Larry Ratliff

Academy Awards -- The slow must go on

Steve Martin, left, and co-host Alec Baldwin go to the 3-D glasses to look for "Avatar" director James Cameron.  (Courtesy:  houmatoday.com/AP)

It's impossible to "fix" the Academy Awards, but the telecast doesn't have to be this listless.

Maybe it's time to quit tinkering with Hollywood's biggest night and just let Oscar be Oscar; staid and stuffy, yes, but packing the movie industry's most-coveted keepsakes.

Sunday night's ceremonies, as many of you know, were super-sized.  There were two producers instead of one, two hosts instead of one and 10 best picture nominees instead of the traditional five.

Unfortunately, Sunday night's "improvements" were super-sized off Hollywood's 99-cent menu.  None of the changes added to the excitement or kept the 82nd Academy Awards from crawling along at a snail's pace for the usual three and a-half hours.

From the Duh! department

What co-producers Adam Shankman and Bill Mechanic know this morning and the rest of the world knew all along was that doubling down on Best Picture nominees must, by definition, prolong the evening.  You have 10 nominees instead of five, you must show 10 movie trailers (or film clips).

About Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin

Two funny guys.  Two clever guys.  Two gifted talents.  But one too many when it comes to hosting the Oscars.

Bob Hope, the perfect combination of Hollywood insider, star and royalty, did it best.  And he went it mostly alone for a record-breaking 18 times over three decades (1950s, '60s, '70s).

Like Hope, Billy Crystal (my modern-era favorite) knew how to come on with a bang, sling a few barbs at icons staring back at him in the front row and get on with the show.

Martin would have been fine alone, as he was in 2001 and 2003.  Thrown together with Baldwin, the timing (especially from Baldwin) was jerky at best.  Sorry boys, but you don't establish that flawless Hope/Crosby or Martin/Lewis rapport over a few rehearsals no matter how gifted you are.

Gutting Oscar tradition; to have not

I have no problem with movie star newbies like Jeremy Renner of "The Hurt Locker" or Carey Mulligan of "An Education" inching into the spotlight and edging out Hollywood's Old Guard.  These young actors are the real deal and are likely to be around for decades.

There's only so much screen time to spread around, even for a show that appears to hang around forever.  So you may have noticed the absence of Jack Nicholson, Clint Eastwood and even Steven Spielberg this year, just to name a few big names missing from the spotlight. 

I do have a problem, however, when Oscar's producers opt to delegate this year's honorary awards to a "let's do lunch" ceremony and a brief mention during the actual telecast.

From this recliner seat, the mood appeared to be, "Hurry up, Lauren Bacall ("To Have and Have Not," "The Big Sleep") and Roger Corman (B-movie directing god)(who were in the audience), "get your standing ovation over with so we can move on to a prolonged dance segment."

Ah yes, the dance segment

Someone, somewhere got the idea that the Academy Awards telecast, which is already seen by about a billion viewers around the world, must be re-tooled to appeal to a younger audience.

"I know, I know," co-producer Shankman may have said jumping up and down in his seat during production meetings.  (Or maybe not, I'm guessing here.)  "Why don't we toss out all those Best Song performances and replace them with a 20-minute (it seemed to me) dance montage celebrating the movie scores?"

So that's what they did.  Someone turned the Academy Awards over to a judge on "So You Think You Can Dance."

I could go on and on.  For instance, what was up with all the blatant gum-chewing?  Cameron Diaz wasn't the only one caught chomping away.  But please, at least pretend to have a little respect and class.

The moment that made me scream at our TV

First time Oscar ceremonies director Hamish Hamilton ("MTV Video Music Awards") should be banished from the booth forever for missing the key camera shot of the evening.

"Avatar" director James Cameron was sitting directly behind Kathryn Bigelow, director of "The Hurt Locker" and Cameron's ex-wife.

Hamilton blew one of the rare genuinely interesting moments of the evening when he abruptly switched to a wide shot of the Kodak Theater auditorium instead of sticking with Bigelow when she made history as the first woman ever to be named Best Director.

Come on, we all love a good soap opera.  What would happen as Bigelow rose from her chair?  Would she turn around and acknowledge her ex, give him a Bronx Cheer (or worse) or simply ignore Cameron altogether?

Thanks to a bonehead play by a rookie director, about a billion people will never know.

Sorry, Oscar.  You deserve better.

