The Emmys are asinine, the Tonys irrelevant. The Teen Choice Awards are offensive to anyone with an IQ over 65, and audiences claimed that their Eighth Amendment rights were violated by watching the VMAs.
That leaves just one, solitary awards show to pick up the slack of the other industry drivel. A lone bastion of dignity to prove that if celebrities have to be given a public forum to show off their dripping diamonds or supermodel girlfriends, at least they should have a little class about it. On Sunday, the 77th Annual Academy Awards show rose to the occasion, and those still recuperating from the disaster of last month's Grammys appreciated the reprieve.
Unmitigated Jude Law digs aside, unorthodox host Chris Rock was surprisingly legitimately funny without being boorish. Clint Eastwood provided living proof that Viagra will always have a market in the entertainment industry, netting his third Best Director award since turning 60 and turning "longevity" into a show business catchphrase. And Morgan Freeman actually surpassed both Shaft and James Bond on the list of coolest men alive with an overdue acceptance speech that was both gallantly elegant and self-consciously humble.
As for the fashion end of things, you can usually count on at least one wayward or overly confident celebrity to throw us regular Joes and Janes a bone and show up on the red carpet wearing something so blindingly hideous that even we look good by comparison. But not at the Oscars - or at least not this year. With neither a dead swan nor a saggy Paltrow boob in sight, viewers were firmly assured that unattainable good looks are a ticket to fame, fortune and eternal happiness in Tinsel Town.
Granted, one could make the argument that Hilary Swank's dress looked like she'd put it on backwards, but it doesn't change the fact that she could probably compensate for bolstering your self-image by beating the ever-loving snot out of you.
But let's face it: every awards show is innately flawed, and this article would be terribly boring if we tried to prove otherwise. That said, the 77th Oscars were not without their ludicrous displays of Hollywood excess, but at least this year's over-the-top antics were more amusing than unsettling.
Timing, as the saying goes, is everything, and the Academy had mercifully been adhering to this maxim in recent years by limiting the time allotted to each recipient for those teary, heartfelt, but ultimately nauseating acceptance speeches. The benefit of this strategy was twofold: one, it kept the entire program to a tolerable length of just under 12 hours, and two, the shouting matches between the rising sound of the orchestra and the strained voices of interrupted celebrities made for some very entertaining television.
This year, though, the Academy went a little too far. For the really mundane awards beautiful Amazon woman hiked the little golden statues straight to celebrity presenters who, in turn, punted them into the audience where the recipients made severely curtailed acceptance speeches right from their seats.
And, in true Oscar fashion, there was no shortage of random stunts by celebrities who have no business being at the Academy Awards in the first place. Oprah, on the heels of her unexpected inclusion in Halle Berry's acceptance speech in 2002, miraculously wormed her way into Jamie Foxx's moving tribute to his (mildly abusive) grandmother, proving once again that she is well on her way to world domination.
Broadcasting network ABC obviously got some sort of discount price for purchasing Beyonc?© performances in bulk, so the sexy siren made roughly 48 appearances throughout the night despite the fact that her only tie to the acting community was her poignant portrayal of Foxxy Cleopatra in "Goldmember."
But at the end of the night, when all was said and done, the Oscars were a truly enjoyable event for all. Hollywood actors were finally compensated for their hours of grueling work and the mountains of million-dollar paychecks they have to cash in their quest to bring us quality entertainment. We, in turn, were given our yearly glimpse into the glitzy utopia that makes us resent our own pathetic reality.
In fact, the only miserable soul who didn't go home happy on Sunday night was Martin Scorcese. After his fifth straight loss for Best Director to the indomitable machine of the "Million Dollar Baby" cast and crew, the revered filmmaker could very well have suffered a minor nervous system collapse. Sorry Marty, looks like you and Leo will have to put your heads together and come up with yet another brilliant film to capture the Academy's attention in 2006.
And pray that Clint Eastwood takes the year off.
