Ratings were up 10% from last year, and polls indicate that viewers of the Oscars last night mostly enjoyed the telecast and would like Hugh Jackman back to host next year. So why am I still harping on the negatives? Well, no matter how many entertaining elements of the ceremony people remind me of, I have to argue that while the awards themselves were great, the television show was not. And unfortunately, I was not inside the Kodak auditorium where I might have better appreciated the things we all at home should have been able to appreciate. And anything I found entertaining from where I sat in my apartment was pretty much thanks to talented presenters and winners, such as Philippe Petit, Tina Fey, Janusz Kaminski, Dustin Lance Black, Kunio Kato and Danny Boyle.
And I’m not the only one who has complaints. Below you’ll find some criticisms from bloggers who either thought the show was completely terrible or thought it was mostly good with only a few minor gripes.
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Recently, at age 50, Emma Thompson became a first-time blogger –– a term which, according to her, “as a computer illiterate, I get confused with ‘snog’ (British slang for kissing) and ‘shog’ (Shakespearian word used by Pistol in Henry V meaning ‘leave’) neither of which – I realize – is the correct interpretation.” The email missive posted by Melissa Silverstein was part of Thompson’s promotion for Last Chance Harvey, an older-woman-meets-even-older-man romance co-starring Dustin Hoffman (ah, but for the days of Mrs. Robinson!)
The still-radiant Thompson expresses relief that maturity has given her the freedom to let it all hang out rather than nip and tuck it all back in, but she ain’t got nothing on a few women a decade and more older whose sex appeal (plastic surgery aside) is decidedly more French Riviera than Fort Lauderdale. So to welcome this seasoned British actress/ blogging novice to the wild wild world of cyberspace, here are my picks for an international GGILF club.
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“Yo, Steve, you got any movies, my dude?”
One of the youngbloods, a relatively new arrival here at the halfway house, is standing by my bunk with a look of desperation. It’s Sunday afternoon and he’s too broke to do anything but languish in here with us old timers. I slide my pile of Brooklyn Public Library DVD’s over for his perusal. After scanning the titles for a moment, he grimaces sadly and says, “I meant good movies.”
“There’s some good movies in there.”
He squinted at one box: “McCabe and Mister Miller? 1971? Man, I was born in 1983. Why would I wanna watch some wild west crazy shit made when I wasn’t even around?”
“Movies ain’t newspapers, youngblood. You’re missing out.”
“The old black and white Casablanca stuff y’all watch… nah, man, thanks, I’ll pass.”
I returned to the portable DVD player on my lap, to Carnival of Souls. I didn’t mean to lie to the young man– movies are newspapers, produced in a frenetic daily grind, stuffed with advertising, distributed in a blitz as far and wide as fiscally possible, then cast aside, forgotten the next day. But I figure asserting the notion of movies as something other than disposable infotainment would give him food for thought.
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The weekly documentary series Stranger Than Fiction, curated by the Toronto Film Festival’s Thom Powers and hosted at Manhattan’s IFC Center, wrapped up its Spring 2008 season last night with a screening of two rarely seen films directed by Albert Maysles, a Q & A with the octogenarian documentarian, and the obligatory after-movie cocktail session. If the two films shown offered object lessons in Maysles’ combined talents––patience, negotiation, and an unfailing knack at taking advantage of serendipity––the discussion after the screening offered a glimpse into this independent artist’s ever-present conflict between his stated mission and the economic sacrifices that support it.
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