Soon after Penelope warned she'd ignore the 45 second rule, a heckler from the Kodak's cheap seats interrupted the girl,
adding a tedious moment to the live proceedings as she was
already visibly shaken and warned of possible collapse. Pulling from her resources as an actor
she somehow found enough composure to then translate her
thank yous for the spanish speaking audience around the world. So props to her. If she had barked some Oscar-winning rapid-fire spanish at him the night might have improved.
I commend Bill Condon for giving us the "Creative Screenwriting Magazine" version
last night, complete with the superimposed screenplay over the scenes. It did feel
a bit like a musical prism/prison, but the duet between Jackman&Hathaway was
almost worth it. Slumdog winning during a global financial meltdown? Predictable.
The highlight came 30 minutes after that, when Mickey Rourke explained to Barbara WaWa why
suicide wasn't an option: "The chicken shit way out" and "my dog looked up at me,
like, who's gonna take care of me?" (a classic self-serving anthropomorphic delusion) "Write what you know" has evolved again: "Write for
a specific actor that knows how to play himself" If anything, Condon reminded us that indeed, the new era of the musical has come and gone. Good riddance. Boyle does Baliwood and wins the statue. So what. Big deal. Enough now.