Being someone who once had a relationship with a dog who has long since past into the dust of memory and shallow earth, I sometimes wonder if he is in Heaven does that mean that their is poop in the streets there as well? Oscar night strikes me in a similar vein. It is certainly fair game for the fashion savvy and soapbox cinematographers with barstool politicians able to get in their licks. It is certainly a glamorous night out that each of us think that we should one day hope to deserve. And if the movies of the year actually warrant it, it is a heart felt celebration of the miracle of the creativity that while it many times strikes out yet all so many times supplies the magic for better or worse that populate our dreams. There are no accidents in Hollywood only endless script rewrites. These yearly celebrations mark the finale in a ritual of many lily pads jumped to assure the confirmation of bankability for both actors and the myriads of people that support their performance. They don’t replace the films that individually affect with a similar product line but the occasionally supplement it with additional product.
In a more personal sense the flagging hopes and dreams of all the unknowns who have strived to be great are revived occasionally by the personal invocations of some of those who win explaining that the most basic truths on occasion still count despite all the evidence to the contrary. It is a place where believers go to see themselves in some hopefully not too distant future time accepting praise to pass on their thanks to so many eternally long departed. Too many times a rogue’s gallery of rough trade in souls and human flesh to be sure. But, perhaps it is also the closest thing that the culture still has left collectively to a national prayer service where what we would wish to be is finally acknowledged and accepted for all time to come.