I hate the Oscars. Even when I was acting, I hated the Oscars. Not the award itself, mind you, but the ceremony. It is tedious, pretentious, and a bunch of other iouses I don’t even want to get into. Ten, fifteen, even twenty years ago I had a recurring dream every spring in which I won one of those 8 lb. golden statues. I’d arrive via taxi at a backstage door just in time to run onstage, thank Mom and Dad and Grandma, and Agent Al, and Director Dan, and Writer Wendy, and Caterer Kate, and the taxi driver still parked outside, and the wino in the alley for turning his head away just before he puked, and then the Musical Director would save me and I’d run back outside to the cab and be done with the whole mess. I’d take the statue back home and put it on the mantle where it would be surrounded by a dozen or so other (far less shiny) trophies, medals, and certificates earned for various events, publications, or productions I have to struggle to recall with any kind of clarity.

Thankfully, I no longer have that dream. I don’t even think about the Oscars much, because, mainly, I don’t really care. I can’t afford to go to the movies anymore, so why should I care? I can’t afford the time or the financial investment. I’d wager I’ve averaged maybe three films a year over the past decade. Maybe. This year, Avatar was one of those films.

And I liked it. I enjoyed the time I spent in the theatre, and when it was over, I left and never really thought about the film again.

Fast forward to a few days before the Oscars, and the hallways at school are buzzing with anticipation and prediction. I hadn’t been paying attention to nominations, and when my students told me Avatar was nominated for Best Picture, I laughed and asked if they were serious.

Fast forward yet again to the day after the award ceremony. I watched perhaps 15 minutes of it the night before as I was getting ready for bed, and not a single award was handed out in that fifteen minutes (there were, however, 7 minutes of commercials, which is worse, even, than a NASCAR race on Fox). I’m talking with a friend who happens to be a huge Science Fiction fan, and she was outraged, outraged I tell you! that Avatar was snubbed for best picture and best director.

“Really” I asked. “But… the movie… well, the story… it kinda sucked.”

She couldn’t even speak. Oh, she tried. Her mouth was open and sort of fluttered, as if she had suddenly forgotten the proper lip-tongue-teeth positions for her plosives and fricatives. But she’s a friend, and I wanted to help her, so I continued.

“Avatar is this decade’s Jurassic Park. It was gorgeous. It was stunning. The oh-my-god-did-you-SEE-THAT?? factor blew the roof off the theatre. And though I am far removed from the business these days, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there were some fundamental changes made to the landscape of cinematic production, so I suppose I could see Cameron winning Best Director for pulling all that technology together, but Best Movie? Not a chance.”

“But you like science fiction,” she managed to say.

“Yup, I do. Hell, ever since I first saw Star Wars and Blade Runner in the theatre, SF has been my single favorite genre of film. But that doesn’t mean I overlook crap when it hits the screen. And while Avatar isn’t crap by any stretch of the imagination, without the technology behind it, that story never gets made into a movie. Because not only have we heard that story  told before, we’ve heard it told better.”

My friend hasn’t talked to me since. She’ll come around. She’ll have to. I have her pen.

So there you have it… my review of Avatar and the Oscars all rolled into one little (ok, maybe not so little) package. To summarize:

Avatar: A good piece of eye-candy that neglects to focus on any of the myriad of potential themes it introduces, which leaves it ultimately flat and forgettable.

Oscar: I hope they move this to Pay-Per-View so I don’t have to miss another episode of Extreme Makeover.