Take that, Michael Medved, you tiny little man.
UPDATE: Well, the clothes were just fabulous. I read this Slate essay arguing otherwise, and I see her point, but I can’t say I miss the days of Cher in a feather explosion, either. Joan and Melissa Rivers may be plagues upon the land, but when Charlize Theron came out in that blue confection, my heart fluttered. Great fashion is great art, and I’d rather my jaw drop for all the right reasons.
That said, does Hilary Swank have an ass crack? I guess only the back of her chair knows for sure.
Just because everyone’s dressing tastefully, it doesn’t mean there isn’t still fodder for pre-game hooting. Hollywood will be giving us plastic surgery victims for some time yet. And I guess we’ll always have Star Jones.
Also, poor Marty, passed over again. Well. I think, if he wants to win, he needs to stop showing up. If all those acceptance speeches from other “Aviator” winners weren’t enough to shame his colleagues into giving him a statue, nothing will. As a refugee from perhaps the only business more fond of award-giving — journalism — all I can say is this: It don’t mean nothin’. Marty’s the best, always will be, end of story.