This evening will mark the 83rd year that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has presented its coveted annual award, the Oscar. Standing 13.5 inches, weighing 8.5lb, this golden swordsman knights each victor in a swirling glow of glory and gushing emotional homilies. Oh yes, there’ll be tears, there’ll be smiles, there’ll be jokes, and Pixar will win. But, at the end of the day, this whole thing leaves me feeling particularly unenthused, an excuse for creating a ceremony for cronies to congratulate each other with self-interested back slapping and affiliated admiration. Call me Oscar the Grouch, but this whole thing’s beginning to look like rubbish.
