From the opening strains of Hooray for Hollywood, viewers knew they were in for something wonderfully original when Alan Degenerate took to the stage of the Raymond & Dottie Chandler Pavilion to host last night’s Oscar giveaway.
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This reporter was on the beat at Hollywood and Highland covering the show live off the big screen inside a jam-packed Mal’s Drive-In. (My press credentials must have been lost in the mail.)
Sadly, I saw only one of this year’s nine best picture nominees and the only reason I saw Omaha was based on Junie Squabb’s recent spread in FHM.
Wall Street Wolf looked like filth and Americans Hustled looked like imitation filth. She was another attempt by Spiked Jones to prove to the world that he, not ex-wife, Sophie Ford Cupola, directed Lost in Transition. I tried watching Gravitas, but the stereophonic effects brought on motion sickness and the cardboard glasses gave me a headache in my ass. I guess now I’ll have to see 12 Years Enslaved, even though the preview attraction makes it looks like Schneider’s List for the blacks.
Were those Oscar-shaped condoms flanking the presenters?
Was that really Lorna Minnelli in attendance all duded-up in a shimmering electric blue ensemble? Since when did Sy Devour put in a line of off-the-rack quinceañera gowns? Why didn’t they let her sing the tribute to her momma instead of Pinko? For those of you too young to remember, Lorna is the daughter of the late, great Beverly Garland. Just ask her! Lorna never looked lovelier. The older she gets, the more she resembles her equally dead father, Sid Loft.
Hey, Liza Luft: the turkey's done!
In the precious and few department, Gabouree Sybian, looking ravishing in purple, yucked it up alongside beanpole Anna Schmendrick. I smell the makings of next year’s Melinda McCartney & Sandy Bollocks! "Anna, come take care of mama."
How many cutaways did we have to endure of pornographer Martin Scorcese and Mrs. Helen Howard Scorcese, she the one sporting the perpetual hangdog look? They should have parked the little spaghetti-twirler in the last row. Who can see over his eyebrows? And what kind of gumar never once cracks a smile on the night her husband could — but didn’t HA! HA! — take home an Oscar? She's on the arm of the hottest piece of man-ass in the room and from the look on Helen’s face, you’d think her colon was about to burst. Don’t let the green-eyed monster rear its ugly head, Helen! Marty’s fling with Minnelli happened decades ago when the coke was doing the thinking for him. You know what you should do, honey? Try a little more smiling and a little less frowning and maybe you won’t have so many telephones thrown in your general direction! And I wish I had in my wallet what He purportedly spent on tootski for the flight back to Little Italy!
A face in the crowd
Perry Tyler on stage at the Oscars?! Shouldn't he be taking drink orders or parking cars?
Chipmunk Junie Squabb — the one woman I’d bang harder than a screen door in a Nebraska tornado, were my wife to let go of the leash for just one night — looked positively Munchkin-like in her Emerald City Green Jerry Maren designer original.
There are 15 cuts in Gravitas. What's with the best editing award?
The Butler did it to Sid. How fitting that Mr. Pibbs himself, Sid Porter, the man who signed such Hollywood milestones as Let’s Do It Again, Hanky Panky, and Ghost Dad, was on stage at the Agfa Theatre to hand out the best direction award. Thank goodness he was able to rely on lanky Angie Jolly as his walking stick.
I didn't know Prof. Irwin Corey was still aliv...oh, that's Bill Murray.
Wasn’t it nice of Jesus Leto — who was kind enough to thank Alan Degeneres before acknowledging anyone who actually worked on the film — to bring Kevin Space’s mother as his date?
Pretty ballsy of lesbian Degenerate to crack wise about Jonas Hall’s prosthetic wand in Wall Street Wolf. “You showed us something we haven’t seen in a long time,” quipped the penis-allergic talk show host. She must not have seen Bad Grandpa, a film, which by the way, was robbed in the best makeup category! How did they ever get 63-year-old Jackson Nicoll to look so young?
Jim Cary imitating Bruce Darn = the first time the comic has made this reporter laugh in over a decade. Not so funny was the Disney-centric animated tribute he introduced. What gives, doc?
Feral Williams and the Crosby Kids were robbed by that Frigid wasteland!
Funniest line of the night: movie star wannabe Degenerate referring to Woody McConnaughy as "My co-star from ED-TV."
As smashing as Degenerate looked modeling this year’s Siegfried and Roy collection, I actually missed Seth MacFarland.
According to Facebooks friend, John Schlitz, “Judging by the numbed look on Kim Novack’s face, it's highly appropriate that she announced Frozen as best animated feature.”
"Where do you get your balls big enough to call this pizza? Get that [email protected]
$&ing toast with catsup and yellow cheese away from me. Give it to Hill. He'll eat anything. Now that you should see!"
Why did they playing the theme from To Kill a Hummingbird as walk-on music for Bradley Copper? And since when does Morris Jarre do commercial endorsements for Sprint?
Who did John Stamos fellate to get a seat in this full house?
The studio’s gamble on unknown Lupino Morong’O paid off as the Kenyan-American actress took home this year’s Haing S. Nor award for Best Supporting Actress. She is the only actress on record to appear in an Airport sequel before bad career decisions forced her to cash in on her trophy.
I can understand overlooking Jonathan Winter in the parade of the dead; a little of his mental patient routine went a long way. But Eleanor Parker? Was I the only one who wanted her to press a Luger to Junie Andrew’s temple and fire in The Sound of Mucuous? And who will ever forget Sophie Cantero, the old lady twice surprised by Frank Fane in The Oscar? Someone deserves to be shot for this heinous oversight.
Oscar?! The should award the gentlemen who came up with a new way to overturn cars the Noble Piece Prize.
Steve McQueen and Ali MacGraw.
How much did it cost Harvey to buy this year’s Best Doc award? Good work! I was 20 seconds away from boredom during The Act of Killing Time. Too confusing!
Kate Blankett gave a better performance last night than she did imitating Gene Rowlands in Jasmine Blew. Why didn’t the haughty clothes hanger thank Mia Furlough for her Golden Globes promotional boost? I happen to agree with Mia. Woodrow Alan married one daughter and molested another. Blankett didn’t deserve to win!
According to the little woman, Eugenia Stiff, “Somewhere between Laugh-In and laff lines, Goldie Hahn’s gold got scraped off and was replaced by rubber tin.” She also quipped, “A facially upholstered Betth Meddler treated her anthem, You Are the Gas From Out My Ass, as if it were a command performance for the Pope.” Why no sequel to Four the Boys? WHY? WHY? WHY?
Finally from Mrs. Stiff, “Merle Street preening at every mug-ham chance from her front aisle seat. Jack Nicklauson did that schtick better.”