movie boobs

THANK YOU DONALD!

I love the cinema. I love movies. I love popcorn. I love the Oscars.

I’m a regular viewer of movies at the local theatre. Movie theatres are a dark dream heaven.

Crisp writing and amazing cinematic gifts are skilfully weaved together by hundreds of artists and technicians to deliver a funny or dramatic story… a story that resonates deep inside me giving birth to a magnificent song that elevates and enriches my world, and most importantly, feeds my own inner creative spark.

Of course, some flicks totally suck. That’s a good thing because it allows us to appreciate the really good stuff when it comes along.

And so, after seeing many of the year’s “best” movies, I tune in to watch the Oscars with excited anticipation.

Anticipation of the recognizable faces, the crescendo of orchestral music in Hollywood’s Dolby Theater, the beauty and majesty of sartorial elegance on full display like preening undernourished peacocks…

… and perhaps strangely, I always love the teary poignancy of the musical tableau of the In Memoriam section of the show… I know, how maudlin!

oscar in memoriam

Yes, I love the Oscars. Usually.

I remember five short years ago, in February 2013, I wrote a post (Movie Boobs) lamenting the inanity of the usually decorous and dignified Oscar broadcast hosted by Seth McFarlane.

That celebrity celebratory broadcast was an archaic affront to women (and men) then and if anything has only grown more antiquated and offensive in the short time since.

It’s like we were living a modern version of The Handmaid’s Tale in real life.

It took us 500 years to recognize Christopher Columbus as a race-decimating conqueror lout, but only 5 to see the McFarlane-led showcase for what it was.

Now that’s progress in a social media world.

(ASIDE: Your #Educational/CulturalMoment:

Because Columbus captured more Indian slaves than he could transport to Spain in his small ships, he put them to work in mines and plantations which he, his family, and followers created throughout the Caribbean. His marauding band hunted Indians for sport and profit — beating, raping, torturing, killing, and then using the Indian bodies as food for their hunting dogs. Within four years of Columbus’ arrival on Hispaniola, his men had killed or exported one-third of the original Indian population of 300,000.

Jack Weatherford –  Professor of Anthropology at Macalaster College in St. Paul, Minnesota. )

Sorry… back to our regular program….

Yup, in only 5 years we’ve gone from the gratuitous male-assertive setting where the theme tune sung by McFarlane and a hunky boyish band of singer/dancers was called WE SAW YOUR BOOBS …

… through that prehistoric misty haze all the way to this past week’s Oscar version where confident women and the #MeToo movement took centre stage instead of their boobs.

For sure, not everything has changed.

Boobs were still there and a part of the visual buffet, but they somehow seemed like an afterthought and, if anything, a determined statement that boobs are a beautiful part of strong, forceful womanhood. Feminism doesn’t mean the end of femininity.

You might say there’s been a TIT-for-TAT turnaround.

The tone of discourse on stage this year was far more respectful and balanced, the movement of the gender pendulum noticeable even though far fewer women won awards than men. Momentous change does take some time.

And for this change, just like the Black Lives Matter faction and the DACA lobby, we really have one person – one man – to thank for the surge in protest and anger and long overdue move towards equality…

… the envelope please… and this year’s Oscar for Best Dramatic Bungling That Inadvertently Leads To Progress goes to… Donald Trump.

trump oscar

Smiles and cheers. Cue the orchestra to launch into Pigs. Kiss (but please don’t grab by the pussy) the celebrity sitting next to you.

And as he gloriously struts toward the stage a screen lights up with brilliant quotes emanating from the pursed lips of The Donald:

“If I were running ‘The View’, I’d fire Rosie O’Donnell. I mean, I’d look at her right in that fat, ugly face of hers, I’d say ‘Rosie, you’re fired.’” 

“All of the women on The Apprentice flirted with me – consciously or unconsciously. That’s to be expected.”

“I’ve said if Ivanka weren’t my daughter, perhaps I’d be dating her.”

“You know, it really doesn’t matter what the media write as long as you’ve got a young, and beautiful, piece of ass.”

“You could see there was blood coming out of her eyes, blood coming out of her wherever.”

“You know, I’m automatically attracted to beautiful — I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. Just kiss. I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything…. Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything.”

Would we be celebrating the successes, the progress towards a measure of equality without the xenophobic, homophobic, sexist and lustful, misogynistic slime bag that creeps the Twitter corridors and nearly decimated hallways of the White House?

I don’t think so.

Trump is day-by-creepy-day galvanizing the world in a unified force against his narcissistic and perverted views.

We love to hate on those who offend our sensibilities.

Seth McFarlane may have started the derogatory Boob Ball rolling 5 years ago but Trump has lifted it overhead like a steaming double cheeseburger and claimed the WWF title belt.

Now we have a seething crowd that is ready to fight back and demand change and respect.

Maybe Trump is a small price to pay to set the world right for the many who have suffered and struggled for an eternity.

Maybe Trump is a blessing in pig’s clothing.

Maybe.

On the other hand, I’m feeling pretty exhausted by his rants.

I think a bit of momentary escapism in a hushed theatre might be a soothing tonic for us all.

I love the cinema. I love movies. I love popcorn. I love the Oscars.

oscars 2018