The Oscars
Written by Emperor Ethan
Last Sunday the earth trembled as celebrities and movie stars from across the land emerged from their forbidden island fortresses, unthawed from frozen carbonite, and possessed the bodies of helpless vassal-slaves from that planet in Stargate. So great was this monumental coalition of stardom, that time seemed to stop, gravity reversed its pull, and every magnet in the world lost its polarity. For one glorious and magnificent moment, the universe stood still in its rotation and hung on its eternal axis before rolling over and collapsing into an infinite abyss of nothingness, sending a billion billion stars falling into chaos. But then Chris Rock announced that the audience had to “sit [their] asses down� and all was well.
Speaking of Chris Rock, no one in the audience seemed to pick up on his deliciously subtle, yet cutting brand of black person humor – I almost felt sorry for the guy, but then I remembered that he starts his day by descending from his levitating crystal palace to sculpt giant images of himself out of million dollar bills and naked women.
As far as the actual contest of winning an Oscar, nothing incredibly unexpected happened. Johnny Depp lost again for best performer – I’m sure that the rage he must be filling has driven him to beat his island-slaves with an extra special venom after they bring him helpings of American flags to defecate on and/or eat. Martin Scorsesi was swindled out of his precious best picture by some movie directed by Clint Eastwood’s corpse in six hours called Million Dollar Baby which until a few nights ago I thought was a prequel to Richie Rich or maybe Frank Zappa’s illegitimate daughter. Turns out it was some heartfelt fighting movie about The Next Karate Kid deciding she wanted to box and make it to the big league with the help of Morgan Freeman. And then maybe she gets pregnant and someone offers her a lot of money for her child or something, I don’t know.
However, next year I plan on bringing home best performance. I’ve been studying what the public wants, and what it loves, and I’ve boiled down the movie-going audiences desire into one perfect formula. Its going to be about a middle aged guy who is unhappy with his life and awkward around women, but then he meets a free spirited girl and his friend gives him some funny advice and there’s a lot of sexual tension between the two. The middle aged man and the free-spirited girl that is. If there was sexual tension between the man and his advice giving friend, it’d be a different kind of movie. Oh, and later his character changes so that he’s not as quiet or reserved or awkward and he talks to the girl a lot more cause she’s the only one who he feels like he can relate to in this crazy mixed up world. And then towards the end they’ll be an artsy shot of some trash and probably the sky. I’m thinking of calling it Sideways, Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, Lost in Translation, Jesus’ Son, Adaptation, American Splendor, American Beauty, or Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla. The following year will be when I release my new and invigorating horror movie about creepy looking children and maybe there’s something Japanese.
Despite my cynicism I keep telling myself that one of these days someone is going to come out with an original concept that’s not about an action-packed historical event, aspiring novice slowly becoming a champion in a sport or other competition, or documentary about Patrick Swayze’s detached floating head traveling through time shooting lasers out of its eyes.
