Private fantasy number 53: I'd love to win an Oscar (pretend you can see the little superscript R in a circle) for something.
As far as I can see, the only advantage of having ten nominated best movies instead of the usual five is that you can play the new game of deciding which five wouldn't have made it in a normal year. (And Nine still couldn't get a shout out.)
Or, instead of deciding which two nominees don't really have a Republican's hope on Pandora of winning, it's now which seven.
Of course, there's dumbest title of the year: Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire. Now if you go to the trivia page for this film on the Internet Movie Data Base, you can follow each step of the logic, and they do sort of make sense. But surely, as soon as you get to the point where you need a colon in a title, it's a call for a rethink.
(Private fantasy number 1? Sorry to disappoint anyone. It's to be the suave, velvet-voiced villain in a James Bond movie. Not play the villain. Be the villain. "Good evening, Mr. Bond. So kind of you to drop in . . . TO MY TANK OF PIRANHA FISH, AH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HAAAA!")
Which leads into another Oscar game -- what's the easiest way to get one, without having all the bother of a lifelong career working hard in the movie business? I suggest it's getting co-opted to co-write the lyrics on one of those crappy songs that get sung over the end titles, in a year when there are no films of old Broadway musicals with one extra song cynically added (I'm looking at you, Andrew Lloyd-Webber) or Randy Newman-scored Pixar movies or James Cameron spectacles about lithe, semi-naked, giant blue space cats. Hmmm, that reminds of private fantasy number 2 . . .
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