Sunday Night’s SAG awards (click for full results) were a nice shot in the arm for those of us who crave the award shows and all their little tidbits of glamour and gossip. Brad and Angelina made out at the table after a joyful parade down the red carpet, Angie in a dress that suggested she’s either pregnant or wants to toy with us completely (come one, that was a tent worthy of J. Lo at 5 months). Meanwhile Tom Cruise looked so subdued handing out the last award of the night that you’d think everyone in America had been ridiculing his Scientology video for the last week (if you haven’t seen it yet, check out his Jerry Maguire co-star Jerry O’Connell’s parody here).

The winners were an interesting group, not necessarily in line with what we would have expected coming off the Golden Globes, but maybe more representative of the affection — and respect — guild members feel for their colleagues. And they really do honor each other; where else would a veteran like Charles Durning get his due with a tribute that went on for more than 4 minutes (and was very touching, by the way)? That’s my theory as to why someone like American Gangster’s Ruby Dee walked away with a supporting actress award that should have been Cate Blanchett’s. And Away From Her’s Julie Christie, who has been around long enough to feel comfortable showing up in a snappy suit instead of some big poofy gown, winning a best actress award that I personally would have given to Marion Cotillard. But Christie did a lovely job playing an Alzheimer’s patient in Sarah Polley’s film and I loved her crack as she wrapped up her thank yous Sunday night: “If I’ve forgotten anybody, well, it’s just that I’m still in character.”

Of course, if my theory were really solid, Hal Holbrook would have won for Into the Wild instead of No Country for Old Men’s Javier Bardem. I can’t complain though, since Bardem is my choice for the Academy Award. And I was thrilled that the male performance I feel most excited about this year, that of Daniel Day-Lewis in There Will Be Blood, was recognized by the guild. The actor is such a class act that he dedicated his award to Heath Ledger, an actor I think he’s said he never met, but who he said gave him a sense of “regeneration” when he watched him perform. “In Brokeback Mountain of course, he was unique, he was perfect,” he said. It was a lovely act of generosity, and once again, I found myself so saddened over the loss of Ledger.

The first time I saw Heath Ledger act was in The Patriot, Mel Gibson’s Revolutionary War epic, released in late June 2000. He played Gibson’s bold young son, eager to go to war. Coincidentally, it was my first week as a movie critic. I don’t remember much about the movie except for how bloody it was. But I do remember noticing Ledger’s leonine good looks, the ready smile and warm eyes and thinking, “That guy is going to be a major movie star.”

It hardly took a rocket scientist to hazard that guess; indeed many others had made that same assessment earlier, after his breakthrough role in the 1999 teen flick 10 Things I Hate About You. And all of us were right. At the time of his mysterious, apparently drug-related death at 28 on Tuesday, Ledger had been Oscar-nominated, linked to various starlets and stalked by paparazzi and gossip hounds, all the usual trappings of movie stardom.

But we were also wrong. His body of work doesn’t look much like that of a movie star. There’s no high grossing romantic comedy set in Manhattan, co-starring an It girl. Nor an action flick where he showed off his pecs. The closest thing to a franchise on his resume is The Dark Knight, the next Batman movie from director Christopher Nolan, due out this spring, but in that, Ledger plays an iconic villain – the Joker – not the leading man.

In his career, he made off-beat choices, the choices of an actor who wanted to work, but seemed more interested in being challenged by what he did than in cashing in on his own extreme physical beauty. There are many reasons why his sudden, shocking death matters within the world of pop culture: He was young and famous. He leaves behind an ex-girlfriend, Michelle Williams, another innate acting talent, and the child they had together. Matilda Rose, who is just 2, looks startlingly like her father, and he seemed utterly devoted to her (Have you seen the photo of him tenderly wiping her face at a London café from last fall? That’ll get you crying if nothing else does.)

But within the world of film, the question of why Heath Ledger mattered has a lot more to do with integrity of choice and sincerity of execution than with glamour. His end is tinged with the possibility of something sordid, but his quality of performance, right up through his last films, never suggested anyone on the decline. Even just glimpsing a still photograph of him in full Joker regalia is enough to make The Dark Knight look like a winner.

He famously didn’t work for a year after 10 Things, turning down roles that were cut from the same bolt of cloth until The Patriot came along. Then he appeared in A Knight’s Tale, a frivolous but fun medieval tale with a twist; a very loud and very contemporary musical score. Briefly, he appeared to be headed into the business of being professionally adorable.

But the next role he took was in Monster’s Ball, in which he had the demeanor of a whipped dog. He played Billy Bob Thornton’s son, who had gone into the family business of guarding death row inmates but was clearly too sensitive for it. His Sonny was the kind of lonely boy who, quite sweetly, asked the prostitute he’d just finished with if she wanted to go get something to eat. He’s not in the film long — his last scene is a quick, sobering punch to the audience’s gut – but what he does with the role makes the rest of the story plausible.

