The Mixed Blessings of 2019 Academy Awards

As in the recent past, the Academy Awards spread its arms around mainstream and specialty films alike.  GREEN BOOK (not interested in seeing it) won due to a Trump-esque campaign of resistance from supporters who couldn’t bear their beloved film held up to scrutiny for period and/or character accuracy.  And there was the spectacle of director Peter Farrelly saying a partial biography of African-American pianist Don Shirley couldn’t be made without Caucasian star Viggo Mortensen (even considering Steven Spielberg’s DreamWorks company being a co-producer).  ROMA won in key categories of foreign film, cinematography and director—but didn’t win Best Picture almost certainly due to anger over streaming behemoth Netflix not following the traditional rule of  90 days theatrical-before-television exposure (Martin Scorsese’s upcoming THE IRISHMAN will be the next film denied Best Picture for this reason.). BLACK PANTHER, both a huge popular and critical success, didn’t win Best Picture because some members apparently believe the superhero genre is trivial and undeserving of serious artistic recognition.  BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY won Best Actor for Rami Malek (understandable), but picked up some technical awards perhaps due to member sympathy for the crew of a troubled production.  Olivia Colman deservedly won Best Actress for THE FAVOURITE, defeating Glenn Close who was better than the star vehicle of THE WIFE.  And Spike Lee finally won—as screenwriter instead of Best Director—for BLACK kkKLANSMAN.

Regarding the Oscar telecast: it moved along without a host, unnecessary production numbers and cute calculated go into audience or movie theater next door bits.  Melissa McCarthy won Best Presenter for her parody of Olivia Colman’s Queen Anne—McCarthy’s funniest performance since playing Sean Spicer on SNL.

Recent Poem: TWISTING THE NIGHT AWAY

primal scream aided by Schnapps
moping over college coed who didn’t want me
now in the parlor of music fraternity house
too drunk to drive too awake to be tired
fraternity brothers hide shoes so I can’t leave
lay down under blanket on antique divan
trying to sleep
turning side to side
as stomach decides
whether or not
to keep alcohol where it is

Audio Poem: Fleetwood Mac 77

Here’s another venture into spoken word recording via SoundCloud:
https://soundcloud.com/terry-mccarty-92671538/fleetwood-mac-77

Revised Poem: Trumpelstiltskin

Start subdued

Imagine you’re spinning

Falsehoods into votes

Then kick a hole in the floor

Kick until the hole gets bigger

Keep kicking

Harder

Harder

Harder

Until the hole is large enough

For you to fall through the floor

Dropping towards the Earth's core

As you yell:

I WON'T ACCEPT IMPEACHMENT!

And

I HATE YOU MUELLER!

And

THE WASHINGTON POST MUST GO!

And

IT’S ALL A WITCHHUNT!

Until your voice is no longer heard.

New Poem: Lizard Brain

supposed good boy

from good family

visiting nation's capital

wears his big red

I'm-with-stupid-leader cap

stands toe to toe

with man of different race/religion

boy's face wears superiority smirk

as his stature rapidly shrinks

while the man staying true

to his spirituality

is the real Great American

Poem: Experiencing Other People’s Poetry (Slightly Revised)

I dip in and out of books

Like a toy bird dunking

Its felt beak into a glass of water

>

Watch YouTube videos from venues

Where I would feel inadequate, unwelcome 

As the poet reads to the unseen audience

>

Compare their work with my own

Can’t quite leap the hurdles in my mind

Hoping osmosis will take effect

>

Or at least greater confidence 

In what I’ve learned

In what may eventually emerge

Laura Snapes explains bad indie-rock male behavior re Ryan Adams and others

Laura Snapes in THE GUARDIAN:

The industry has been slower to reckon with its abusers post-#MeToo than other art forms, partly because it is built on a generally permissive culture of excess and blurred lines between work and leisure – but also because the myth of the unbridled male genius remains at its core. 

A smart observation re manufacturing rock bio movies

Elisabeth Rappe via Facebook in context of seeing THE DOORS for the first time, though this can also apply to the critic-proof, awards-voter-friendly BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY:


In the end, rock biopics are dumb. They need to meld timelines and people to fit the runtime, the surviving members neuter the thing, and it’s just an excuse for an actor to fake-snort drugs and play Cover Band.