Thursday, January 22, 2009

A Day In the Life of an Academy Award Voter

The nominees for the 81st Academy Awards were announced this morning, and conspicuous by its absence among the nominees for Best Picture was The Dark Knight. I've made my feelings on that film clear; anyone who brands it anything less than a masterpiece is a dolt of Gumpian levels. Nevertheless, all I will say is that I think an injustice has occurred, and I'll leave it at that. I refuse to use this space as a forum to sully the good name of all the intelligent, worldly Academy voters. After all, they are more sophisticated than any of us common folk who saw The Dark Knight three or four times.

The Oscar voting is incredibly secretive, but today, we're in luck. One of many Oscar voters responsible for The Dark Knight not being up for Best Picture has penned a guest blog taking us through a typical day in the life of an Oscar voter. I think it will be interesting to get a look into the mind of a member of our society's cultural elite. The voter's name? Buddy, a chimp doped up on sleeping pills. Take it away, Buddy.

I have fallen under heavy criticism for my failure to nominate The Dark Knight for Best Picture. I insist that this cartoonish film is beneath me, and in order to display that, allow me to take you through each part of my incredibly cultured and thoughtful day.

I start every morning with a screening of a foreign film. Something with subtext and a deeper meaning that most Hollywood films lack. Something that was definitely missing from The Dark Knight. I do this all from the confines of my king-size bed, which is shaped like a banana.

It takes me about two hours to actually get out of bed, as the pills take quite some time to wear off. I usually summon my butler, Jeeves, around 8:30, and he has to pick me up and dress me. He then drives me to a nearby art gallery, where I explain to everyone why they do not truly understand all the masterpieces on display. I end up passing out four or five times per visit, but I make sure I don't fall on any of the exhibits. I also have Jeeves sweep the building prior to my entrance to make sure no one has a banana, as the mere sight of one would cause me to screech and holler uncontrollably. I always end up at the Picasso exhibit, where I shed a tear. Such genius is what I look for in the films I vote for. I then jump around, spit at the paintings, pass out, and have to be dragged out out of there.

Then it's off to my local theatre to view some arthouse films. No Hollywood schlock for me. Only independent features that deal with serious issues. If it has a budget over a million dollars, I refuse to even watch it. That's not to say I won't criticize, however. If I see a film that fails to inspire me, I give it the harshest criticism I can bestow: my pooh, flung at the screen.

After my afternoon matinee, I head to my psychiatrist to talk about my burgeoning addiction to sleeping pills.

My evenings are spent at the area's finest restaurants. I have to pick a different one each night, though, because I always end up getting kicked out. I order a bottle of the restaurant's finest wine for me and my chimp lady friend. In order to impress her, I then order the most expensive dish in the place. When they bring it out to my table, I end up beating the waiter over the head with my plate because it's not a banana.

I have drawn a lot of criticism for not voting for a Batman movie for Oscar, but any film based on a comic book character falls well below our fine Academy's lofty standards. I'm afraid that I can't accept such a ridiculous film as the year's greatest. To do would just be silly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go suck down some cocktails, stuff my face with bananas, and hope the meds kick in by 8.

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