Since this year's Oscars were so predictable and uneventful, we're going to pretty much let it all go without a lot of the usual mean commentary. Besides, FameTracker's recap more than suffices. I feel a little bit bad about making jokes about Jamie Foxx and how his childhood physical abuse made into him the talented performer that the world is juuust about sick of today, so I'll let them do it for me.
Well, OK, fuck it. I am glad Jamie Foxx won this award, because now maybe he can stop going off about how Ray Charles himself was the REAL star of the movie, and it's really all about the music, and the spirit of Ray Charles is the inspiration for all of Jamie Foxx's lowly talent, and on and on as if Ray Charles was some kind of obscure artist who nobody had ever heard of before Jamie Foxx dug his unknown songs out from the vault and gave them as a gift to the world's popular culture. We all know who Ray Charles is. He is probably the most famous soul performer of all time. See you in Booty Call 2, Jamie. And while you're at it, you might want to go to some counseling or something so you don't keep publicly confessing your childhood experiences that most people would consider traumatic personal events.
Martin Scorsese: we really believed it was your year, but as Rungu says, it is sort of fun in a cruel way to watch him bring out his hugely expensive epic Academy-pandering movies, only to see every single one of them shot down year after year. The Guardian nicely documents his moment of getting sucker-punched by the Academy, yet again.
We also bring you Cintra Wilson's annual hilarious recap (brief ad brings you to the article,) featuring especially funny commentary on the heinousness that she calls "Banderas! The Unquenchable Thirst for Shame."
And just in case you missed it, here is Hilary Swank's muscular back.