I’ve always wondered why everyone gets so worked up about
the Oscars. I mean, what’s so great about that gold statue
that can make people go more nuts and generate more talk than any
other award out there year after year?
Just look at the award itself. He’s bald. He’s
shiny. He’s small enough to stand on a tiny reel of film. And
his junk is small enough to be completely hidden behind a thin,
single-blade sword.
Are people just really attracted to short, balding,
under-endowed guys? I doubt it. If the 13-inch, eight-pound golden
statue was a real average-height guy, he’d be about six feet
tall and weigh in at about 45 pounds. That’s like half an
Olsen twin, which is like only a quarter of an eating disorder.
Totally not as fun.
So is all the hype just random? Or does the Academy of Motion
Picture Arts and Sciences just have a really pushy publicity team?
Maybe what makes it so special is the fact that it’s the only
thing older than the ancient Clint Eastwood.
I think the real reason the Oscar has been so successful all
comes down to one thing; it’s just plain cooler than all the
other awards out there. That might not be saying much, however,
cause the other trophies out there aren’t that special. But
you have to give the Oscar a little credit.
He’s pretty easy to grab and wave around during an
emotion-filled speech, especially if you’re Halle Berry;
it’s so compact and sleek and almost perfectly aerodynamic
that it makes any award winner look totally hot by comparison.
Alright, maybe not any award winner. No matter how many Oscars you
put in his hands, Peter Jackson, (that dirty looking guy who did
those hobbit movies) still looked like he would be trading in his
after-party invitations for some food stamps and a trip to the
nearest soup kitchen.
It’s way better than any other award out there. Take the
Emmy, for instance. It might be equally fancy, but it’s also
a lot more dangerous than doing something like giving Paris Hilton
your personal cell phone number. I’m truly surprised no
overzealous, aging soap star has tripped and impaled themselves on
those razor sharp angel wings. (Please be careful Susan Lucci.)
Or what about the Grammy? For one thing, they are way smaller
than the Oscar, not to mention there’s no place to hold onto
them. Sure, it looks cool to see the totally tiny Norah Jones
juggle a bunch of those golden gramophones in her arms, on her
shoulders, between her legs, even with her teeth, but what about
the guy who only got a single award for something like Best Album
Notes? He ends up looking really lame, smiling awkwardly and
holding the lonely little statue in the palm of his hand. And
it’s really difficult to look lamer than Peter Jackson.
If only Jackson was a little shorter and a little less
endowed.
Need a real trophy husband? E-mail Scott at
jscott@media.ucla.edu.