I’m in deep distress about tomorrow’s nominees. You guys with your crazy talk of an outcast Dark Knight and multiple nominations for a brackish green muscle car has me freaking right out. Hasn’t there been enough nastiness on the screen over the past two or three years without upping the ante on brutal boorishness this season? Sure, the world is a mess, but I need to see the ravishing side of the ruins to keep my spirits up. Show me the poetry in a plastic scrap of trash caught in a whirlwind while we’re thinking about how to clean things up.
I’m not playing along with the Oscar for Best Sweatiest Sleaziest Thug this time around. I can handle junkyard robots and tortured slumdogs, but only if they give me something smile about. So I’m choosing my nominee predictions almost entirely on the basis of their ability to be beautiful screw-ups. No matter what happens in the morning, I’m wallowing in my Oscars of Solace tonight. Chase the rainbow with me, after the cut.