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TotD’s Oscar Picks 2019

February 24, 2019 / / 3 Comments

BEST PICTURE

Black Panther Important question to ask yourself, if you’re an Academy Member and Oscar voter: Does this film have basically the same plot as Ant-Man? And if the answer is “yes,” then that film cannot be the Best Picture. That’s just common sense. Also, Black Panther wasn’t even 2018’s best movie set in Wakanda and the special effects were done on a Commodore 64.

BlackKKKKKKKKlansman Spike Lee was a dick to Brother on the Dead, so fuck him forever.

Bohemian Rhapsody You know how I feel about this excretion. If I discuss it, I will become flustered.

The Favourite Emma Stone’s in this, and I would let her pee on me. I’m not into that, but I would pretend to be if that’s what she dug. Probably not in my mouth, but it’s not a definitive no.

Green Book I have not, and will not, seen Green Book. I imagine this is how it goes:

“Oh! You’re tellin’ me that you’re a mulignan AND a fanook? Marone!”

“Sir, just drive the car.”

“Oofah, I’m not racist no more!”

And then a mid-credits scene in which Nick Fury invites them both to join the Avengers of Tolerance.

Roma The movie is called “Roma” but takes place in Mexico City. Fuck you for a liar, Roma. That’s like Casablanca being set in San Diego. AND it’s black-and-white. AND it’s in Spanish. AND there is no punching, let alone super-punching. BUT the director will most likely give his acceptance speech in Spanish, and that’ll send Basketball Head into a paroxysm of rage, so it’ll probably win.

A Star Is Born Not only have I not seen this film, I have managed to avoid hearing–even once–the much-loved song it spawned, Shallow. I will listen to it now, in order to generate fresh and exciting content for you, the content-enjoyer.

That was fine.

This is better:

You’re welcome. Get that taste of power ballad out of your mouth. (ALSO: old-timey, down-homey sexism!)

Vice This is like leftovers of a meal that gave you food poisoning: why would I want to suffer through Dick Cheney again?  The man was a war criminal, and not even an interesting one. Pinochet was imaginative, at least. Kissinger was friends with Robert Evans. Cheney had no style.

WINNER: ONE OF THE ETHNIC MOVIES

BEST ACTOR

Christian Bale Is he Batman? No? Then, fuck him.

Bradley Cooper Is he Rocket Raccon? And is he buddies with Sean Penn? Fuck him..

Willem Dafoe. Look at this bullshit:

Admit it: you couldn’t tell whether or not that was a satire.

Rami Malek Bug-eyed fuck.

Viggo Mortenson Why is he still so handsome and virile? Fuck him.

Nobody wins Best Actor this year.

BEST ACTRESS

Yalitza Aparicio Finally! A good role for a Latina woman in Hollywood. (She plays the maid.)

Glenn Close The woman’s been in four films a year for the past three decades. She’s the white Samuel L. Jackson. As to what particular movie she’s been nominated for at present, I haven’t the foggiest.

Olivia Colman I have no idea who this person is.

The Lady Gaga She won’t win. Hollywood doesn’t let dilettante outsiders waltz in and win the big prize their first go-round. Unlike some cities I could name.

Melissa McCarthy Comedians and comic actors always pull this shit: they get successful and the first thing they do with their new power is stop being funny. Bill Murray demanded that the studio fund The Razor’s Edge if they wanted him to do Ghostbusters, and Jim Carrey spent a decade trying to be meaningful, maaaaaaan, and now Melissa is a mopey drunk with a terrible haircut. You just wait: two more hits and Kevin Hart will make Paramount pay for his version of Raisin in the Sun.

WINNER: Glenn Close, I guess.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

Mahershala Ali I have never attempted to say this man’s name out loud in public. I would screw it up and Twitter would cancel me.

Adam Driver Does he play a sullen mumbler in this one? Because I have seen Adam Driver in two roles (Star Wars and the underrated Logan Lucky) and he was a sullen mumbler in both. I have no need for sullen mumblers. Gimme a James Spader who sings his damn lines.

