And then after this I'm going to write about horses again. Get comfy kids.
First of all, half the reason I watch this train wreck is for the clothes. If you really want to know, go to Go Fug Yourself. They usually get it right, and very eloquently.
This year I thought the Academy actually got a few things right, mostly because things got a little unpredictable. Just a little...
-George Clooney's acceptance speech: How cool is this man? Does he sweat? So...cooool. He's got his Oscar in one hand and he's composing his obit. Smirking. He'll be Nicholson in twenty years...only without the 12 nominations.
-Nice to see Wallace and Gromit get some recognish.
-Ben Stiller is funny.
-I'm not into the whole thug-pimp-ho scene. I don't get it. Obviously it doesn't get more urban than that. However, the best song won last night. "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp" was clearly the best song, and I'm saying that even though I love Dolly Parton. How great is she? Without her frighteningly large boobies, the hair and the face paint, she'd weigh 60 lbs. She's a wee tiny little firecracker, and she's 60 years old. She sang live too; you could tell because it wasn't perfect. But the thug gang, 3-6 Mafia??? How would I know??? definitely deserved. During the performance I was thinking that if they didn't win, it would be a classic Jethro Tull-Metallica mistake. But the Academy finally did something right. I couldn't understand a word those dudes said in their speech. Not a word. And it made me giggle.
-Meryl and Lily were funny in a bizarre ad-libbed kind of way.
-Lauren Bacall looked confused, as though she had opted not to wear the bifocals for fear of looking old, and as a result couldn't read the teleprompter. I wanted to quietly run up, rest a hand on her wrist, and with back to the audience, whisper to her, "It's okay, Ms Bacall. You can wear specs and nobody will think less of you. You are a living legend, a treasure, and everybody will still love you. It's okay to wear bifocals. You are at an age where you have earned it and you are still gorgeous. Wear the glasses Lauren. Read confidently."
-Jennifer Garner almost tripped on her way to the microphone and I thought that was more entertaining than anything else she's ever done. Ever.
-Note to Academy: GIVE ANDY SERKIS AN AWARD. Make one up if you have to.
-Keira Knightly, 20 years old, looking stunning, sharp as a tack in every stupid red carpet mic-in-the-face interview, didn't win an Oscar. But she sat beside Jack Friggin Nicholson. Good job Keira.
-Jon Stewart was awright. He can come back. He and his writers did some funny gags. This show is always so self-important and a good comic is absolutely necessary to keep things bearable.
Jethro came home at 10:30-an early evening!- as I was paled out on the couch with my mug of tea and my kleenex box. He got home just in time for...
-Best Actress. And what did Jethro say? "Wow, Autotune just won an Oscar!" Apparently this year the Academy decided to break the trend for rewarding the actress who got the ugliest, instead rewarding the actress who spent a year in vocal training in order to take on the role of a Real Woman, as Reese kept repeating. Real Woman. I have nothing against Reese. In fact, I have never seen one of her movies. I respect her for not dieting herself into bones after having her babies. But she could have killed us all with her Cuteness Ray. Turn it down Reese. Please.
-Best Actor. Huh? I don't know much about Truman Capote, or about Philip Seymour Hoffman for that matter. And if a transformation is rewarded then he nailed it. But I couldn't sit through 2 hours of that whimpering simpering high pitched mumble. I'm just saying. I'd take Heath Ledger's low rumbling mumble any day.
-Speaking of Heath, I know what he and Jake are thinking now. "I hadda kiss that other guy's scratchy face and I didn't even get an Oscar for it. Nice career move."
I really should see that movie, even though I pretty much know exactly how it goes by now. Looks like I'll have to see Crash too.
So, the callback. I went in not full of fire like I wanted to be, but full of snot. Now a hoarse voice and a stuffed up head is actually beneficial to the nasally character that I was going for, but I wasn't up to it. I tried, but I was not the competitor I wanted to be. Despite my excuses, I went in and did my best. It wasn't enough, and I knew it. I knew during the first run through. He stopped us and said he needed more Giddy Excitement. He wanted the Excitement to Build. He wanted Expression! "Heidi, do you have anything to tie your hair back with? No? Can you tuck your hair behind your ears? I want to see your face." Great, my red nosed watery eyed face. I tried to conjure Giddy Excitement but all I could come up with was...Disappointment!
As I sat there in the lobby waiting my turn, I heard many examples of ACTING and wondered seriously what this guy wants. From the lobby,through the closed doors of the theatre, I could hear one young lady SHRIEKING her lines. I could hear every word as she yelled them. Whoo hoo, there's your Giddy Excitement. I'm not afraid of looking stupid, please believe, but I couldn't do that. I was very Philip Seymour Hoffmanned about it. I couldn't listen to that girl scream at me for the duration of a play. But it occurred to me...she got to the callback. So did I. What does this guy want?????
A word about my Director Guy. He's all that I expected him to be. Unless resembling our hero Corky from Waiting for Guffman, this is what a director should look like. He wears his dark hair slicked back into a ponytail. He has a goatee. His left ear is pierced from one end to the other. He was wearing all black. Jethro asked me if his belt matched his shoes. I said, no, he's straight. He was wearing Doc Marten's. Yep, Jethro agreed, he's straight. Jethro spent most of yesterday doing a background vocal session with a few guys who are as gay as a day in June is long. Or something.
If I had experience, I would have been able to pull out a good performance. That's how musicians get through a tour: knowing how to put on a show, how it's done, even if it's not a good night. There's only one way to get experience. Do it.
This morning, while I was in bed with the covers over my head trying to sweat the germs out of me, Director Guy left a message on my phone. He'd like me to come in and do some set painting. I agreed to do it. I'm so bummed out about not getting the part but you see, after convincing my kids that it's okay to let Mommy out of the house for this, I must take the opportunity. Besides, I think turning this offer down could damage my next attempt. And there will be another attempt.
Trying out was an exercise in feeling real healthy fear as opposed to irrational panic. Well I got a taste. And I still love the heartbreaking showbiznass.