That was his style, seeking out each new role almost as if trying to erase the memory of the last one. He navigated his own career not like a man trying to get from point A to point B, but like an adventurer poking around in an archipelago. The mainstream failed him more often than not – think of the visually sumptuous but ultimately forgettable Four Feathers – but he never seemed inclined to rule anything out. He made one less than spectacular movie with Terry Gilliam (the goofy mess The Brothers Grimm), but still signed up for another, The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, which was in production when he died.

He showed the same loyalty to his homeland, going back to Australia to make Ned Kelly, about that country’s legendary outlaw (and beginning a relationship with his co-star Naomi Watts that lasted a couple of years). It was then that he had his first real taste of being tabloid fodder. As if to negate the image of himself as a romantic lead, he signed on for Lords of Dogtown, the skateboarding saga based on Stacy Peralta’s 2001 documentary Dogtown and Z-Boys. He plays a surf shop owner half-way between The Big Lebowski’s The Dude and Val Kilmer’s version of Jim Morrison and he’s barely recognizable: bearded, with strange teeth and wild hair. He plays what we used to call a complete “waste product.” But he’s convincing, funny and there is that trademark sincerity visible in his character, even drunk and mumbling.

In 2005, he had three films premiere at the Venice Film Festival, one of them Brokeback Mountain, the Ang Lee film that cemented Ledger as an acting force, turning him into “Oscar-nominee Heath Ledger.” Doing publicity at the festival, he described the process of making Brokeback as lonely and tortuous. The light and frothy Casanova, in which he played the legendary lover opposite Sienna Miller, was the pasta-eating, merriment-making holiday he gave himself as a reward. He told reporters he liked to switch back and forth between types of projects., not because he had a master plan, but because he liked to “flip the scale” on jobs, alternating between using different parts of his brain.

The physicality of his Brokeback performance was particularly brilliant; through body language, he pulled off aging decades while his co-star Jake Gyllenhaal just looked like a guy wearing a fake moustache. Some complained about his rumbling delivery, but I hung on every word. What really sold me on him as an actor was the way his eyes told us everything, even when Ennis was obviously hiding behind his wall of reticence. It was almost disconcertingly real, like having someone you love tell you everything’s fine when you know different.

He wanted, he said, to scare himself with new challenges. Playing a heroin addict in “Candy,” another Australian production, must have done that. And as he revealed in that now-much-referred-to New York Times profile timed for the release of I’m Not There, in which he played the least likeable of director Todd Haynes’ Bob Dylans, the The Dark Knight definitely did. Playing the Joker had made him unable to sleep, he told the Times’ Sarah Lyall, even after he’d popped multiple Ambiens. If he’d been your friend, telling you that, it would have raised alarm bells. But we’re so unused to celebrities opening up about real problems – unless maybe they’re on Barbara Walter’s couch – that it passed right by the public consciousness. I took away from that story only a liking for his frankness, although clearly, he needed help. (And a doctor who would do something other than throw more pills at him.)

People have compared his death to James Dean’s, as a robbery of potential. Dean is so long gone he’s more a postcard to me than anything else. But another Oscar-nominee, River Phoenix, dead at 23 from an overdose? That’s who I’m reminded of. Phoenix has been dead 14 years, but I still get sad, thinking about him, and I suspect I’ll still feel the same way about Ledger in another 14 years. I hope someday his daughter finds solace from watching his films, from looking into those eyes of his, and seeing a sincerity that no role seemed able to mask, no matter how deeply he vanished into it.

With it being a day of Oscar nominations and reviews to write, I barely have time to think, but this was just terribly tragic news to get: Australian actor Heath Ledger, who was so good in Brokeback Mountain, was found dead today in a New York apartment owned by Mary-Kate Olsen (okay, that’s just weird) according to reports in the New York Times. (Update: the actresses rep has said it wasn’t her apartment.) Pills found near the body reportedly, which certainly makes it sound like suicide. It’s stupid to make flash judgments, but of course, my first reaction is, how can someone who so clearly found such great joy from his beautiful little girl Matilda — who can’t be more than 2 — have been so careless with his life? And what about the cautionary tale about two heroin addicts, Candy, he starred in a few years back?

Depressing. And this just as we’ve been hearing how fantastic he is in the Batman sequel The Dark Knight, playing the joker. And on the heels of his work in I’m Not There? I can’t even think about this anymore, it is just such a waste of talent and life and potential and most important, parenthood.

The Oscar race is officially on and it’s going to be almost as hard to predict as the presidential race. There are two front runners, the gorgeously eccentric There Will Be Blood and the wickedly intelligent No Country For Old Men, both of which scored eight nominations early Tuesday morning, including that vital combination of nods for best picture and best director.

