Some of you may recall that I was a little peeved when the Academy Award nominations came out this year. The snubs of The Dark Knight, Revolutionary Road, and Bruce Springsteen seemed like they were pointed at me personally. The Dark Knight and Bruce are understandable enough (I am me, after all), but I feel it is important to note here that when I am sitting here saying that Revolutionary Road – a movie I didn't like very much, based on a book I like even less, directed by a man I want to murder so I can steal his wife – should have been recognized, it's a fair bet to say that it is pretty freaking good and that given these slights the Motion Picture Academy's status as a barometer of quality is, at the very least, questionable.
My idea, then, was to stage my own one-man boycott of the Oscars. In a great fit of pique I came up with a plan to watch The Dark Knight during the telecast, thus giving my pathetic little protest some ironic heft. I am not a Nielsen family, of course, so my protest would be unrecognized, unrecorded and largely meaningless, but there are times when it is important to do the right thing whether it will be recognized or not. This was not one of those times. There is, however, value yet in adhering strictly to one's principles, even if your principles are idiotic and that value is nothing more than getting to tell everyone about it after the fact.
So last night I sat there, not watching the Academy Awards for the first time since I was ten years old. I thought, this will be nice. I can make some headway into one of the four books I'm reading. Maybe play a game. Organize my shelves. I'll get to bed early. This will work out nicely for everyone.
I am proud to say that I managed to successfully not watch the Oscars for almost a full ninety seconds before the compulsive part of my brain said, "hm, yes, excuse us, we really do admire your courage and tenacity and how astoundingly principled you are and all that, but if you don't turn on that Oscar show right this fucking second we're going to hop on the next train to Nervous Breakdown City."
I said, "okay, now, see here, I promised myself – "
"ALL ABOARD!" the compulsions said.
I muttered, "fine," and turned it on just in time to see Hugh Jackman start his bit.
As I watched him do his first number my brain said, apologetically, "you didn't really want to watch The Dark Knight again anyway." And that's true, I didn't really. While I can think of faster ways to commit suicide than watching The Dark Knight over and over again I cannot come up with any that are quite as painful. Spending three-plus hours watching an Academy Awards that have all but publically admitted they bear no meaningful relationship to popularity OR quality is, in the end, preferable to spending that same three hours watching The Dark Knight, which I am now fairly certain is the real-world equivalent of Snow Crash, a multimedia virus that worms its way into your brain and turns your synapses to mush.
During the first commercial break I actually picked up the Dark Knight DVD and, in a Schindler's-List-Brokeback-Mountain moment, stared at it and said out loud to myself, "why did I BUY this?" The more I think about it the more I can't help but conclude that I could have spent that twenty dollars on something that actually makes me HAPPY. True, with alcohol, drugs, and cigarettes off the shopping list and gas prices climbing again twenty bucks doesn't buy me as much happiness as it used to, but at least we can be sure that unless I had spent that money on bootleg DVDs of the complete filmography of Joss Whedon I wouldn't want to kill myself quite so much after watching whatever I bought with it.
Two important things to note here: a) Microsoft doesn't recognize "filmography" as a word, which is stupid because it totally is, and b) do not worry about looking up stuff about Joss Whedon in the expectation I will ask questions about him tonight. I will not. Though now that I think about it a "list ten Joss Whedon lines that make you want to stab paring knives into your brain in the vain hope that it will make you un-hear them" speed round has a certain poetic beauty to it.
Oh, and, Kate: congratulations on finally winning. We are all very proud of you. Don't you think your husband looks incredibly gay with that beard? I'm just saying. Something to think about.
JLK
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