And the Oscar Goes to...

I could not care less. Although I’ll be watching, I won’t be glued to the broadcast. I used to really look forward to the Oscars and I enjoyed speculating on the winners. Those days are over for me.

The only interest I have left in the event is finding amusement in the freak show of Hollywood’s ego run amok. The night is not about glitz and glamour. It’s about ditz and laughable plastic surgery.

Once again, Martin Scorsese is up for Best Director. If the man didn’t receive it for Raging Bull or GoodFellas, I doubt he’ll get it for The Aviator. If he does get an Oscar, it will be because he’s been overlooked for so long. Lame.

Marlon Brando and George C. Scott had it right. The Academy Awards are little more than a contrived popularity contest—Hollywood at the height of its self-absorption. The awards have nothing to do with recognizing excellence in filmmaking.

Another reason that I no longer find Oscar night worth taking seriously is Hollywood’s utter lack of respect for its audience. The insulated environment of LaLaLand, which allows their leftist views to flourish and their anti-Bush hatred to thrive, puts the Hollywood elite completely out of touch with many of us in Fly-over Country. They still don’t get the appeal of Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, nor do they want to acknowledge its success. They dismiss it as a propaganda piece of hate mongering.

Michael Moore, on the other hand, is granted genius status. He has received an Oscar for his bloviating; yet Scorsese has never won the award. Does this make sense? Not to me. It does make sense to Hollywood. At least Moore’s bloated ego kept Fahrenheit 9/11 out of the running--no chance of any blathering on about Bush from him.

And then we have the controversial host, Chris Rock. “Oh, the excitement!” “What will he say?” I say, “I could not care less.”