about the oscars

I have no hot takes on the Oscars last night. Not a single one.

Literally everything that happened triggered an instinctive and predictable response that was the only response I need to have. I need not interrogate my shit. Mine is not to reason why. Mine is just to drink and sigh.

When Billy Porter hit the red carpet in a gasp-inducing, epic tuxedo gown by Christian Siriano I died and so did you and our world is the other side of The Sixth Sense now, so. Welcome to the afterlife. Yes, it was worth it.


When Regina King won Best Supporting Actress, my guts went That’s beautiful, so well-deserved, what a powerhouse performer she is, and the way she said “Mom” in her speech has forever distilled my parenting goals into a single goal, which is to hear my children say “Mom” like that one day.

It felt beautiful. Should I dig around in the moment to find a plot twist for clicks? Fucking no. It was beautiful. She’s fantastic. Congratulations!


Separate from Regina King’s well-deserved and beautiful win, when Chris Evans helped her up the stairs in that blue velvet tuxedo, I and every male-interested person on the planet quadruple ovulated, or possibly peed our pants a little. Heads up! Ovarian avalanche headed down the mountain!


Need I challenge the mainstream consensus that Chris Evans is best Chris and that Nice Best Chris can get it? No. Fucking no. He was NICE. It was NICE. My DM’s are open for Cap.

When Samuel L. Jackson made that face and then said the words “Green Book,” when he clearly wanted to say get these motherfucking snakes off this motherfucking card I was like yikes and he was like fuck this and I was like ugh and that’s all I have to say about that.

But what about—


And then when Samuel L. Jackson made that face and said “Spike Lee,” I was like holy shit and he was like hell yes and I was like that’s great and that pretty much wraps it up tight.


Is it funny and weird that Green Book and BlackkKlansman both won screenplay awards even though they are diametric opposites of each other? Yes. Have I a take of some kind to present on the matter, perhaps one that is so fresh from the mind oven that it’s still scorching hot? No. It’s funny and weird. This is America: land of the free, home of the enslaved.

Did we need a host? Nope. Does every single presenting duo deserve their own movie? Yep. Should we talk about that more? Nope. Just start writing that movie for James MacAvoy and Danai Gurira. I’m thinking When Harry Met Sally meets The Incredibles. He’s Elastiboy. She’s Mx. Incredible. I’ll have what she’s having.

Should we do a thought experiment on what would have happened if Kevin Hart had hosted? But why would we do that when we could just… not?

Moving on.

When Ruth E. Carter won for designing the costumes of Black Panther, I was fucking delighted. What, am I supposed to be like, “But WHY are you delighted? Should you not examine your delight through a lens of—” SHUT UP IT WAS GREAT. This woman is an institution and it’s about fucking time black artists got their due.

When Hannah Beachler won for production design for Black Panther, I was fucking delighted. What, am I supposed to be mad she spent time and thought on a prepared speech that lasted exactly as long as it was supposed to last? Why? Why would I do that when I could just… not? NO HOT TAKES HERE, PEOPLE. IT WAS NICE. FIN.

Every time Alfonso Cuarón stood up to accept another award for Roma I had two thoughts at the same time:
1. Gotta see Roma, seriously.
2. Oof, Querido.

1996 called to remind me to break me off a piece of that

1996 called to remind me to break me off a piece of that

Must I craft a take of elevated temperature on the intensity of my thirst for Alfonso Cuarón, or why every time I sat down to watch Roma I was like, “Mmmmmmmmmm not tonight. But soon,” and put on Brooklyn 99 instead?

No! I sure don’t! Someday I’ll watch the movie! Until then I’ll watch the director! I wonder what product he uses on that perfect silver foxy bedhead. It’s gotta be a mousse of some kind. Definitely not a wax. These are the takes, people.

When Rami Malek won for Bohemian Rhapsody I was like “Thank Freddie, dude. You better thank Freddie,” and he kind of did and it was kind of fine. I was also like, “IS ANYONE GOING TO TALK ABOUT BRYAN SINGER” but we already knew the answer to that one, so in conclusion fuck that asshole.

Was it great that straight Malek won playing a queer musician in a film directed by a rapist pedophile? Nope.

Is there more to say about that? I mean, are we gonna start empowering more queer performers and imposing actual consequences on rapist pedophiles, or what? I mean, you tell me, “establishment.” Do you have anything to say about that?

But Malek’s speech about immigrants was lovely and I wish that immigrant or first-generation artists didn’t have to designate a slice of their celebratory speech time to the mission of reminding people that “WE ARE PEOPLE TOO.” Not a hot take. More of a tepid puddle. The one we’ve been standing in for awhile now with wet socks. But cool. Rami. That’s fine. I’m whatever.

Conversely, when Olivia Coleman won Best Actress for The Favourite I was like


but for awhile.

Not gonna try to be mad about Glenn Close not winning because she woke up this morning and was like am I still Glenn Mothafuckin Close? Yes? Then I’m NOT MAD and it’s still basically


I mean you get it.

The Shallow was… listen, Gaga has pipes. Cooper also has vocal chords. Honestly the song was a little awkward for me just because I can’t stop seeing Bradley Cooper’s stanky “aw yeah” shoulder-dancey face watching Lady Gaga sing and I TOO MADE THAT FACE and DID THAT SHOULDER DANCE when I watched her sing and now I know how embarrassing I am when I’m in my feelings. Is that a hot take? Side note: I don’t care if they’re boning. I don’t think they are but… (shrug) (lights a cigarette) (pretends to inhale but just puffs it) (lets it burn down) (and scene.)

And listen, everything that was nice last night is still nice today, and everything that was eye-rollingly predictably awful is still that way too.

Green Book’s Best Picture win is fucking CLASSIC.

This movie is the product of white men crafting a narrative about racism designed to maximize the humanity of racists and minimize the humanity of the people actually hurt by racism. Shockingly, a bunch of white “nice people” Oscar voters found the movie timely because they think that white people should literally win ALL THE THINGS for being WILLING to TALK about RACE, even if all they’re saying is “For your consideration, look at me talking about race.”

As soon as Julia said “Green Book,” I snapped off the TV and got in the shower and grumbled about unexamined white supremacy and by the time I toweled off a bajillion people on Twitter had already said everything better. No hot takes here. It felt like bullshit because it was bullshit and there’s no depth to the bullshit, just a fatty smear of bullshit with nothing under it.

I do think that it’s worth noticing the cultural disconnect between white narratives on racism and black narratives on racism, like, you gonna ask Woody Allen to write the screenplay for the R. Kelly story? You gonna let Mel Gibson take a crack at the draft of the Schindler’s List remake? No, because those fuckers don’t get to manipulate those narratives in order to increase the audience’s empathy for bigots and predators who share their point of view.

Anyway, I think that’s worth examining before the next freaking election but that’s for another blog post about how white narratives on racism are typically a) about white people learning to make friends with specific people of color, b) comfortable and sanitized, c) about problem-solving one specific person’s obstacle rather than advocating for systemic equity, and d) leave you feeling hopeful. Ask any person of color what THEIR EXPERIENCE OF RACISM IS and I guarantee you that you will not hear the words “tidy,” “hopeful,” “problem-solving,” and “the importance of helping white people like me.” But of course that’s not a hot take, either.

So this morning I have no hot takes. There were soaring highs and crushing lows, everyone’s hung over, and I’m ready to move on with my life, how about you?

Thanks for being here, hope you liked the post!