.” Unfortunately, it won’t win. That’s because the winner for Best Picture is always chosen based upon a simple, but tough criteria: If an average American would pay money to see it, it won’t win.

As evidence, something called “The Hurt Locker” recently won Best Picture. I had never heard of it. I thought it may have been porn.

I also didn’t see last year’s Best Picture: “The Artist.” This was a silent, French film shot in black and white. It’s not that I’m picky when it comes to movies — not everything has to have nudity or explosions — but sound would be nice.

As for Sunday, some say another French film, “Amour,” will be the surprise winner. Others say “Argo” will take home the Oscar.

I’m rooting for heart attacks. 

Reach your dutiful — if fashion-challenged — columnist at .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address).


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