Oscar week

Well, hello March, what are you doing here so soon?  What did you do with February? Or more to the point, what did I do with February?  Well, the month sped by with auditions, classes, rehearsals and job hunting.  You know, actory stuff.  And Oscar research - at least as much of it as I was able to muster. 

**Spoiler alert: the ceremony has ended in Los Angeles and I cannot help but discuss the event.**

I confess, I still have not seen Avatar and perhaps never will.  Neither have I seen Precious; I think I'd like to at some stage but I fear it will be traumatic, so I want at least one friend to sit beside me with a bottle of wine so we can cry and gasp and drink away the pain together.  I did see The Hurt Locker and was happy to see it win over Avatar.  I was even happier to see Kathryn Bigelow win best director - the first woman EVER to do so.  Having Barbra Streisand (nominated best director for Prince of Tides about a hundred years ago - oh alright, maybe 15 years ago) present the award kind of gave it away.  Would they have dragged Babs out of seclusion to present the award to James Cameron (who, thankfully, has had a haircut since the Globes)?  I think not.  I still say District 9 was a better, tighter, edgier film than The Hurt Locker - which was pretty tight and edgy - but alas it never had a chance.  I eagerly await the next film from director Neill Blomkamp, though, whatever it may be.

Darling, deserving Jeff Bridges won best actor - and our hearts, if he didn't already have them - and gave a lovely, warm speech in which he acknowledged the influence and encouragement of his parents, and the talents of the other key players in the film, Crazy Heart.  Which I have seen and loved.  Bridges is magnificent in it.  Sandra Bullock was the hot favourite for best actress and indeed clasped the small, golden bald man by the end of the night.  I really wanted Meryl to win, but you gotta love Sandra.  Possibly the most interesting moment of the night was when the director of the winning best short documentary film began his humble acceptance speech, he was suddenly steamrolled by a large, determined woman who proceeded to garble her own Very Important Message.  Since she was not removed from the stage, and the man holding the statuette did not verbally protest, one must assume she had some close association with the film.  But it was weird and rude.  The man was clearly surprised and none too thrilled by the interruption so it had presumably not been planned that she would join him onstage.  With the strict time limits on speeches, he never got another word in.  Shortly afterwards, Ben Stiller appeared in elaborate Avatar-style blue make-up (complete with shiny, black wig and long blue tail) to present the make-up award.  The delicious irony of this was that Avatar was not nominated for make-up (I guess it was mostly CGI).  Even better was Stiller's ad-lib that he promised to stand at a respectable distance from the winner so as not to diminish their moment of victory.  It was clearly a swipe at the party-crashing woman.  These moments enliven an awards show, which is a good argument for alcohol to be served to attendees; loosen things up a bit.

My favourite addition to the Oscars - I think it was introduced for the first time last year - is the tributes made to the best actor and actress nominees by past winners and colleagues.  There is something genuine and moving about they way they speak of and to these talented people which always brings a lump to my throat and a tear to my eye.  And often to the eyes of the nominees. 

My Oscar research this year was aided and abetted by Netflix.  I am officially addicted to this super-convenient service!  Pick a film or TV show online and have it delivered to your door.  Better still, some of them are available to stream and watch instantly on your computer (or TV if you've got a fancy one all tricked out with the latest gadgets and connected to the net).  So I watched Up, another triumph from Pixar; and In the Loop, a whip-smart British political comedy; went back in time to watch Streisand and Redford in The Way We Were, a charming film of a kind that doesn't seem to get made anymore - what, a romantic drama in which the protagonists don't end up with each other? Actually, come to think of it, that's one of the things I liked about Up in the Air; the execrable modern rom-com The Ugly Truth, watchable only due to the charisma of its stars and occasional flashes of fast, funny and surprisingly rude dialogue amidst the quagmire of tired cliche and ritual humiliation of the female star - vibrating underpants worn "accidentally" to a business dinner? Oh, what comedy riches!  And the final clinch takes place in a hot air balloon? Puh-lease!  I can't believe I stuck with it to the bitterly silly end.  I blame Gerard Butler for being so damn attractive; he's like Russell Crowe-lite, circa Gladiator without the Big 'Tude.  I've also watched the entire first season of Californication, am making headway through the second season of Weeds, sampled BBC classic Elizabeth R, and am eagerly awaiting delivery of The United States of Tara.

During the week I caught up with a theatre acquaintance from Melbourne.  Chris lived and worked in the U.S. about ten years ago, even established a successful independent theatre company, and is back in town to check out the scene again and try to extend his green card which comes up for renewal shortly.  We enjoyed a beer in Burbank and spoke of all things theatrical and Hollywoody.  It was great to hear an Aussie accent.  Surrounded by American accents all day, I don't often hear an Aussie one but it warms the cockles of my ears when I do.

Cindy, Alex and I also checked out the Sidewalk Studio Theatre together, the venue for Beaten Hearts, and met with our lighting designer, Morgan.  We're thrilled with the space.  It was great to walk in there again and feel the same warmth and sense of  intimacy and "rightness" that this charming little theatre has for the show. 

Big celebrity spot for the week was the beautiful Minnie Driver who was in my yoga class.  She's tall and quite bendy.

Oh, and I've been cast in a short film for which I auditioned a couple of weeks ago; the one which was a bit of a shamozzle, where the actors waiting to audition seemed more organised than the filmmaker.  Well, I got the part and accepted it.  Why?  It's a two-page bit, so I won't be needed for long, and it's comic and American.  I want to add more American-accent material to my reel, and it wouldn't hurt to have more comedy on it too.  It's called Don't Drink the Bong Water.  That's all you need to know.

Over and out, chickadees, till next time!