What, its Oscar time again? Oscar, who’s Oscar? Isn’t it just Barack and Hilary and John that are running?
Oh, the Academy Awards is it? This year, the 80th year of the annual Hollywood glamour fest, seems like no one really cares. Sure, as a member of the elite few, the number of email with details of Media Coverage Plans, Pink Champagne for the Governor’s Ball and nominations for movies with strange titles like “Old Men” and “Blood” and “Sweeny Todd” and others have recently filled my email Inbox.
But with the Hollywood writers strike, the interesting US elections and questions about whether I am going to be able to afford a new X Box 360 because of an economy that sucks, all I can say, along with many other people, in good “Gone with the Wind” (Academy Award winner 1940, Best Picture, Screenplay, Director and a slew of others), style, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” (Rhett Butler).
And with the threat of rain on Sunday late afternoon in Los Angeles (who wants to see glamorous movie actresses with messy hair and rain soaked gowns), this year’s Academy Award show looks to be a bust.
