I don’t even watch the whole Oscar show anymore (Feb. 24). Yet, as I wrote in the Atlanta Business Chronicle, I can’t break my addiction to trying to predict the top 6 categories.
I once had a boss/colleague who was either so obsessed with the Academy Awards or so competitive that he would insist on predicting every single category. Sorry, I just have no idea who deserves best sound editing. Nor, I’m afraid, do I much care.
Yeah, I’m a shallow Philistine who much prefers to stick to the top six groups, i.e., Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, Supporting Actor, and Supporting Actress.
She never has. Think of the tense and ultimately explosive opening of “The Hurt Locker.” Or the fatal pick-up outside a bar in her vampire-cum-biker flick, “Near Dark.”
In her Oscar-nominated movie, “Zero Dark Thirty,” she goes straight for the jugular. The screen is black and on the soundtrack we hear a building babble of voices, which — it’s almost immediately clear — are real-life phone calls made from those trapped in the World Trade Center on 9/11.
The Golden Globes, Oscar’s younger, dumber and prettier sibling, threw a nice little monkey wrench into the eternal question: who will win what on Oscar Night.
Well, it’s eternal for movie critics and for pundits in general who suddenly morph into movie critics around Oscar time. I think I read what Bill O’Reilly was picking a few years ago.
The Golden Globes began as a joke: a doling out of awards by the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, a somewhat dubious group made up of somewhat dubious people. Well, dubious in the implication that they make their living writing about movies. A lot of them have other real jobs, but moonlight as movie reviewers.