Okay, the woman is crazy. But we knew that. And she was wearing a swan. But we knew that, too. And I'm sure I'll catch shit from some of you on this, but that song had less melodic variety than the recurring one-note piano theme from Eyes Wide Shut. And, oh yeah, she was wearing a swan. I'd have that song stuck in my head for the rest of my goddamn life. If it had fulfilled its artistic intent of actually, y'know, being a song. Anyway, she's seen it all. It's all that she's seen. I'm too literal for Björk. And, right, swan.
"I was going to wear my swan, but to me they're so last year." Thank God for Steve Martin right now.
John Travolta was in arguably the two worst films that came out last year, Battlefield Earth and Lucky Numbers. It's time to admit that his career resuscitating turn in Pulp Fiction was a one-movie-long fluke and not the resurgence only he thinks it is. He introduces the dead people in a barely concealed turn of wishful thinking on the part of the producers. I'm surprised Anthony Hopkins isn't hastily added to the end of the list. The producers have also smartly turned down the mix on the audience for this montage, so that the eight hundred million people watching around the world can't hear who the audience is applauding more loudly for as they choose their favorites among the really famous famous dead people. I'm sad Jason Robards died, personally. Walter Matthau is a really famous famous dead guy.
Here's the Hollywood power duo for the ages. My nominee for Worst Dressed (even her pearls are trying to kill her) Juliette Binoche and the entire legislative branch of Hollywood, Jack Valenti. I wonder what will win best foreign film. Obviously it's the Czech Republic's Divided We Fall, starring Sleebadalik Grossdinflower and Bleeblong Bloooooo. Not. Ang Lee tries to look surprised.
Ben Affleck. Traffic. Have I explicitly mentioned my love for this movie yet? It's really very good. They show the scene with Michael Douglas finding out about his daughter's friend being on mad smack. Weird scene to pick, but it's nice to have another linear clip. Shut up, Ben Affleck. I'll bet he won't even be asked to do a guest spot on Damon.
"Multi-talented recording artist and film star" J.Lo is introduced as an overly lush orchestral version of "Love Don't Cost a Thing" makes me wonder if this is a direct plug for the upcoming release of "The Academy Awards Orchestra Presents Muzak Goes Mainstream!" or if I should be laughing at it based on some entirely different set of reasons. Either way, it's crackin' me up, man. Her piercing stare and transparent sheer top give the distinct impression of four eyes all staring out at me at once, and she demands attention in introducing "Things Have Changed," performed via satellite by Bob Dylan's giant flared nostrils. He and Tom Hanks need to be strapped down and have their upper lips electrolyzed. Dylan, however, has always been a loony, fractured genius, and he can snarl through whatever he wants, wearing whatever he wants. So a four-minute close-up on his right nostril against a black background is, yes, downright Satanist, but it's not that out of the ordinary. You can't win with a losing hand. ["A member of the peanut gallery glanced at this shot while passing from kitchen to smoking alcove and wondered aloud if Blair Witch 2 had gotten nominated for something. Okay, it was me who wondered that." -- Sars] His three bandmates look similarly crazy. Goldie Hawn thinks this song is from the movie Wonder Hawn, as she sits in her seat dancing and looking around to see who's looking at her dancing and cooing back at the monitor as if Dylan is the lead in Bye Bye Birdie sitting on her lap and crooning "You Gotta Be Sincere." Shut up, Goldie Dyl-Hawn. She's old enough to be his very older sister. Frances McDormand looks appropriately thrilled by the experience. Ditto Ed Harris. Danny DeVito sits in his seat, mindlessly gnawing away at a carrot. I…wait, what?
J.Lo looks at the monitor at song's end and laughs nervously like someone's just played a really elaborate practical joke played on her. She recaps (hands off the recapping, sister) the five performances for best original song, and we get to hear clips of all five nominees again, which is acceptable only in its reminder to the population of this planet Earth that there is a song that exists that is worse than "I Love L.A." And that Susanna Hoff knows all the words. Well, half of them, anyway. Björk. Crazy. Sting. Gay. Moving on. Bob Dylan wins the Oscar, and Björk wins this year's second annual Fiona Apple Bratty Youngster Award when she purses her lips in annoyance. At least she waits until she thinks the camera isn't watching her anymore. Even Bob Dylan's speech is remarkably linear and succinctly delivered. What's going on? Steve Martin delivers a bowl of dip to Danny DeVito, who's moved back into prop comedy and pulls out a piece of celery from his lapel. Or maybe it's John Candy. With the sunglasses, well, it's almost impossible to say.