I’ve often mocked the hours of pre-game coverage of major sporting events on TV like the Grey Cup or Superbowl. That I don’t understand or like football clearly doesn’t increase my tolerance. Who needs to see game highlights from previous (often decades old) contests? Or suffer through mind-numbing stats rattled off by expert panels of former athletes and colour guys? Or pre-game interviews with coaches, players, and hangers-on who alternately talk trash about the opposition team or earnestly declare how they intend to give 110%. Not this kid. Each time I do learn the final score only so I can make small talk if I need to.
Yet, as I write this I’ve had one eye and one ear on E! in what has literally been hours of pre-Oscar coverage. And we haven’t even gotten to the Red Carpet yet. Oi. Part of me hates to admit I’m sucked in by something this shallow. The other part says I need an inane antidote to the blistering and relentless bad news world of Trump. Can’t a girl have a few hours of total escape into the alternate reality of Hollywood’s rich and famous?
I saw hosts do segments on how to embellish cleavage, penned puppies picking winners, and movie animals. Celebrity hair stylists like Ted Gibson did makeover dos. He transformed long blond hair into a flaming red bob length ala Emma Stone. Ross Mathews inadvertently created an Oscar acceptance speech by answering random, nonsensical questions. Canadian fashion stylist Brad Goreski identified fashion trends from New York Fashion Week he hoped to see on the Red Carpet: full skirts, pants (suits and jumpsuits), feathers, one shoulder, colour, velvet.
Of course, it was impossible to escape politics as host Jimmy Kimmel and others made their points, both in-your-face and subtle through the night. In a surreal moment, a busload of tourists was paraded into the facility and past the front row of stars. Between shaking hands, hugging, and taking selfies with A-listers, it was a bit of a spectacle and further delayed the process.
In the most bizarre ending ever, La La Land received the Best Picture award and acceptance speeches were made before it was determined there’d been a mistake. At first I couldn’t tell if Warren Beattie was either just acting coy or had lost it. The morning after, it seems that Price Waterhouse Cooper screwed up; the presenters had the envelope for Best Actress not Best Film. Before long, Moonlight was crowned the rightful winner. In another flub, a photo of someone very much alive was included in the In Memoriam segment. Oops.
The post-Oscars weighing in about Best and Worst Dressed proves, yet again that opinions are subjective and so much fun. The Dakota Johnson and Janelle Monae dresses were gawd-awful in my opinion. All in all, not a bad way to spend a Sunday from where I sit.
Hazel Anaka’s first novel is Lucky Dog. Visit her website for more information or follow her on Twitter @anakawrites.