Hugh Jackman Manages to Make the Oscars Even Worse

Hugh Jackman, manhood called. It wants you to turn in your man-card.

Seriously, I had no idea that Wolverine had lady-parts. Watching Jackman prance around the stage in his hideous "I think I'm hosting the Tony Awards" musical montage ruined the Oscars for me.

And let's be honest, he didn't have to do much to ruin them. I heard a news story last week about how the producers were determined to spice up the show this year to combat sagging ratings from last year. And, by spice, they clearly meant drag out every major award with bloated and ridiculous introductions.

Goldie Hawn: "Amy Adams, you are the most talented and godlike person who has ever walked the face of the earth. Humanity would fail were it not for the grace of your immaculate being. Amy Adams, I am going to sacrifice this human child before you on this stage just to honor how important you are to my life and to the future of planet Earth. Amy Adams, I have never married Kurt Russell because I have been waiting to become your wife. Marry me."

Beyond the horrible scripting was the boring, predictable filler, including A Look Back at Comedies of 2008. Seriously? That was the best you could come up with? God forbid you actually cut an hour out of this bloated awards show and actually get to the awards.

When will the producers of the Oscars learn that people tune into the Oscars for just three things?

1. To see what people are wearing. Note to Hollywood: we need less stylists making everyone look pretty/boring and we need more Tilda Swinton. Holy cats, she can wear some wackadoo duds.

2. To see who wins the awards. Not to see a musical montage from the soundtrack of Doubt. I repeat: NO ONE CARES. THE PEOPLE FROM DOUBT DON'T EVEN CARE.

3. To watch the uncomfortable interactions of Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston. On that score, well-played Oscars.

The only bright spots of the telecast came from the more youthful and fresh interplay of duos like Tina Fey/Steve Martin and Seth Rogen/James Franco. Take note, Oscar producers, comedians + funny = enjoyable. Hugh Jackman + estrogen = misery.

Week 45: No Country For Old Men

Okay, you don't need me to tell you that No Country For Old Men is a fantastic movie. It won approximately seven thousand Oscars. It is great. And yes, the Dorothy Hamill hairdo on Javier Bardem makes his psychopathic killer sweetly dorky.

So instead of boring you with glowing praise for the movie (although I hated the abrupt ending. Heaven help me, I love resolution), let's instead focus on one of my favorite subjects: Josh Brolin.

I loved Josh Brolin in The Goonies. Who didn't, right? And he was great in American Gangster. And he was...in other things? My point is that there was an odd spell of say twenty-five years in which Brolin wasn't getting roles...until his daddy went and married Barbra Streisand. My theory is that Babs would do anything to get her good-for-nothing stepson out of the house, even if it meant pulling a few strings with her precisely manicured nails at the big Hollywood studios. Here's how I like to think it went:

BABS: James! James Brolin Streisand! Get in here this instant.

JAMES: [rushes in, moves to Bab's left side per his orders] Honey, what is it?

BABS: James, I am holding a Japanese silk pillow that my close personal friend, Donna Karan, hand-dyed to match the color of my earlobes at dusk.

JAMES: It's lovely, dear. [laughs nervously]

BABS: Is it, James? Is it? Because it looks to me like this piece of fringe is crumpled. AS IF SOMEONE USED THIS PILLOW!!!!

JAMES: I'm sure no one would use any of the 178 pillows you keep piled on every surface of our entire house, lovey. What with all the candles constantly lit to show you in the best light, it would be foolhardy to use flammable materials near them.

BABS: Someone did, James, and I think we both know who it was.

JAMES: Oh, honey, you can't keep blaming Josh for everything.

BABS: Your Josh is ruining our romance! He looks me in the eye, he speaks to me without being spoken to first and he -- I can barely say it out loud -- uses fluorescent lightbulbs.

JAMES: [gasps]

BABS: He has to go, James.

JAMES: I know, Barbra. Um, sorry, Madame Streisand.

BABS: I'm getting him out of the house once and for all. Bring me a telephone, James. The one Donna Karan designed to wear a tiny caftan and matching scarf.

JAMES: The purple one?

BABS: IT'S CALLED AUBERGINE, YOU IDIOT. AND STOP STANDING ON MY RIGHT SIDE!!!

[end scene]