Sam Elliot Would his mustache receive a smaller, more bristly Oscar statue? Because 90% of Sam Eliot’s performances are the ‘stache.

Richard E. Grant He’s just fucking desperate for this award. He’s all over the talk shows and social media and I’m sure at every meet-the-voters cocktail party in Beverly Hills. Dignity, Dicky.

Sam Rockwell Love this man. Forget Dwayne Johnson: Sammy is the real Rock. Better Sam than Sam Elliot, and that’s a fact.

WINNER: Just give it to Grant; he’ll have a breakdown if you don’t.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS

Amy Adams One of these days I’m gonna be able to tell her and Rachel McAdams apart. This is not that day. Those two are the female Dylan McDermott/Dermot Mulroney.

Maria de Tavira I have no idea who this woman is and neither do you.

Regina King Regina King’s name means “Queen King.” Isn’t that fun?

Emma Stone She can pee in my eyes. I’ll keep them open, perhaps with clips like in Clockwork Orange, and Emma Stone can blast my eyeballs with her versatile and expressive urine. Hell, she can pee in my butthole. I don’t even know how that would work, but I would let her do it.

Rachel Weisz Emma Stone can also pee on Rachel Weisz. That would be a party.

WINNER: Emma Stone’s healthy and wide urethra.

A High Honor

December 8, 2017 / / 1 Comment

For Your Consideration

Those are three important words in Hollywood, Enthusiasts. There’s “I love you,” and “Where’s the coke?” or “Ronan Farrow called,” but “For Your Consideration” has ’em all beat. They are a mantra of supplication, your opening bid for immortality (or a temporary version of it); those words are a magical incantation, Enthusiasts. Say it once: tuxedos; say it twice; gowns; say it three times, and Jack Nicholson’s sitting up front wearing his sunglasses inside. But if you say it juuuuuuust right, then your asking price quadruples.

Long Strange Trip, Enthusiasts, is up for an Oscar, sorta maybe. The acclaimed documentary has been placed on the Short List for Best Feature Documentary: out of 170 films, the voters picked 15 for further perusal and another round of ballots. On the 23rd (1/23/17, if you insist), the final five nominees will be announced and then the winner gets…excuse me, the Oscar goes to one of ’em in the dead middle of a four-hour show hosted by Jimmy Kimmel.

Now, you and I and the Academy all know that LST is much better than those other 14 pieces of dogshit, but this is Los Angeles and “the movie actually being good” is only one of the interlinking qualities a film must possess to win the coveted golden tchotchke. (Fun fact: neither Chachi nor Greta Schacchi has ever been nominated for a golden tchotchke.) Winning an Oscar requires three avenues of attack:

  1. Quality.
  2. Bribery.
  3. Schmoozery.

Let’s take LST‘s artistic achievement as a givenand move on to number two: bribery. It takes a shitload of cash to win an award worth about $400 in gold plating. “For Your Consideration” really is a bit of a magical phrase: you have to slather it all over full-page ads in the Hollywood Reporter and Variety to let the town know you’re serious about being considered. You can’t just send out a mass e-mail or post on your Instagram account, nuh-uh. Full. Page. Ad. At least once a week in both rags from now until voting is over, and that’ll run you.

And parties. Gotta throw a party or two for the Academy. Cocktails for the rank and file, maybe host a dinner party for the influential folks, and this ain’t some Milwaukee kegger, no: this is a Hollywood party with extra expenses. Cocaine, and orifices, and alibis have to be provided.

You have to throw these parties because they are where you schmooze. Cajoling, wheedling, dealing from the middle of the deck, buttonholing, hollering, strategic negging, rumor-spreading, blackmailing, flirting, nipple-tweaking, negotiating in shaky faith, bullshitting, horsetrading, bird-dogging, begging, threatening, fetching the universe from within your ass, insinuating, massaging the facts, accusing the messenger, assaulting the bartender, and–if you feel it won’t hurt–just being yourself.

You know: schmoozing.

