Day 204. A Confession

Yes, yes, I know.  I recently ranted about award shows.  Said I most certainly wouldn’t be watching last Sunday night’s Oscar telecast.  And, at the time, I meant it.  But I’m a woman, after all.  I’m not ashamed to admit I like fashion.  I’m not a slave to it, but I like it.

Guess I’m trying to find a way to tell you I have no resolve.  Because  I caved.  I watched the Red Carpet.  Okay, I’m weak.  What can I say?

Truth be told, I also watched the show on and off, as well.  But I’m only going to talk about the clothes.  Except for these three comments:

1. I thought the addition of the musical numbers helped relieve the tedium.
2. I thought it was sweet when Dustin Hoffman looked up, up, up, up at Charlize Theron and told her she was a good dancer.
3. Why can the Brits always manage to say “thank you” briefly, eloquently and elegantly, while the Americans blather on, incoherently, forever?

Back to the clothes.  Personally, I was disappointed.  As I have been, throughout the award season.

Frankly, I long for the good old days.  Before stylists got in on the act.  Before designers got in on the act.  Before ‘stars’ were bombarded with dozens of sketches.  And accessories up the yin-yang.  Before there was all this ‘collaboration’.

The days when stars had their hair ‘done’ for the occasion.  When their make-up was absolute perfection.  When they wore their own jewelry.  When they picked their own gowns.  Most of which were made by Edith Head, the American costume designer, who first worked for Paramount, and then for Universal.

Multi-talented, she was nominated for 35 Academy Awards and won 8 times, receiving more Oscars than any other woman.  It turned out she became as ‘famous’ as the A-list celebrities she dressed.  Dorothy Lamour, Ginger Rogers, Bette Davis, Sophia Loren, Barbara Stanwyck, Shirley MacLaine, Anne Baxter, Grace Kelly, Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor, Natalie Wood, Olivia De Havilland, Mae West, Ingrid Bergman, Hedy Lamarr, Marlene Dietrich and Rita Hayworth to name just a few.

Those good old days.  When movie stars looked like movie stars.  When they were truly glamourous.  When every little girl dreamed of one day, growing up and being as beautiful as her favourite actress.  Living an equally exciting life.  Escorted by all those truly sexy and powerful men.  Who had every bit as much ‘star power’ as the women.

Clark Gable.  Swoon.  Cary Grant.  Okay, George Clooney’s a pretty good substitute.  Richard Burton.  All he had to do was speak, and I’d be putty in his hands.  Paul Newman.  Those eyes.  Humphrey Bogart.  Dear God.  

Let me tell you, when these couples made an entrance, they made an entrance.  It was pure drama.  Pure glamour.  It was Hollywood royalty at its most royal.  And I’m sorry but, for the most part, it’s gone now.  It’s just not the same.

Jennifer Anniston’s stringy hair is fine for the beach.  Not for the Oscars.  Rene Zellweger looked like she hadn’t had her make-up done yet.  Helen Hunt looked better in the movie, stark naked.  Sorry, I can’t get excited about the little 9 year old.  Puppy purse aside, her dress was too old for her.  And she’s got quite the little ego.  Drew Barrymore was way cuter.  I know, she (Little Q, as she’s called) was everyone’s darling.  But not mine.

At least I’m honest.

Who’d I think looked great?

Octavia Spencer, who won Best Actress last year.  She always wears Tadashi Shoji, who really understands and celebrates her lush curves; and she never disappoints.  And best of all, you could tell she loved how she looked.  Charlize Theron was outstanding in her white, moulded-to-her-body, dead-simple-but-full-of-wow, Dior.  Love, love, love her short hair, which was perfect for the dress.  She looked every inch a gorgeous movie star.  And at almost 5’10”, that’s a hell of a lot of inches.

Jane Fonda looked fab-u-lous.  Loved the colour of her dress.  Loved that it was age appropriate.  But not ‘old’.  Sexy.  But not cheap.  Loved how it hugged her body which, I should add, is good enough to be the envy of any thirty year old.  She may be a bitch (supposedly), but let me tell you, she’s still got it.  Majorly so.  Not sure how I feel about Naomi Watts’ dress, to be honest.  But I love that it was completely unique.  Not another one even remotely like it.  And she definitely has the body to pull it off.

As for the men, it was Samuel L. Jackson, by a country mile.  I could just hear him saying, in the immortal words of the late, great Clark Gable:  “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!”  And only he could have carried it off.

That’s my list, ladies and gentlemen.  The rest were just a big yawn, as far as I’m concerned.

’til next year, y’all.  Signing off (from the award scene, not my blog) …