The Oscars came and went this Sunday, and kind of like someone's parodied grandparents they were slightly racist and left you feeling sleepy. It was the Academy's answer to the Anne Hathaway/James Franco hyper-disaster of last year. Their youth and seeming lack of preparation was answered by Billy Crystal's jowls and professionalism. He was the Nyquil to their uppers, the back-in-my-day-silent-films-weren't-just-an-artistic-statement voice that was beaten over our heads the entire show. "Films are so great! Here are a lot of actors you might know, who are in films you've actually seen and who
also think movies are great! Come back to us! PLEASE!?"
But I'm being cynical. It certainly wasn't the best Oscars, but it wasn't terrible. There were some highlights, and there were some low, low moments.
Will Ferrel and Zach Galifianakis banging cymbals in Brad and Angelina's face?
Angelina's hilarious, escaping leg?
Octavia Spencer making everyone cry with her acceptance speech and general awesomeness? All fantastic.
And Octavia
looked fantastic, too:
By far and away my best dressed vote of the night.
But not everyone could win last night—the Oscar
or Damsel approval. Emma Stone's
adorable presenting couldn't distract from the
ginormous WTF bow around her neck. Damsels were confused over the state of
Rooney Mara's boobs, and even more concerned about the
asphixiation (and perhaps escape?) of J Lo's lady bits. There was a lot going on, and sometimes we were distressed.
But my worst dressed vote of the night did not go to a wardrobe malfunction or even the
blue rash of lace engulfing Lily Collins. No Damsels. It goes to our dear mansel Brad Pitt.
Though their love triangle drama may be in the past, I find it a bit insensitive of Bradleykins here to be unabashedly copying Jennifer Aniston's haircut. Let the girl have ONE thing, Brad.