  

Earthly war to top outer-space battle at Oscars

Jeremy Renner is a long shot in the Best Actor's race, although it could be a big night for "The Hurt Locker."  (Courtesy:  Summit Entertainment)

Academy Award predictions often appear to be easy-as-pie slam-dunks.

That's certainly the case going in this year.  Four of the six major award categories seemed to be locked in months ago. 

I should remind you, though, that even though the front-runners have had numerous award-show nights to polish their Oscar acceptance speech, anything can happen when the envelopes are ripped open Sunday night (7 p.m. Central Time) on ABC.

So, let's get right to the predictions, shall we?

Sandra Bullock's first Oscar win could come for a dramatic performance.  (Courtesy:  Warner Bros.)

Best Actress:  Imagine what it must be like to be Meryl Streep these days.  The perennial Oscar nominee draws her 16th Oscar nomination as jovial Julia Child, the late cookbook author.  While Streep is certainly deserving (as she always is), I think the voting members of the Academy are going to reward Texas-based Sandra Bullock for her fine dramatic work as the suburban mom who takes in a homeless African-American teen in "The Blind Side."

Best Actor:  I've been a little too hard on Jeff Bridges this awards season.  The more I look at his nuanced performance as the broken down, alcoholic country singer in "Crazy Heart," however, the more I appreciate it.  I just think the movie itself is a reworked "Tender Mercies" (a much better film).  It'll be Bridges at the winner's podium, although I wouldn't mind seeing George Clooney sneak in a win as the loner frequent flier of "Up in the Air."

Supporting Actress:  If ever there was a slam dunk, it's coming in both supporting categories.  From this aisle seat, it's comedienne/actress Mo'Nique as the abusive mother in "Precious" (the most emotionally charged movie of 2009).

Supporting Actor:  Sometimes you just know.  From the moment "Inglourious Basterds" writer-director Quentin Tarantino focused his camera on Christoph Waltz as vile Nazi investigator Col. Hans Landa, my gut feeling was that I was watching the future supporting actor Oscar winner.  Woody Harrelson ("The Messenger") and Stanley Tucci ("The Lovely Bones") are equally deserving.  But it'll be Waltz.

Director:  This race and the Best Picture sweepstakes are where predicting the outcome becomes an educated guessing game.  You may be aware by now that the Director's race comes down to a standoff between James Cameron ("Avatar") and Kathryn Bigelow ("The Hurt Locker"), who was once married to Cameron.  Bigelow took top honors at the Directors Guild Awards, becoming the first woman to ever win that award in its 62-year history.  I think she'll also become the first woman to walk away with Oscar's Best Director golden statuette.

Best Picture:  Never say never, of course.  But it's extremely rare for the DGA winner not to follow-up with an Oscar win in the biggest race of all.  So it looks like "The Hurt Locker," Bigelow's Iraqi war drama.

There's a caveat, however.  Nicolas Chartier, one of the "Hurt Locker" producers, has been banned from attending the Oscar ceremonies for "an ethical lapse," which means he fired off an e-mail to the voting members urging them to vote for "The Hurt Locker" over "the $500 million film."  

That's an obvious reference to Cameron's "Avatar." "Avatar" and "The Hurt Locker" enters Sunday night's ceremonies with nine nominations each. Frankly, that X-factor makes the Best Picture race impossible to call.  So, I stupidly will anyway.

It'll be "The Hurt Locker."  This is Bigelow's year to roar. 
 

Will 'Hurt Locker' Oscar flap hurt 'Hurt Locker'?

"Hurt Locker" producers (from left) Mark Boal, Kathryn Bigelow, Greg Shapiro and Nicolas Chartier at the recent British Academy Awards.   (Courtesy:  smh.com.au/Reuters)

Big news from Hollywood:

Now that the polls have closed on Oscar voting (as of 7 p.m. Central Time Tuesday), the Academy Awards police have banned "Hurt Locker" producer Nicolas Chartier from Sunday night's awards ceremony for "an ethical lapse."

But that's not the big news:

There are ethics police in Hollywood?

Now we're talking something of stop-the-presses (or press releases) noteworthiness.

According to an item posted on the Hollywood Reporter Web site, even though Chartier (one of four "Hurt Locker" producers) can't take his seat at the Kodak Theater Sunday night, he would eventually get his golden statuette.

The producer's hand was slapped by the executive committee of the Producer's Branch during a special session on Tuesday.

