THE KIDMAN THOUSAND YARD STARE.

BLOG 18

Here’s some exciting news I’ve been sitting on since the new year. WordPress ranked my blog the 473rd best of all its blogs in the year of 2012 (it didn’t specify out of how many but it’s probably billions right?). So with that in mind I’d like to say a few words …

Er … I didn’t prepare a speech as such because I really didn’t think I’d be standing up here today, it’s not everyday your peers vote your work the 473rd best of its kind. I’m truly honoured, God I wish I’d written something now but one doesn’t like to preempt these things you know … look there’s a lot of people without which I couldn’t do what I do so I just want to say a few thank yous, thanks to WordPress for supporting me, thanks to Danny and Barney, to Hugh and Sandra and everyone at the office, of course massive thanks to my amazing wife for putting up with me and my wretched blog writing, to mum of course and the lord God almighty … look, I know that I’m gonna forget someone but you know who you are, if I’ve missed anyone I’m truly sorry but thanks, and of course my sincerest thanks go to you guys, I can’t do this without you the people, without your love and your loyalty *sniff* but I’m gonna get off now before the tears start blah blah blah … yada yada yada … i think you’ve probably twigged by now where this is going. Yes it’s awards season. Grammys, BAFTAs, Brits, Oscars etc etc thank you very etc …

Let’s face it, there are awards given out for just about everything these days, and not just the high-arts which have been so obsessed with slapping themselves on the back since the dawn of ever. We even have a soap awards y’know? y’know for soaps? I don’t mean domestic detergents (though they do have their own awards and yes, Cillit Bang cleaned up yet again). No I mean soap operas, there are actually more categories than there are soap operas. Christ, how shit do you have to be to be a soap star and never win one? Other award shows include cars, dogs, make-up, condiments, park benches, trousers, bathroom tiles, onion bhajis, you name it, there’s an award for it. A friend of mine was recently recognised by the Civic Council of Ipswich as the ‘Best citizen of Ipswich named Malcomn’ … she was gobsmacked! because technically she lives in Kings Lynn, If you check your spam-mail you’ll probably find you’ve won something too. Go on, check.

But back to The Oscars, that’s the big one after all, I tried to watch it but like most mere mortals i lost the will to gawp at about 3ish and necked a couple of Tramadol, skipped out Monday and came up smiling Tuesday just in time for the mercifully edited highlights. It is an extraordinary spectacle nonetheless, the preening and posturing, the ludicrous sense of self importance and worthiness, the endless identikit speeches, how insecure are these fuckers that they have to do all this once a year every year? The annual cycle for a Charlize Theron or a Halle Berry basically consists of making a movie for 3 months, then sunning one’s spindly arse in Malibu for 3 months, before spending the remaining 6 months of the year in meetings with designers and stylists from Versace, shoe-imaganeers, make-up artists, posture dissectors etc … they’ve even got people that for a mere quarter of million big ones will teach one how to walk or be coached on how to do that Zellweger looking back over your shoulder thing or the Kidman thousand yard stare, it’s fucking insane, then they flounce up to the podium and without a shred of irony start waffling on about world poverty. Seriously, if there’s life on other planets what would they make of ours? … “Turn this thing around Zorb, I see no value in harvesting these vacuous cretins”.

And the speeches, my God if you thought mine was bad … “I feel like I’m standing on magic legs” Tom Hanks once observed, “eehh eugh eugh, oh God, blub blub wail sob wail” as Gwyneth Paltrow opined in hers. Daniel Day Lewis is now our most decorated thespian since time began but at least he can deliver a dignified acceptance without making an absolute tool of himself (although if he did, rest assured that he’d have spent the past 5 years immersed in his role of being a tool and his tool portrayal would be ‘mesmerising’ 5 stars!).

Back home we’ve just had The Brits, you remember? The fat bloke that isn’t either of Gavin or Stacey , The Mumford characters, Wand Erection, Emili Woodpecker etc … forgotten already? well in your defence it was just a tad forgettable. Even allowing for the fact that we now appear to be in the grip of a double-dip cultural lull, wasn’t it shit? I mean really absolute double shit on toast with an extra side order of cack. The Brits is now nothing more than an exercise in holding up a rather grubby corporate mirror to record sales and chart positions, really what’s the point? Where’s the fun? Where’s Ginger Spice with her left udder hanging out of ‘that’ dress?, Where’s Mrs Merton making an impassioned plea for more backstage Cocaine?, Where’s Jarvis Cocker joining Wacko Jacko on stage for an impromptu live duet? We weren’t even treated to the now traditional appearance of a clearly shit-faced Georgie Michaels. I’m sure Ben Howard is a lovely chap but he put me to sleep twice during his 90 second speech and what self respecting musical artiste would be truly proud to be crowned the winner of ‘The MasterCard album of the year supported by The Sun’s Bizarre column’??? …
“This means so much, this is the one we really wanted, this is the one that’s endorsed by corporate finance and voted for by idiots that can barely read Britain’s shittiest newspaper”.

I suppose the bigger question is what do all these blessed awards actually mean? Woody Allen famously boycotts the Academy Awards every year, instead choosing to play his clarinet at a New York jazz club in a protest fuelled by a long held grudge that Marlon Brando’s portrayal of Stanley Kowalski in ‘A Streetcar named Desire’ failed to land him the ‘best actor’ Oscar in 1951, he claims that that was the moment that he knew unquestionably and irrefutably that awards meant diddly, maybe he’s right. Barry Norman believes that any given year’s cinematic endeavours should not be appraised for a further 20 years, so that we might then fully digest their place in history and their ability to endure and resonate through the generations.

I heartily embrace that theory as then maybe one of my favourite films Groundhog Day might finally get the recognition it deserves yet spectacularly failed to get at the time of its release. Celebrating its 20th anniversary this year, Groundhog Day was way ahead of the curve back in 1993. A romantic comedy with its roots in science fiction exploring a Samuel Becket like tale of redemption and the true meaning of love, its writers fought to the death with Columbia Pictures to resist the temptation to fully explain the time glitch in the storyline, and in the edit they then obsessively removed any knowing references or nods to the early ’90s that would instantly date the film and therefor diminish its fable like quality (are you listening Judd Apatow? … probably not). Here was a truly lovingly crafted gem of a movie built to last, designed to keep audiences coming back to it, to marvelle at its joyous perfection. Often aped, constantly referenced but never bettered, Academy Award nominations: …. *drum roll* … Zero!!!

So there you have it, scientific evidence if it were needed (it wasn’t) that awards mean shit. Except of course for my one which I worked bloody hard for and I thank the judges for their immaculate taste.
To conclude, in 1989 the late great Bob Monkhouse received a television comedy award and gave a 5 second speech that transcends every other for its wit and irreverent insight, he said this: “Thank you very much for this, I probably don’t deserve it … but then again I had hemroids last week and I didn’t deserve that either”. QED.

Less concise than Bob, I’ll leave the final word to this guy: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=8u-dxn8IgQo

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Here’s an eerie waxwork of Angelina Jolie.

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A very British waxwork, Smellin’er Bottom Farter.

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Here’s a cake decoration sobbing.

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Get a grip love, its just pretending.

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Bit greedy Adele, they’re not cakes y’know?

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Just cut that out and turn around. Silly woman.

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Ah the Kidman thousand yard stare, it’s easy really, just stare straight through people with utter contempt. (lovely pearl necklace though).

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If you’ve been affected by any of the issues raised in this blog that’s your problem. Follow the man accused of writing this nonsense on Twitter @ad_i_am

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