Monday, February 28, 2011

I Was Using Body English

Maybe it was more "mind" English.... but it worked.

With all my telepathic energy (and that of the whole female population of the world), handsome, clever and talented Colin Firth got his Oscar. And, while there were a number of "ums" in his acceptance speech, there was not a single stutter or lisp or filthy word. It was intelligent, funny and, given his obvious sensitivity (he can cry real tears on cue), it was designed to be satisfyingly modest and unassuming.  And it succeeded.

And, as my smartass daughter, Paige, says...."He got his Firth Othcar."

While I  am not one of those perennial Oscar-bashers, I have to wonder what the matter is with these professional actors whose sense of timing should be grand. There are too many who seem to feel that once the spotlight is on them, they must hold onto it..... until we cry "uncle."

Anne Hathaway is very talented. The fellow with her...Franco?...was sonambulent.

And the women who do the interviewing on the Red Carpet....why do they feel they must compete with the actors they chat up? It looks like a variant of penis envy. A nice little black dress with pearls would do,  along with some less hackneyed questions. No need to outshine the shiners. It's THEIR night.

There has been in recent years a move by the males in the performing arts to shed the uniform of standard black tie and dinner jacket. On the other hand, the females have all turned into sheep. This year the ewes, in depressingly large numbers, were showing one bare shoulder. And it was usually the same damn shoulder!

And when there was a really stunning dress, too often the head presiding over it was shaggy, spikey or just plain uncombed. It's as if they want you to think, despite the wardrobe choosing and fitting that must have taken several hours, or even days, that they aren't so self-obsessed that the planning includes their hair.

My mother, who I have mentioned before as being very germ conscious, would have had apoplexy if she had seen those long dress trains dragging over the ground where all those germy feet have been tramping. Filthy business, that!

Did I say I wasn't a perennial Oscar basher? Well, I lied.

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