The smugness per square foot reached epic proportions last night as Hollywood celebrities gathered to salute their own celebrity. Even beauty can become a boor.
We’ve reached the shelf life of Neil Patrick Harris, the Oscar host, who turned rancid last night. Poor ad libs and timing, appearing in his underpants, accepting horrible scripted patter, he simply stank up the place. In a memorial segment for those who have passed away, very tangential people made the list but Joan Rivers did not, the ultimate snub from the easily offended.
Dakota Johnson, a poor actor and vacant conversationalist was once again on display, demonstrating what two parents in the business can do for you (and she got into a spat with her mother on camera reminiscent of a spoiled brat). Patricia Arquette, during her acceptance speech, read from a piece of paper demanding more equal opportunity for women—and I’m guessing she’s making serious seven figures annually.
The show was too long, too vapid, too full of itself. There were too many “stars” who couldn’t be identified in a police lineup. But we know this: It will be the same next year, because these folks live in an airtight world, breathing their own exhaust.
© Alan Weiss 2015