A Night At The Oscars.

Well it’s Oscar time again. I, like so many millions of my fellow Americans, worked myself into a tizzy, totally wrapped up in the glitz and the glamour, of tinsel town’s biggest night. I was dying to know who Cameron was wearing. I waited with anticipation for the shockingly outrageous comments from Joan Rivers. My eyes welled up and my mouth quivered at some of the intense emotional acceptance speeches delivered from the podium by truly grateful award recipients. Then the E! Network’s coverage of all the hot post-Oscar parties with well informed reporters getting exclusives with Alan Alda….

OK, the reality is I did not watch the Oscar telecast at all. As a film lover, I realize that the Academy Awards is complete bull shit and any recognition of excellence is completely coincidental. I pretty much had this point of view for the last 20 years but everyone else should have been “on board” with my way of thinking the year Gladiator won best picture. My official boycott started when “Saving Private Ryan” was beaten by “Shakespeare in Love.”

I have to admit, this year I was a little interested because I was rooting for Clint Eastwood and his gang of old timers. Keep in mind that I did not see ANY of the nominated movies so for all I know the guy who made “Vera Drake” kicked serious ass but without any direct proof, my money was on Morgan Freeman.

Like I said, it was only of little interest and definitely not enough to watch that disgusting display of ego in its entirety so it was another night of Law and Order. Every once in awhile I would flip over to the Awards and pretty much anything I saw confirmed my pre determined disgust. I’m sure there is a whole laundry list of things about the broadcast that could be held up and ridiculed to the point beyond all reason but there is one thing that caught my eye that made me never go back to that channel for the rest of the night.

I happened to tune in right in the middle of the Academy’s “death medley” which they do every year. This consists of a series of still shots of the stars that died the year before. A shot of Tony Randall, looking very gay, followed by some sound guy no one ever heard of, etc. The volume of applause varies from name to name, face to face, usually causing some awkward moments where you here the proverbial crickets for some and thunderous applause for others.

Enough of this shit already!

What really pissed me off was, during the appearance of each name on the screen, cellist Yo-Yo Ma is on stage playing some funeral dearth on his cello. Every so often they would cut to him, looking all serious, banging out some sad sounding notes. I know I am just speaking for myself but I have to say ENOUGH OF THIS GUY ALREADY!!! Don’t get me wrong, I do not question the man’s talent or character; I just want the mother-fucker off my TV screen.

Starting with the first anniversary of 9/11, when he sat on the stage and played some grim funeral Cello piece as the names of the victims were being read one by one, Yo-Yo seems to be the go to guy when it comes to “somber” occasions. What do the organizers of these events say to themselves?

Executive A: We got a list of names of dead people to read get me Yo-Yo on the horn. His number’s in my 'dex.

And what the hell does Yo-Yo think when his phone rings with an offer for yet another depressing funeral thing:

Yo-Yo: Oh no…not again… you can’t make me do that shit again!!! I am so fed up with this bullshit! (Begins to tear up) I am a Cellist…A damn good cellist… why must I dance for the white man?

These two scenarios are purely hypothetical but can they be far from the truth?

What bothers me about this whole thing is the creatively bankrupt banality that is being projected onto the general public. They want something somber: call Ma. They want something classy: call Ma. They want something dignified: get Yo-Yo’s ass in here.

On 9/11/02, I thought having a classical cellist playing something dignified was original and appropriate. The same can not be said 3 years later. We are still pulling this guy out whenever we want instant “atmosphere.” The whole Yo-Yo/Cello/Quiet reflection thing needs to be laid to rest.

On the other hand...

On the other hand, I guess we could consider ourselves lucky. The guys in charge of this fiasco could have accidently called Yoko Ono by mistake and we could have been subjected to banshee like screetching and screaming while the picture of the guy who directed "King of Hearts" flashes on the screen

Sixth Army