Tis the season! And I don’t mean the dreaded over-the-top holiday season in which bearded, shlubby straight men sporting red velvet suits slip into homes via chimneys everywhere spreading good will and God knows what else while downing cookies and milk. Admittedly, my favorite part of the holidays is the drunken family confessional encapsulated so well in films like Home for the Holidays or in A Christmas Tale, Arnaud Desplechin’s Christmas film for the nihilist set, which stars the ever-stunning Catherine Deneuve.
…Which brings me to my favorite season—Awards Season, which kicked off this week with the Critics Choice Awards announcement of its nominees and the New York Film Critics Circle already doling out the awards.
Really, beyond the spiked low-fat egg nog and the box of goodies my mom sends me from Connecticut, Christmas is just that time of year when I power view the Oscar bait flicks. It’s not that my Grinch heart refuses to grow 12 sizes every Christmas but I can’t fly without a Xanax and a couple mini airplane bottles of Cabernet. And who the hell wants to spend Christmas with me doped up like Judy Garland -- especially if I’m not belting out the holiday showstopper “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” quite the way she did. So this year I'm spending it alone. Cue a collective "awww," here.
On to the the awards. First up, congrats to Milk, Sean Penn and Josh Brolin for landing the New York Film Critics Circle Awards for best film, actor and supporting actor. I’m calling it now. Milk will win the Best Picture Oscar since the academy couldn’t stomach handing one out for Brokeback and instead gave that heavy-handed, misogynist crap film Crash the top award that year. And since the gays took a beating over Prop. 8 I’m predicting the ancient, straight, white, male academy throws the gays the best picture bone.
Moving on. Congrats are in order for one Ms. Penelope Cruz who gave new meaning to “Spanglish” and to three-ways in Woody Allen’s love letter to lazy Spanish days drinking and fucking in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Pretty Penny won the best supporting actress nod from the New York Critics, and those are some tough bitches to please. It’s the crap weather and the pollution. They’re jaded.
Meanwhile, expect loads of eye candy throughout the season with beauties including Anne Hathaway, Kate Winslet, Angelina Jolie, Cate Blanchett, Meryl Streep, Kate Beckinsale, Pretty Penny Cruz and Marisa Tomei expected to pick up nods here and there. And I’m just saying, with two Oscar bait roles in the pike for Revolutionary Road and The Reader, this has got to be the year the perpetually nude, five-time Oscar nominee by the time she was 30, Ms. Winslet, nabs her golden man.
But Speaking of Ms. Annie I’m-a-Hot-Big-Girl-Now Hathaway, who’s garnered raves for her portrayal of a drug-addicted, sex-starved, acerbic, fucked up hot mess in Rachel Getting Married, the once-upon-a-Princess Diaries star turned up at the Trevor Project Cracked Xmas and titillated the crowd essentially offering herself up for a cool $12,000.
Lil Annie Hathaway, Wanda Sykes, Sigourney Weaver and Fantasia turned out for Cracked Xmas at LA’s Wiltern Theater Sunday. Wickedly Funny Wanda, who recently came way out at a Prop. 8 rally, received a rousing standing “O” prompting her to quip, “It’s like you’ve never seen a black lesbian before.”
Cracked Xmas held a live auction to raise funds to help maintain its 24-7 crisis and suicide prevention hotline for LGBTQ youths. While a host of pricey auction items sold, lil hot-ass Anne provided the evening’s dénouement by stepping up to the stage to offer herself up as the final auction item. America’s new sweetheart offered a night of boozing on the town. And this might just be urban legend but a friend told me that Annie said “I pick the bar, you pick the booze.” Awww. A girl after my own heart. While I can’t cough up $50 and a decent pair of heels to hit the town with Annie I’ll still say “yes please, body shots please!”
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So little Anne, so little time. While Anne’s nabbing awards’ noms and generally becoming a hot commodity, I was thinking it was about time to send Natalie Portman a message akin to the one the media sent to Julia Roberts in the mid-nineties that went something like “Dear Ms. Roberts. Sandra Bullock is stealing your career.” Just when a girl begins to wonder what Nat’s been up to while Anne swoops in to ostensibly steal a few plumb roles that surely could have been hers, Nat and Rashida Jones go for another roll in the sack together. Here’s a holiday message from Nat and her pal. While puppies, kittens and other huggable, fluffy creatures are arguably cute, I’m suggesting they eliminate the middle man, as it were and just roll around together.
By this time, the L Word season six spoiler has viraled out to every lesbian, bi, straight woman or man who gives a damn but if you’ve been at a Buddhist retreat for six weeks ala Jennifer Beals hiding her pregnancy circa season three, then avert your eyes kids because Ilene Chaiken and the Showtime Gods have let the proverbial cat out of the bag -- or drowned it in the Porter pool as it were -- and released a little clip of the big reveal. That means during the season premiere you have extra time to pee, make a drink and find a spot on the couch crowded with girls who won’t pony up and pay for Showtime. That’s Betty’s opening credit headache song plus nearly two minutes of viraled video. Plenty of last-minute prep before settling in for the premiere.
So here’s the scene in nutshell. Ilene cues noirish crane shot-- ala Orson WellesA Touch of Evil -- of cruisers with flashing lights and the din of sirens, which is likely pissing off Bette’s gay male neighbors who’ve had it with the dyke drama. Lovely Lucy Lawless, sans breast plate, sporting a trench coat and badge and looking like Rachel Shelley’s doppelganger alights from the cruiser looking for a run down from the beat cop on just what the hell went down. There was a little wine and no drugs according to the cop, which means Kit’s still on the wagon and Shane dumped her Oxy stash…
Inside the Porter mini-manse, Bette rocks a pristine, white terrycloth robe that looks like she accidentally packed it after a stay at the Plaza hotel, while a wet-rat Shane sports a complementary white terry towel. I think it’s a set.
Angelica’s sitting on Tina’s lap watching the scene like it’s a double feature of Beverly Hills Chihuahua and WAll-e. Alice is her usual fashion plate self, Kit’s working the eye make-up and Helena, well, looks like Lucy Lawless. There’s plenty of hand-ringing, eye averting and collective covering of the mouths, which means this bunch is clearly attempting to emit the “See, Hear, and Speak no Evil” vibe, which means somebody knows something.
Following Lucy’s intro as Det. Hot Ass something or other – I watched it twice and missed it because the post-homicide sparks flying between Lucy’s character and Bette are palpable. Finally, the cops fish poor dead Jenny out of the pool and wheel her through the front door past the motley crew and the baby. On the downside, the suspense is not really killing us.
On the upside, Jenny Schecter has never looked more peaceful and content. The girls won’t be winning any Emmys for this scene though. When the dead girl on the gurney is the best acting in the room, we’re fucked. Even Jennifer with her trademark half smile / half cry doesn’t land this one. Although, I have to hand it to Jennifer for managing the heartrending / horny vibe feigning she gives a shit about "dead fucking meat Jenny Schecter" while Lucy Lawless is standing in her living room. If we're lucky, Ilene and the gang will give up all the goods in an over-arching attempt to build buzz.
But wait. I'm getting screeners, so perhaps that'll be my Christmas day rather than movies. It doesn't get more lesbian Christmas than lighting a pine-scented candle, pouring the Baileys and curling up on the couch with my cat for a long 70-degree LA winter's night of eight hours of L Word screeners.
Missed the last Media Blender? Read it here.