What we need, Enthusiasts, is a solid plan; a path to victory. (I won’t lie to you: I need this one. I think an Oscar can fill an Al Franken-sized hole in my heart. Let’s start out 2018 right.) Luckily, I have such a plan, and here’s what the key players need to do:

Amir Bar-Lev, Director You know what show biz is, Amir? It’s a game of inches. You win by inches, you lose by inches, and sometimes if you want something bad enough, you take some inches. Or give some. Basically what I’m saying, Amir buddy, is that you’re gonna have to fuck your way onto that stage. God gave you those blue eyes for a reason, and now you’re going to fulfill your destiny. Men, women, Martin Landau’s corpse: doesn’t matter what you think, pal; if they give you the green light, take your dick out.

(WARNING: this is the single worst moment in American sociopolitical history for a straight white man to try to fuck his way to the top. Nevertheless, I believe in you. Fuck for all of us, Amir. Fuck us up that mountain.)

Eric Eisner, Producer Eric, you need to call your father, Michael Ovitz, and have him do something.

Justin Kreutzmann, Producer Justin, you need to call your father, Bill Kreutzmann, and have him do nothing.

Ken Dornstein, Producer Ken, I don’t know you, so you’re going to be the tech guy. Every team needs a tech guy. You’re like Ving Rhames in the Mission Impossible movies, but–I am assuming–not an enormous black man. Or, if you wish, the one guy in Ocean’s 11 who wasn’t famous or Chinese. You get a van with all sorts of knickknacks and doodads, and you get to deliver tense, whispered dialogue like, “You’ve got twenty seconds,” and “I’m in!”

Alex Blavatnik, Producer Martial arts expert.

Nick Koskoff Master of disguise/help Justin keep his dad out of the process.

Martin Scorsese, Executive Producer Please don’t get accused of anything in the next few weeks.

Bob Weir, Bob Weir Bobby, put the guitar in the Tesla, drive to LA, and sing some cowboy songs for fancy people in a living room off Benedict Canyon. You’re our secret weapon. If you could bring Josh with you, so much better.

All right, everybody got their assignments? Okay, “Grateful Dead” on three. One, two–

Jackass!

–three. Yes?

Did you think to, perhaps, congratulate Amir and the rest of the team on an incredible honor?

Is that not what I’ve been doing for 800 words?

No. Not at all.

Well, that’s what I meant. Hollywood types are smart enough to read between the lines.

Something something cocaine joke.

Things The Oscars Can Do

February 26, 2017 / / 1 Comment
  • Go fuck themselves.
  • Stop being so nice to Roman Polanski.
  • Continue fucking themselves.
  • Harblegarble diversity blackpartsmatterwhitewashingbetterredthandeadsuckmyballs.
  • Why did you stop fucking yourselves, Oscars?
  • Give Bobby the Irving Thalberg award.
  • Let Rob Lowe sing again.
  • Seriously, Oscars: fuck yourselves until I tell you to stop or your dicks fall off.
  • Give an impassioned speech about the president; I bet that’ll be the thing to do it.
  • Merge with the Grammys, Emmys, and Tonys and get all this self-suckery out of the way in one night.
  • Announce from the stage that there was an error in last years tabulations, and Leo will have to give his Oscar back.
  • Coat statues with VX, give Best Director to Mel Gibson.
  • Go fuck themselves.

TotD’s Guide To Oscars

January 25, 2017 / / 9 Comments

Oscar The Grouch Best Oscar, hands down: sloppy, cynical, and a homeowner. Big Bird’s adorable and all, but if you had a conversation with BB you would shoot, pluck, and eat his overly-cheerful ass in minutes; don’t even get me started on fucking Elmo. Oscar is the sole inhabitant of that street with any brains in his head. Also, he’s kinda Diogenes.

Oscar Madison Anyone played by both Walter Matthau and Jack Klugman has to be okay. Sloppy and cynical like the Grouch, but only a renter. If I recall correctly, he worked for something called a “newspaper.” I hope I’m spelling that right.

Oscar Gamble Look at this bullshit.

Did you see that bullshit? That’s some good bullshit.

Oscar Little This fan-favorite character from HBO’s acclaimed series The Wire would only rob from other criminals, and the children on the street would announce his presence by yelling, “Oscar’s coming!”

