Yawn

As usual, the Academy Awards were a huge bore. Ellen was, um, okay but a bit too mellow and casual for my taste. The best catty critique of Ellen, so far:

"It appears that hosting daytime TV, in some cases, retards the part of the brain responsible for selecting eveningwear. It was a relief when Ellen changed, midway through, into a slightly more upscale, all white, Usher-esque ensemble, but her third and final outfit of the evening looked like she'd bribed it off of one of the busboys at Musso & Frank's. With bigger mutton chops, she'd have been a dead ringer for Isaac from "The Love Boat."

There seemed to be a subtle social-consciousness-boosting leitmotif suggesting that the night was occupied by Jodie Foster's army, and Thesbians were this year's minority elect.

But I don't care if you're male, female, gay, straight, all or none of the above: While getting dressed to host the Oscars, ask yourself: "Can I wear this to go bowling?" If the answer is yes, then you're much too comfortable and must change."

For me, the only real highlights were Alan Arkin's upset win, Al Gore-a-mania and the Will Ferrell-Jack Black-John C. Reilly musical number:



P.S. - How fixed are these award shows? Old friends of Scorcese's, Coppola, Lucas and Spielberg, just happened to be chosen to announce the Best Director award? C'mon...

Update: For a wonderfully snarky, pictorial recap of the show, go over to fourfour and say hi.