HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! I doubt Hanks would go in front of thousands of millions of people and curse at someone if it were real. Even Russell Crowe saves it for backstage.
I saw a copy of the Oscar ballot on Entertainment Tonight and it was just a straightforward ballot with the nominees listed one after the other. I think this was a joke referring back to the 2000 Presidential elections.
Ya know, Annie Proulx' self-titled "Sour Grapes Rant" in The Guardian is actually a fairly spot-on skewering even without any discussion of Brokeback or Crash:
"After a good deal of standing around admiring dresses and sucking up champagne, people obeyed the stentorian countdown commands to get in their seats as "the show" was about to begin. There were orders to clap and the audience obediently clapped.
"From the first there was an atmosphere of insufferable self-importance emanating from "the show" which, as the audience was reminded several times, was televised and being watched by billions of people all over the world. Those lucky watchers could get up any time they wished and do something worthwhile, like go to the bathroom. As in everything related to public extravaganzas, a certain soda pop figured prominently. There were montages, artfully meshed clips of films of yesteryear, live acts by Famous Talent, smart-ass jokes by Jon Stewart who was witty and quick, too witty, too quick, too eastern perhaps for the somewhat dim LA crowd.
"Everyone thanked their dear old mums, scout troop leaders, kids and consorts. More commercials, more quick wit, more clapping, beads of sweat, Stewart maybe wondering what evil star had lighted his way to this labour. Despite the technical expertise and flawlessly sleek set evocative of 1930s musicals, despite Dolly Parton whooping it up and Itzhak Perlman blending all the theme music into a single performance (he represented "culchah"), there was a kind of provincial flavour to the proceedings reminiscent of a small-town talent-show night.
"After three-and-a-half hours of butt-numbing sitting we stumbled away, down the magnificent staircases, and across the red carpet. In the distance men were shouting out limousine numbers, "406 . . . 27 . . . 921 . . . 62" and it seemed someone should yell "Bingo!" It was now dark, or as dark as it gets in the City of Angels. As we waited for our number to be called we could see ... the red carpet now had taken on a different hue, a purple tinge. The source of the colour was not far away. Down the street, spreading its baleful light everywhere, hung a gigantic, vertical, electric-blue neon sign spelling out S C I E N T O L O G Y.
I wonder if Proulx would have been moved to publish the same observations if Brokeback had won best picture. Everything she describes would have been exactly the same no matter who got what awards.
I agree. She comes off as a bitter old woman. Like insulting everything (including "King Kong"!?) is going to make things any better. Did Martin Scorsese write how much he hated Clint Eastwood after losing at last years Academy Awards?
It's definitely sour grapes, and also a welcome critique of the usual Oscar farce (not that we don't already get plenty of those from folks without a specific ax to grind).
Still, it's nice to hear a few breaths of truth amid all the fauning, ego-stroking obsequiousness that hangs over the occasion like smog. Like Joan River's halitosis. Like the sickening halogen glare of a Scientology sign. Hey... this is kinda fun!
Oh please. Hollywood's pretensions have been skewered for years by people who know much better of what they speak. Proulx's a skillful writer, but in this case she's wasting her skills on derivative drivel.