Oscar de la Renta Dead. Fancy.

Oscar de la Hoya Alive. Fancy.

Oscar de la Soul Both alive and dead. Three feet high and fancy.

Oscar Pistorious An inspiration to disabled people all around the world who have been told since childhood that they’ll never be able to shoot their spouses.

Oscar Wilde Poet, playwright, epigrammatist. Had nothing to declare except that he’d like to be let out of jail. One of the greatest celebrants of the English language; following tradition, he died penniless in Paris.

Oscar the Lion Mufasa’s brother

Oscar Meyer. Are you singing the song? You’re singing the song. I have to imagine when Oscar Meyer would deal with bureaucrats and they would ask him to spell his name, he would be all, “You’re kidding, right?”

Oscar the Ambivalent King of the Swedes from 1802-06. Not much got accomplished.

All The Verbs Used To Describe Chris Rock’s Oscar Monologue

February 29, 2016 / / 5 Comments
  • Slayed.
  • Destroyed.
  • Demolished.
  • Decimated.
  • Savagely fucked to death while maintaining eye contact.
  • Kidnapped and sold to foreign perverts.
  • Obliterated.
  • Annihilated.
  • Hiroshima’d
  • Gave every racist watching the Zika virus.
  • Read.
  • Threw shade.
  • Barnswallowed.
  • Teabagged.
  • Threw into the sun.
  • Curbstomped.
  • Ate while alive, genitals first.
  • Something something epic.
  • Epic something something.
  • Something epic something.

Did you even watch?

Of course not.

So you watched the highlight clips this morning?

Fuck, no. I know that Joe Biden sang a song about rape.

Okay.

I know Margot Robbie is astonishingly beautiful, plus she lies about her age.

Shocker.

And I know that Leo shoved his Oscar into several models last night.

Yeah, almost definitely.

Entertainment Options Other Than The Oscars

February 28, 2016 / / 3 Comments
  • Running face-first into an icepick.
  • Volunteering at an old folks’ home and making the wheelchair-bound residents joust with each other.
  • This is much better than the Oscars, honestly:
  • That’s Janelle Monae and she is the best thing since toasted bread, and at no point during her performance do two dullard actors banter with one another.
  • I know the saying is “sliced bread” but the discovery of toast was much more important than some engineer inventing an industrial slicer.
  • Toasting bread tastifies it at an exponential level: if you have crappy bread, toasting it will make it acceptable, but if you start with a quality loaf and chuck it in the toaster for two minutes, you’re in carbohydrate heaven.
  • Plus, I love the fact that toast was obviously an accidental invention: some guy left the bread too close to the fire.
  • “Og! Come here!”
  • “Thog, is this about the wheel again? I told you: you need to invent an axle first.”
  • “No, no: try this bread. It’s unbelievable.”
  • “It’s burnt!”
  • “That’s what you think now, but TRY IT.”
  • “Crunch crunch crunch. Oh, that’s amazing.”
  • “I know, right?”
  • “We should invent butter.”
  • …
  • I may have become distracted.
  • Another option is arson.
  • It’s like my dad used to say: “Son, arson’s always an option.”
  • I miss him.
  • If it is very warm where you are, you could go swimming.
  • If it is very cold, well, you chose to live there and I have no sympathy.
  • How about 9/15/82 from the Capital Centre in Landover, MD? (Check out the setlist: Playing>Crazy Fingers to open the first set, then Let It Grow>Day Job to close it out. Nota Bene: said Playing>CF is all an AUD patch. Good one, but still. Also, the second set goes AUD halfway through Lost Sailor, which is probably Mickey’s doing. Above-average ’82 show with an excellent and weird song selection, but you know: AUD.)
  • Punji jumping.
  • It’s just like bungee jumping, except instead of an elastic cord, it’s a sharpened stick coated with feces.
  • You could not watch the broadcast, and just keep Twitter open on your phone and three or four live-blogs open on your laptop, and then put your head in the oven.
  • Books are still legal, but that might change in November, so try reading.

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