Oscar the Grouch

Ok, so maybe it was just me.
Maybe I was the only one who, from almost the first minute of the show last night, was wholly underwhelmed.
Maybe I was expecting too much; maybe last year was just too perfect to top.
Maybe, for whatever reason, I had reservations going in.
Maybe I'm the problem here, the Oscar grouch, if you will.
Whatever it was, whatever the problem--I didn't like it.
You read me right:  Oscar night was a total bust for me.
If you know me at all you know how much I love movies.  I love everything about them, and I love love love the shows that honor the best of them.  Oscar night is like Christmas morning for this movie lover, or, well, at least it usually is.  This Oscar night was what I imagine finding coal in your stocking to feel like.  All the usual hype with not one bit of the follow-through.
I felt jipped.  Ripped off.  Hood-winked.  Bamboozled.  Taken for a ride.  Deceived.  Made a fool of.
I suppose it all started when Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin first took the stage.  I must admit, I am not an Alec Baldwin fan, but I am a Steve Martin fanatic, so I was hoping one might even out the other.  Well... not so much.  They just didn't flow for me.  Most of their jokes fell flat all over the place, eliciting little more than mere chuckles throughout the audience.  Steve Martin had a few humorous moments throughout the show, but Alec Baldwin was pure stupidity, I thought.  Perhaps Steve should have been allowed to host solo again?

In addition to the letdown of the overhyped hosts, I was sadly underwhelmed by the dresses on the red carpet.  Usually I can't decide which gown and what jewels I adore most, but I saw very few this year that even piqued my interest.  You know it's a barren year when Sigourney Weaver's ensemble was my favorite, for she is anything but a fashion plate.  Even hers was nothing fabulous, it was, for me, simply more attracive and less odd than the rest.  (Like, for example, Sarah Jessica Parker... what was going on with that disaster?)
I will continue my negative Nancy overview of the show by complaining about how few meaningful acceptance speeches there were.  I'm not pretending that every actor who stands up there with that golden man should or will eloquently bowl over the audience, but there are usually a few great ones and at least one incredibly touching moment by a person of whom you've probably never heard (think a sound editor whose touching tribute to his deceased father brings you to tears or a foreign film director whose overwhelming appreciation and gratitude just touches your heart).  This year, though, with the exception of Sandra Bullock, whose speech was poignant, heartfelt, touching, and unbelievably sweet all at once, they were all rather blah.  Much like the broadcast as a whole, if you ask me.
The presenters were bumbling around through intros like they'd missed rehearsal and didn't act for a living; the audience could have been watching a croquet match for all the excitement that showed on their faces; for the most part, every win was predictable and simply the last in a series of statues this awards season.  The montages weren't even good; how hard is it to mess up a montage?!  Also, if all these young actors (Kristen Stewart, Taylor Lautner, Miley Cyrus, Amanda Seyfried, for example) can't swallow their nerves to present awards, then perhaps Hollywood's high schoolers should remain in their seats.
Man, I am being so harsh.  I'm not a witch, really, I just get so mad when the night that is supposed to be Hollywood at its most glamourous, most fabulous, falls unbelievably flat.  I just found myself so distracted by the shortcomings of the show that I couldn't focus on the movies, actors, and film crews it was supposed to be honoring, and that's not why I tuned in.  I don't get mad over much, really, but turn the Oscars into a snoozefest and you'll hear from me.

Finally, I've saved the thing that made me most sad for last.  I adore John Hughes.  So many of his masterpieces are my most favorite of favorite movies.  Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.  Ferris Bueller's Day Off.  Home Alone.  The Breakfast Club.  Vacation.  Sixteen Candles.  Pretty in Pink.  Uncle Buck.  I could go on and on, but you get my drift.  John Hughes was a comedic genius, and he deserves not only a fabulous montage tribute but a hilarious one, as well.  It wasn't hilarious; it wasn't even funny.  I understand being respectful to the Hughes family in their time of loss, but, if you're going to honor John Hughes, honor him with what he brought to the world--laughter.  Quite possibly the funniest filmmaker of all time, the man deserved better than that wholly lame unfunny tribute.
Like I said at the beginning, maybe it's me. 
If it were up to me, however, Adam Shankman, who directed this year's show, would probably not even make the guest list for next year. 

Maybe I really am Oscar the Grouch...

What did y'all think?  Come on... tell me all about it.  It's okay if you loved it; I won't berate you in some future post.
I promise.

Grouch's honor.