"Chartier disseminated an e-mail to certain Academy voters and other film industry figures in which he solicited votes for his own picture and disparaged one of the other contending films. Academy rules prohibit 'casting a negative or derogatory light on a competing film.'

"In the e-mail, Chartier encouraged those who liked 'Hurt Locker' to vote for it as best picture over 'the $500 million film,' an obvious reference to 'Avatar,'" the Hollywood Reporter article stated.

With the outcome of most of the acting races listed as virtual shoo-ins going into the Oscars shindig on ABC Sunday night, the only real awards drama could come in the showdown between friendly exes James Cameron ("Avatar") and Kathryn Bigelow ("The Hurt Locker") in the best picture category.

Time will tell if Chartier's actions shaded the voting in the big night's most important race.  Or maybe we'll never find out.

Maybe the Hollywood ethics police should check that out as well.

 

New film choices: Polanski, cops & throbbers

Director-in-exile Roman Polanski, left, and Pierce Brosnan on the "Ghost Writer" set.

(Summit Entertainment)

Looking for a new movie to attend this weekend?

I've got some very good news, some extremely bad news and an escape to yet another zombie flick as cinematic choices.

Frankly, I don't care much for Roman Polanski, the person.  I'm not here to judge character, even when it comes to taking an international hike instead of facing justice for a late '70s charge of having sex with a minor.

I spend much of my time judging movies.  And, frankly, Polanski's "The Ghost Writer," starring Ewan McGregor and Pierce Brosnan, is the most accomplished suspense-thriller I've enjoyed in many years.

If you like suspense, intrigue and a cat-and-mouse game with stunning results, don't miss "The Ghost Writer."  Click here for my full review.

"Cop Out," an extremely lame buddy cop action-comedy pairing Bruce Willis and Tracy Morgan, amounts to the bad news, even with Kevin ("Clerks") Smith directing.  Be afraid, be very afraid.  Click here for my review.

And zombie fans can get their undead-in-action fix with "The Crazies."  Click here to view the trailer.

Have fun at the movies this weekend.

And if you spend your hard-earned money on "Cop Out" despite my advice, don't say I didn't warn you.

Things I learned over the weekend

Plano, TX, otherwise known as an unlikely winter wonderland over the weekend. 

Sorry, Southwest, but Silent Bob is just a character name

Kevin Smith in a puffed-huff.

(Courtesy:  viewaskew.com)

Southwest airlines chose the wrong overweight passenger to toss off a plane on a flight from Oakland to Burbank on Saturday.

Kevin Smith, the 39-year-old writer-director of "Clerks" and director of the upcoming "Cop Out," didn't take kindly to being booted from the Southwest flight for spilling over the armrest of one of those roomy airliner seats. 

"You (expletive)ed with the wrong sedentary processed-foods eater!" Smith posted on his Twitter account.

To get the fully, expletive-laced skinny, so to speak, check out Smith's Web site (if you're 18 or older).

Snow eventually melts, you just have to be patient

The frozen tundra, obviously lost and operating without a GPS, descended on North Texas on Thursday and didn't let up until about 48 hours later.

It was fun and weird all at the same time to hear the NBC promomeisters bemoan the lack of snow in Vancouver for the Winter Olympics while the Dallas area was digging out of the white stuff.

How to really surprise the wife

Valentine's Day, as you guys who forgot and are reading this in the doghouse finally know, arrived on Sunday this year.

If you can remember this for about seven years (when Valentine's Day rolls around on Sunday again), here's a tip to really score points with the wife (or hubby).  Find yourself a florist who delivers on Sunday.  They may be rare, but they're out there.

She or he will be convinced no surprise is forthcoming by the time Saturday night arrives.

Then, bingo!  It's Sunday morning and she or he's happier than Olympian Apolo Ohno after a couple of Korean skaters slipped down and let him glide to another medal.

Who dat? Dave, Jay and Oprah, that's who

"Couch potatoes" Jay Leno, Oprah Winfrey and David Letterman.  (Courtesy:  CBS)

Except for the Peyton Manning interception that sealed the Colts' doom late in the fourth quarter on Sunday, the biggest Super Bowl shocker had to be David Letterman, Jay Leno and Oprah Winfrey sharing a couch in a brilliant mock Super Bowl party.

According to the Associated press, CBS offered the "Letterman" show a 15-second promo slot, and Dave ran with it:

Close up of Letterman: "This is the worst Super Bowl party ever."

Widen out to include Winfrey:  "Now Dave, be nice."

Widen out further to reveal Leno:  "He's just saying that because I'm here."

