Rant alert - an Oscar addict confesses

[Sweder]

I feel fairly sure you haven't bothered to follow the Hollywood Love-In that is the 77th Academy Awards. I did. I staid awake all night last night ('till 5.30 am anyway). Why? What on Earth could there be in this vacuous, self-appreciative collaboration between super-rich, re-upholstered, sliced, diced and spliced Lovies? I'll tell you - it's the 'Man United' factor. To clarify (stay with me) whenever I fail to 'follow' (NB: usualy by remote, electronic means but occsionally in the flesh) Man U and they lose I accept full responsibility for the loss. If I'd been there, screaming at the radio, waving frantically at the TV, diving around the living room like Ronaldo in Strictly Come Dancing in a desperate, anguished attempt to affect the outcome, things might have been different. Part of me realises just how pathetic this sounds; nonetheless, it remains a fact of my life, and one not likely to change any time soon. Cards and flowers to my poor family, please.

So it was with the Oscars last night.
Having bleated on to anyone prepared to listen about the altruistic poverty of the over-glitzed, super-hyped Howard Hughes Biopic, The Aviator, and whined incessantly about the virtues of the comparitively financially modest, infinitely (artistically) wealthier talents on offer in Million Dollar Baby and Sideways, I had no choice but to stay with it to the bitter end. Normally this would result in severe grouchiness, horrendous redeye and incalculable damage to my already-suffering back, all to no avail as Hollywood's Dark Side prevailed.

But no. By some miracle of good taste and common sense, the Academy shocked the watching world (alright, the saddo's like me draped over their sofas fighting off leaden eyelids) and made the right choices.
Best Actor aside (Jamie Foxx was always destined to scoop Best Actor for Ray, and so it proved) the shocks were reserved for the Big Five. To reinforce the sense of the inevitable a host of 'minor' statuettes - costume design, editing, cinematography - went to Aviator. The widely predicted avalanche of awards for Scorecese and Co was only a matter of hours, and a host of extremely poor and incestuous jokes, away.

I had always argued that just because Marty got overlooked (wrongly) for Goodfellas and, most unforgivably in my view, Raging Bull, he should not receive the gong for a lesser work. By all means keep one in the 'fridge for his Lifetime Achievement Award in years to come, or even create a cathartic Ammendment Award - 'Dear Marty, we're SO sorry about Forest Gump - please forgive us!' Just don't compound the earlier errors by lauding a bloated, over-long moneypit of a movie over the finer work that is Million Dollar Baby. I hunkered down, preparing to spit feathers and gesticulate wildly, face already a tortured, Fergie-esque puce.

And then the b*st*rds agreed with me.
Best Actor in a supporting role - Morgan Freeman, Million Dollar Baby (his fourth nomination, incredibly his first win)
Best Actress in a starring role - Hillary Swank, Million Dollar Baby
Director - Clint Eastwood, Million Dollar Baby
Film - Million Dollar Baby

The cherry on the whipped cream atop the icing of a giddy night of anti-favorite voting was a gong for The Incredibles (best animation) and for Sideways (original screenplay). Tired, redeye all over the place, for sure;
but one happy bunny right here, sadly guilty of silently punching the air as one by one the false idols slipped away from the expectant cluster of Aviators.

What's so good about Million Dollar baby?
It's impossible to discuss this with someone who's not seen the film, for no other reason than it would spoil the plot twists and lessen the overall impact of the film. Suffice to say everyone I've heard discussing the film cried. Everyone.
Now that's a movie.