I must have a defective ‘Gay gene.’ — The Oscars put me to sleep. They go on and on and on for hours on end about Hollywood’s own greatness, and to be fair, Hollywood has given our culture some pretty spectacular art through film. I merely can’t stay awake long enough to watch it. Tonight I’m having supper with friends — all of us are or are reaching a ‘certain age’ where anything much past midnight is reserved for insomnia.
We’re going to TRY and watch the Oscars. I’ll be wearing Ballenciaga with rented jewels from Harry Winston, asleep in my chair.
One of the many reasons no one can spend the night sleeping next to me in my bed has less to do with the lumpy mattress and my not wanting other people taking-up the space — it has more to do with how I sleep all night with the television on. I keep the sound just low enough to vaguely hear… When I do sleep, sometimes the news or whatever I’ve left ‘on’ incorporates itself into my dreams while the Xanax kicks-in and I dose-off deeply enough to dream. This gives me the false sense of having predicted the news when I wake-up in the morning completely nonplussed by the daily disturbing developments that took place during my semi-conscious attempt at slumber. That said, I hope my hosts don’t have to carry me across the street and tuck me into bed, because the Oscars, the Tonys the Screen Actors Guild Awards, the Emmys, the Grammys, the Golden Globes, — you name it are like an opiate of sleep to me.
I’m genuinely happy for the winners the next day — but as I am not now, nor will I ever BE nominated for an Oscar, so I have nothing invested in the outcome. That said, I kind of hope ‘The Artist’ wins for best picture. It was one of the only 2 films I saw this past year. And I loved it. I loved everything about it especially the dog, who reminds me of Winnie. Mostly I loved it because the film was such a courageous and bold risk in making a black and white silent film in the age of computer-generated explosions and digital space aliens. What resonated with me about ‘The Artist’ is it’s subtle subtext and relevance to our own lives today — while paying reverent respect to the past, early 20th century. Silent films and everyone who participated in those early years were pioneers in the genre. For me, the contemporary relevance comes-in when the main protagonist of The Artist, at the top of his game, is suddenly and cruelly rendered obsolete by the introduction of talking pictures. He isn’t going to make the transition, as so many of us haven’t in recent years.
Computerization and robotic-mechanization — along with jobs shipped overseas have left a lot of highly skilled people, especially over 50, no longer deemed valuable to employers, leaving them — us — we — specifically ME — not knowing where to turn next. This is the ultimate and profoundly uplifting message of the film: Finding one’s way in a world changing so quickly it’s nothing short of warp-speed, leaving it impossible for many of us to compete and maintain our way of life. But it can be done, and that’s the gift of ‘The Artist.’ Truth to tell, that is the gift of art itself.