While it’s an honor just to be nominated, only a chosen few take home hardware on Oscar Sunday. Those poor A-listers who don’t win—or don’t even get nominated—have to settle for parting gifts. More specifically, gift bags worth tens-of-thousands-of dollars.
This year, stars checking into the Four Seasons Hotel found Traveler’s Choice luggage bags filled with gifts valued at $7,000. Nauseous yet? How about a KitchenAid mixer set with 22-karat-gold paint and Swarovski crystal? Yep, this is the ugly side of Oscar.
Uglier still, my own Oscar gift bag. Actually, it’s a mail bag…filled with letters I’ve written to former Oscar winners, whiners, weiners, and wannabes.
Dear Oscar Glutton,
You’re the greatest living actress. You’ve won two Best Actress awards and been nominated an astounding 17 times. Please don’t win tonight. I understand you haven’t won since Sophie’s Choice, but enough is enough! You’re enjoying a career re-birth, backed by a string of box-office hits, at an age where most actresses get scripts for Driving Miss Daisy sequels. But it’s not your time for number three. It’s time for you to do a Margaret Thatcher Streep-tease. Take off the silicone mask, ditch the wig, and lose the fake teeth [or give them to Johnny Depp…see letter 4 below]. Forget the fact that you’ve been winless since 1982′s Sophie’s Choice. Just watch The Help. And then tell me Viola Davis isn’t Meryl’s Choice for Best Actress.
Dear Recent Oscar Winner,
You won our hearts in The Man In the Moon. You made it impossible for us to vote against you in Election. You were criminally hilarious in Legally Blonde. And when you Walk[ed] the Line to Oscar gold seven years ago, I had greater expectations than Just Like [Hell], Four Christmases, [Like] Water for [Chocolate] Elephants, How Do You Know, and This Means [Bore]! Ms. Witherspoon, we’ve grown tired of your Reese’s Pieces of crap movies. Go find your inner Roseanne Cash. Toss Penelope into a burning ring of fire and get your shit together. Now somebody gag me Wither-spoon. Sorry, that was corny.
Dear Oscar Sore Loser,
You’re one of my all-time favorites and nobody wants your latest comeback to actually stay back more than I do. But your half-ass commitment to hosting the Oscars this year reaked of Tower Heist promotion. And storming out of the Kodak Theater after losing to Alan Arkin in 2007 didn’t win you many future Oscar voters. Especially when you had the lady-in-fat-suit Norbit opening the following week. Sure, you sort of returned to form in Tower Heist, but when I closed my eyes…you sounded an awful lot like a street thief imitating Donkey from Shrek. My Oscar tip for you: Rent Eddie Murphy Delirious, then hit the comedy clubs and reclaim your comedic genius. Rent Dreamgirls, then seek out an A-list director with a script that’s not written in crayon, Yes, that means pass on the next Dr. DooLittle for your career family script…and give us Eddie. If that doesn’t work, there’s always Buckwheat.
Dear 3-Time Oscar-Nominated Actor,
Want an Oscar? Prove that you can once again embody a character whose not hiding behind Keith Richards’ accent, Phyllis Diller’s make-up, or a Cher wig. The Pirate drag queen franchise is more played-out than Police Academy movies. Pirate Academy? I wouldn’t be surprised.
Johnny, take it down a notch. Trade in loud for quiet…3D for 2D. Remember your Oscar-worthy quiet performances? Did Gilbert Grape need grape lipstick? Did Donnie Brasco need eyeliner to go deep undercover? What chance do you have of Finding Oscar’s Neverland if you continue to mistake stretching for merely saying yes to Tim Burton. And for the love of Edward Scissorhands, please stop raiding Helena Bonham-Carter’s wardrobe. [Note: For readers who don’t know she’s married to Tim Burton, that joke just bombed worse than Rum Diary].
Dear Leaving Las Vegas Oscar Winner,
When do you plan on Leaving Los Angeles? Just STOP making movies Mr. Cage.
Dear Mr Vernon