Letterman (in a mocking, whiny voice):  "He's just saying that 'cause I'm here."  (Click here to see the spot)

The only thing that could have possibly been better would have been if Conan O'Brien showed up at the end and accused Leno of taking his spot (on the couch).

Still, TV doesn't get much better than that.

Kudos to Leno for showing up, and bring on the new late-night TV wars!

Celebration in the air, pants on the ground

Oh, when one of the Saints celebrants goes marching in without his pants.  (Courtesy:  Fox-TV)

If you're anything like me (and my condolences if you are), you can't get that "Pants on the Ground" "American Idol" song out of your head these days.

But that's no longer my biggest worry.  My greatest fear is that I've been watching way too much television lately.  And because of that, I keep seeing -- against my will, I might add -- grown men with their pants down. 

TV's vast waistland?  (Courtesy:  NBC-TV)

The first time it happened was Oct. 18.  The wife and I were watching the weekend edition of the "NBC Nightly News" as a gaggle of frenzied reporters and photographers rushed the Balloon Boy hoax house in hopes of getting a get a word with Balloon Boy dad Richard Heene, currently in the slammer but insisting at the time that no hoax had occurred.

As you can see from the accompanying photo that ran under the blog headline  "NBC 'cracks' balloon boy hoax case," either Joe the Plumber was free-lancing on the story or a photographer cared more about the shot he was getting than the shot the photog behind him was capturing.

The off-putting image was only on NBC's national telecast for a fleeting second or two.  But thanks to DVRs and the ability to rewind and pause, NBC was caught, so to speak, with its pants down.

Sunday night, as the New Orleans Saints gathered on the field to celebrate their overtime victory over the Minnesota Vikings in the NFC title game, another fleeting image grabbed my attention.

Take a close look at the photo above.   Specifically, focus on the lower right corner of the photo.  See the guy in the gold sweatjacket? 

Bingo!  Pants on the ground (pants on the ground) and underpants clearly on display as Saints celebrants get down.

Hopefully, this will be my last "pants-down" dispatch.  Maybe it's the critic in me, but I'm going to try to segue into more of a casual TV viewer and save my sharpest observances for the big screen.

Also, it would help if you guys out there would, you know, be a little more pants diligent and keep 'em up.

Fast-forward one year: Conan and Simon who?

I have two slightly annoying problems as I settle into Simon Cowell's abandoned seat as the new designated Grumpy Judge on "American Idol."

(Courtesy:  Fox)

It's not the cross-country commute every week.  Now that I'm making the big bucks, I think it's rather amusing to pay $100 to check my first bag, $250 for the second and $400 (OK, that's a little steep) for Bag 3, which is crammed full of hair color, non-fat yogurt designed to assist, ahem, digestion and, of course, Milk Duds.

In fact, I enjoy spending much of my time in L.A. these days.  I have my own personal waiter, Conan O'Brien, at the Fox commissary.  That angry bolt from NBC and subsequent late-night talk show on Fox unfortunately went limp quicker than Conan's flame-red pompadour.  He's getting better as a waiter, though.  I think the hair net makes the soup if not more enjoyable, at least less full of surprises.

My hangup No. 1 as THE "American Idol" judge is being forced to wear those form-fitting white T-shirts on the air.  Hey, that was Simon's thing.  I just don't have the chiseled body for a T-shirt in public (or anywhere else, for that matter).

Truth be known, my stint on a No. 1-rated San Antonio radio show began to unravel when I balked at wearing a clingy T-shirt during a TV commercial taping session years ago.  So I'm a little sensitive about T-shirts, OK?

As it turns out, us folks of the morning radio crew should have been wearing tank tops.  The show went downhill fast (tanked, get it?) after a so-called "consultant" was brought in and broke up the very successful, top-rated team. 

Simon, smug as ever, still looks good in T-shirts, though, as he parks my rented Mercedes-Benz S-Class in the Fox Studio parking lot.  Sadly, Cowell's "Project X" landed in the Project Dumper after just a few episodes.

How could it compete with the new "Idol" with myself, Paula Abdul (She's back and woozy as ever, yay!), Ellen DeGeneres and Jay Leno on the judges panel?  I can keep up with Jay all right, although my slight hearing loss crosses me up sometimes.  I just have to remember that the high-pitched, whiny voice is Leno and the deeper tones come from Ellen.

