I hear it’s some kind of Oscars thing this evening. I probably wouldn’t have known this were it not for 1) my obsessive trawling of Twitter and 2) hearing some awful, awful shit about it on the radio the other day. In fact, I wouldn’t have even been listening to the radio if I wasn’t… well, you get the point. What little point there is.
Guess what my opinion on them is. Go on – guess. Hah I bet you said “oh Ian you old curmudgeon, you hate them because you think they’re an utterly inane factor in an industry bereft of good ideas, celebrating mediocrity with a round of sickening self-congratulatory back-slapping the likes of which no sane person would ever indulge in for fear of being labelled ‘an absolute prick’.
“You, Ian, who I am talking about right now, see the awards as a sickening showcase of the smug, shallow and frighteningly decadent idiots we put on a pedestal and worship in lieu of any gods we can actually be bothered to believe in these days.
“Ian, for it is you I am talking about here with these words, you think the Oscars are ‘really fucking wack’. Obviously. Because that’s the kind of person you are.”
And if you guessed that, as I’m guessing you did guess, you’d be… mostly correct. I don’t think the movie industry is entirely creatively bereft, I just feel movies awarded Oscars tend to be rather obvious, let’s say. So I don’t care for them, no. But then, I don’t care for many awards, because I don’t see the point.
Just as I don’t need to be given the strap for people to know I’m the best at what I do (I am), a good film, a good band, a good whatever doesn’t need a stupid seal of approval from a bunch of no-name gimboids appointed as decision-makers for the rest of the world. I trust my opinions, and the opinions of a select few around me. I don’t trust some twats in a room throwing around gold statues, or whatever other awards we’re talking about.
And no, this isn’t just petulant foot-stamping at the fact my trophy cabinet is still empty. No siree, not me.