Leaving the Oscars in her (gold) dust tonight

Here we are, the last Sunday in February — aka, Oscar Night.

As everyone knows by now, this evening in the Dolby Theater in Hollywood, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences will honor the best films (and their writers, directors, actors, et al) of 2018 as they present the 91st annual Academy Awards.

Just like the rest of the country (and the globe), I don’t know who’s going to win tonight. And, with the exception of the Best Actor and Best Original Song categories, I sorta don’t care.

Here’s why: the inevitable long-winded, agenda-driven, I-have-a-captive-audience-in-the-room-and-watching-on-TV, rage rant that has become synonymous with televised award thank-you speeches.

Um, yeah, I think I might just color my gray roots instead.

It’s not that I don’t love seeing all the over-the-top, barely-there, be-careful-not-to-lift-your-arms-too-high designer gowns and spiffy tuxedos in all the colors of the rainbow. I do.

It’s not that I’m not tempted to host a theme party complete with a red carpet in place of the welcome mat and dotted by chilled cherry champagne cocktails that are rimmed in gold-specked sugar and served in my Waterford crystal atop a golden platter.

It’s not that I don’t want to welcome a horde of A-listers (or as I call them, my family) and treat them to a table full of gourmet appetizers such as crusted French baguettes topped with goat cheese and bacon or grilled coconut shrimp or baked brie with apple wedges and cracked pepper wafers — all topped off and highlighted by star-shaped sugar cookies drowning in edible golden glitter. I am.

It’s not that I don’t want there to be a tie for Best Actor between my two faves up for the shiny trophy this year: Bradley Cooper and Rami Malek for their respective performances as Jackson Maine in “A Star is Born” and Freddie Mercury in “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Each of them is more than deserving. OK, fine, and a cutie patootie.

Anyhow, I’d love nothing more.

All I know is they don’t make movies like they used to and winner thank-yous aren’t as brief and gracious as they were in bygone eras, capisce?

Remember the 1955 Oscar winner “Marty” starring Ernest Borgnine (who also nabbed Best Actor for his portrayal of the title character)? It was a sweet, simple story of an Italian-American butcher from the Bronx who finally finds love at age 34 and must decide if he should cling to his new and only gal pal or listen to her naysayers (his buddies and overbearing mother).

True love wins out in the end — but you’d never see an innocent tale like that taking top prize these days. Marty simply wasn’t evil enough or damaged enough, I guess.

And what about Grace Kelly’s acceptance speech for Best Actress in “The Country Girl” that same year?

“The thrill of this moment keeps me from saying what I really feel. I can only say thank you with all my heart to all who made this possible for me. Thank you.”

That was it and POOF! she was gone. No ire, no anger, no cussing or spitting on anyone or calling your least favorite politician a horse’s hiney. Nah, Grace just had, well, grace.

Unless you’re thanking God, your parents and your significant other (and in THAT order) tonight, Oscar winners, I’m saying thanks but no thanks.

Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist who just wants “Shallow” to win for best original song. And she wouldn’t mind if Sam Elliott got the Best Supporting Actor statue, either. Send your picks to www.patricia kimerer.com.


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