It's been a big week for entertainment.
First, I want to congratulate my friend who talks almost as fast as me while managing to be far less awkward, Jennifer Lawrence, who took home the Oscar for best lead actress in Silver Linings Playbook; an awesome, upbeat film demanding new regard towards mental challenges. Jen, I wore your coat for twenty minutes and feel like I should sell myself on eBay now. You're that hot in Hollywood. Congrats.
Ah, film. I've forged such an intense bond with the movie industry through my Hunger Games experiences and love for the art, power, and humanity behind this business. So what are my Oscar rituals? This year I bought a red carpet and an award to give to whoever guessed the most winners correctly, but mostly it's a constant struggle between
A) Sighing nostalgically at how classy Christopher Plummer is
and
B) Sighing nostalgically at imagining one of my movie adaptions earning such an award.
Movies from books, other than backhand work, such as costume, cinematography, and original score (all extremely important ingredients, by the way), have more particular challenges when it comes to being recognized by the Academy. It certainly happens -- this years' Silver Linings, last year's The Help, Lord of the Rings, etc. But these recognitions mainly occur, I think, when the film warriors completely pioneer and eclipse the novel into its own craft of filmography. In some ways, I think Peter Jackson's rendition of The Lord of the Rings honors Tolkien's story even more powerfully than the novels, not the mention the sheer beauty of his scenery and presentation.
But where is the love for the authors?
I understand Tolkien went to be with Frodo, but even when authors do have their stories acknowledged at the Oscars (notice, sadly, the novels of public sensation - Harry Potter, Hunger Games, etc. - largely disregarded, in part due, I think, to the commercialism such success gives; which unspokenly seems to disqualify them for sophisticated commendment) they're never called up. In fact, are the authors even THERE?
Okay, let's just run things over again.
and
B) Sighing nostalgically at imagining one of my movie adaptions earning such an award.
Movies from books, other than backhand work, such as costume, cinematography, and original score (all extremely important ingredients, by the way), have more particular challenges when it comes to being recognized by the Academy. It certainly happens -- this years' Silver Linings, last year's The Help, Lord of the Rings, etc. But these recognitions mainly occur, I think, when the film warriors completely pioneer and eclipse the novel into its own craft of filmography. In some ways, I think Peter Jackson's rendition of The Lord of the Rings honors Tolkien's story even more powerfully than the novels, not the mention the sheer beauty of his scenery and presentation.
But where is the love for the authors?
I understand Tolkien went to be with Frodo, but even when authors do have their stories acknowledged at the Oscars (notice, sadly, the novels of public sensation - Harry Potter, Hunger Games, etc. - largely disregarded, in part due, I think, to the commercialism such success gives; which unspokenly seems to disqualify them for sophisticated commendment) they're never called up. In fact, are the authors even THERE?
Okay, let's just run things over again.
EMMY - Television. GRAMMY - Music. OSCAR - Film. TONY - Theater.
And authors get the Pulitzer, Newberry, and Oprah's Book Club stickers. None of which allow authors to stand upon a stage with millions of viewers and an audience in tuxedos, blinking tears from their eyes as they explain the meaning behind their work. I know we're arrogant enough. But our art is as poignant to society as any of the awarded crafts you see above.
She likes me! She really, really likes me!
Anyway. Moving on. To what this post is really about.
Damn straight.
The Bachelor is one of those rare shows of who's participation in I would wish upon both my worst enemies and my best friends. I had the immense pleasure of describing the show to Laura last night, who had no idea what it was.
First, I disclosed the concept. Twenty girls, one guy, Hunger Games battle to the death for him.
The Bachelor is one of those rare shows of who's participation in I would wish upon both my worst enemies and my best friends. I had the immense pleasure of describing the show to Laura last night, who had no idea what it was.
First, I disclosed the concept. Twenty girls, one guy, Hunger Games battle to the death for him.
Brian: You're exaggerating. Stewie: Only a little bit, that's the messed up thing!
Which, yeah, when you put it that way it sounds even more ridiculous than it really is (or...nevermind).
But while some Bachelors/Bachelorettes are real jerks or got nothing but roses upstairs, there are worse situations one could be in than competing to the death for Sean Lowe.
But while some Bachelors/Bachelorettes are real jerks or got nothing but roses upstairs, there are worse situations one could be in than competing to the death for Sean Lowe.
Is it too late to sign up for this season?
Here is why I would win the Bachelor.
We all know this is a pageant. However, with such amazing and unrealistically glamorous dates planned, paid, choreographed, and documented by ABC for the Bachelor/Bachelorette, MY dates would be EXCLUSIVELY HAND-CHOSEN TO REQUIRE EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS OF *SPECIAL* ASSISTANCE AND STAND OUT FROM ALL THE OTHERS.
It would be really good publicity. Really good television. ABC could even sell us to Lifetime and Hallmark afterwards. And Oprah. (She likes me! She really, really likes me!)
And then, of course, everyone who knows me would know that the only real reason I was on the show would be so Liam could pull a Gale and watch the screen with hidden, heartbroken jealousy whenever I kiss the gentlemanly blonde.
We all know this is a pageant. However, with such amazing and unrealistically glamorous dates planned, paid, choreographed, and documented by ABC for the Bachelor/Bachelorette, MY dates would be EXCLUSIVELY HAND-CHOSEN TO REQUIRE EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS OF *SPECIAL* ASSISTANCE AND STAND OUT FROM ALL THE OTHERS.
It would be really good publicity. Really good television. ABC could even sell us to Lifetime and Hallmark afterwards. And Oprah. (She likes me! She really, really likes me!)
And then, of course, everyone who knows me would know that the only real reason I was on the show would be so Liam could pull a Gale and watch the screen with hidden, heartbroken jealousy whenever I kiss the gentlemanly blonde.
But if you're like me, a humble VIEWER, the only reason you WATCH is so Chris Harrison can appear out of NOWHERE for the Rose Ceremony, rub his hands together sympathetically, and, although everyone SEES it's the final rose say, "Ladies, Sean...this is the final rose tonight. When you're ready."
And then leave as instantly as he appeared. (Chris Harrison on Ellen: "...You realize how little I do on this show right? Don't take away the one thing I do!")
Well readers, this must be the first post I've written without something deeply intimate, profoundly spiritual, or sincerely enlightening to the meaning of life and the human condition. I'll leave you all to rest your minds. In the meanwhile, while I pet him and coo at how beautiful and sweet he is, I better go put more ointment on my dog's pelvic rash.
Well readers, this must be the first post I've written without something deeply intimate, profoundly spiritual, or sincerely enlightening to the meaning of life and the human condition. I'll leave you all to rest your minds. In the meanwhile, while I pet him and coo at how beautiful and sweet he is, I better go put more ointment on my dog's pelvic rash.
Brian: You're exaggerating. Stewie: Only a little bit, that's the messed up thing!
Cinematically yours,
S/
S/
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