Speaking of DeGeneres, that brings us to my other slight dilemma.  Ellen is sharp as a tack and so quick with a comeback that I often pretend I'm distracted by Paula's snoring until I can think of something sour-yet-clever to say.

That's all right, though.  2011 looks like the year I'll finally break the $11 million salary mark.  When I get a little down on myself, it always cheers me up to end my day with "The Tonight Show with Craig Ferguson." 

Now that guy is funny!  What do I care that it comes on at 1:45 in the morning these days (yep, another round of NBC late-night schedule shuffling). 

I'm up trying on girdles and T-shirts anyway.

NBC's new latenight imaginarium

Jay Leno, dumped once by NBC when he was on top in his timeslot, is on the move again.

(Courtesy:  NBC-TV)

In times like these, when there's so much juicy gossip to chatter about, I wish I had a water cooler to, you know, gather around in my one-man office.

Actually, it's not an official office at all, just Bedroom No. 2.  That's of little consequence unless you're me and your wife really prefers that your office be in Bedroom No. 3, which is exactly one foot smaller and, from this office seat, a silly -- and monumentally troublesome -- move to even consider.

But that's not why I summoned this meeting. 

Chances are all you had to worry about this weekend was the outcome of an NFL playoff football game or two and, if you're me, wondering if your water pipes would hold up during what can best be described as a pesky frozen tundra that has gripped much of the nation and particularly, if you're me, North Texas.

Jay Leno, Conan O'Brien and Jimmy Fallon, on the other hand, spent the weekend pondering their fate.

NBC's trio of late-night hosts -- two comics and, well, Jimmy Fallon -- had until today, if published reports are correct, to decide if they'll go along with NBC's plan to yank Leno out of prime time, give him the 11:35 slot (Eastern Time) and push that goofy red-headed guy and Fallon, who used to be funny on "Saturday Night Live," back a half hour.

That, apparently, will appease local NBC affiliate executives, who would rather blame poor ratings on the strength, or, in this case, non-strength of lead-in programming than the substance of their own late news programming.

Alert readers will notice that I cited the Eastern Time Zone in Leno's proposed, or rather imposed move when I, in fact, reside in the Central Time Zone.  That's what we call in the biz (what biz?  I'm working from Bedroom No. 2 here.) a set-up.

In the Eastern Time Zone if Conan the Laugharian's show is pushed back a half hour, that'll mean "The Tonight Show" will be hitting the airwaves at 12:05 a.m.

There are many things we disagree about in this country:  Who should sit in the Oval Office?; Why don't those sweaty folks on "The Biggest Loser" wear more clothes? (Please, I'm begging you!) and, of course, whether my office should be in Bedroom No. 2 or 3.

I'm pretty sure we call all concur, though, that if "The Tonight Show" starts at 12:05 a.m., it should really be re-titled "The Really, Really Early Tomorrow Show."

Mull that over NBC, and make that bold bail-out move if you must.  Just remember to run it by all the namby-pamby local affiliates first.

Oh, and about my water pipes, I'm happy to report that unlike with the NBC shuffle, there have been no harmful leaks so far.

Wait, what's that gurgling noise?

'Spidey 4' caught up in a tangled script web

(Courtesy:  Columbia Pictures)

If you've already marked May 11, 2011 on your calendar to catch the fourth big-screen "Spider-Man" extravaganza, you may have to look for something else to occupy your time that day.

According to an article posted on the Hollywood Reporter Web site and other sources, "Sony and director Sam Raimi are at loggerheads over which direction to go with the villains."

It sounds very much like an impasse that could delay this spring's production launch and, of course, the May 2011 release date.  The good news, anxious Spidey fans, is that you have a little time to pencil something else in for May 11 next year.

According to the Hollywood Reporter article, Raimi, who has been in the director's chair for all three previous Spidey adventures, wants the Vulture as the primary antagonist for the third sequel.

The movie studio is said to be pushing for another villain and a romantic sub-plot involving a burglar dubbed the Black Cat.

'Scuse me, but I have a question.  Is a third sequel really necessary?

Yes and no.  No from an artistic viewpoint, especially since the franchise's visionary leader can't see eye-to-eye with studio suits over Spider-Man's rival and a sub-plot or two.

But yes, oh YES, when it comes to bottom-line Hollywood economics.  The Spidey franchise is a runaway money-making machine.

Methinks if Raimi rages against the machine too much, even the creative genius behind the comic book-to-big screen transformation could become a victim himself going up against the multi-billion dollar revenue machine.