But nipping right at their heels are two other best picture nominees with seven nominations each, Atonement and Michael Clayton. And rounding out the best picture category is Juno, certainly the most crowd-pleasing picture of the year, which nabbed four nominations, including one for its young star, Ellen Page; another for director, Jason Reitman; and one for Diablo Cody, the former stripper who penned the wry, wistful tale of a pregnant high school student.

Because we don’t even know if there will be an Oscar ceremony this year – although on Tuesday the writers were reportedly talking to various media corporation bigwigs, so there is hope – we thought we’d have some fun and hand out our own awards to some of the nominees.

The Fresh Face: Oscar’s rule is, there has to be a new girl on the block nominated for the best actress, preferably pretty. This year Juno’s Ellen Page, 20, a native of Canada, with some indie experience (Hard Candy) and a supporting role in the third X-Men, is It.

The We’re Happy You’re Not Dead: Nothing appeals more to Hollywood than an actor or actress who emerges from a seeming retirement to play some vital supporting role in a major movie. This year it’s two first time nominees, Ruby Dee (83), who played Denzel Washington’s mother in American Gangster and Hal Holbrook (82), who was so touching in Into the Wild. All Dee (A Raisin in the Sun) had to do was slap mega-star Washington to nab her nod.

The Grand Intimidators: There Will Be Blood’s Daniel Day Lewis and Paul Thomas Anderson: Talents so audacious and huge that Academy members must have been scared not to vote for them.

The Doyenne: Aging well is essential to Hollywood’s self-image. A great, or even good, actress who hangs onto her beauty and her figure is always welcome at an Oscar ceremony (think Helen Mirren). This year the award for enduring elegance goes to best actress nominee Julie Christie, who played an Alzheimer’s patient finding new love while the old one looked on helplessly in Away From Her.

The Signs of Progress: No women were nominated in the best director category, which is typical, but directors Tamara Jenkins and Sarah Polley did get nods in the screening writing categories, Jenkins for her original work in The Savages and Polley for her adaptation work in Away From Her. Juno’s Diablo Cody and Nancy Oliver (“Lars and the Real Girl” were also nominated in the original screenplay category.

The Due Diligents: What’s not to love about the hardworking Michael Clayton crew? Up until now, director Tony Gilroy made his living as a screenwriter. But in 2007 he made his directorial debut with this legal thriller, and he did it in the quietest, most professional way possible. Kind of like his star George Clooney and supporting players, Tilda Swinton and Tom Wilkinson. They’re all up for Oscars, and richly deserved.

The Precocious Child: Do Academy members hunch over their nomination ballots saying: “Kids, kids, any good kids this years? What have the Fannings been up to?” The truth is, kids are validating. They speak to the future, as least until they’re 16. So they get nominated. This year’s choice is Atonement’s Saoirse Ronan, who was born in – can you stand it? – 1994.

There is Justice (or at Least a Good Publicist): That screener of In the Valley of Elah made it into enough Academy hands to snag Tommy Lee Jones a much deserved best actor nomination. Hot Diggity.

Only in Hollywood: Could you see a vibrant, powerful film like La Vie en Rose, the Edith Piaf bio-pic, up against a miserable, distasteful comedy like Norbit for an award. Here’s hoping the fat suit doesn’t win out for best makeup.

The Thank You For Making Us Laugh: There’s a mini-trend in Hollywood to recognize comedy. But it has to be a story that is simultaneously poignant, like Little Miss Sunshine. This year’s recipient is Juno’s Jason Reitman, who got a surprise nod for best director to go with that best picture nod. Reitman, whose last film was the sparkling Thank You For Smoking, is a veritable child at only 30. But he might have been helped on his road to recognition by his connections. Like previous best director nominee, Sofia Coppola, he’s Hollywood royalty; his dad is Ivan Reitman of “Ghostbusters” fame.)

The You Can Do No Wrong (Although Sometimes You Do): Sweeney Todd’s Johnny Depp and Elizabeth: The Golden Age’s Cate Blanchett, were both nominated in the best actor/actress category. These two are so cherished, they get nominated even when their movies don’t measure up.

The Continuing Conundrum: It happened again. For various reasons having to do with eligibility and as far as we can tell, the complete weirdness of the nomination process, not one of the foreign language films we loved or admired in 2007 made the Oscar cut. Left out were Spain’s The Orphanage and Romania’s 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 3 Days, as well as best director nominee Julian Schnabel’s The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, which is in French but made by an American. So what was nominated? Five films we haven’t seen.

The They Have Each Other and That Ought to be Enough: Both halves of Brangelina did the finest work of their careers in 2007, but Brad Pitt in The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford and Angelina Jolie in A Mighty Heart were shut out by the Academy. If we were their peers, we’d probably be jealous too. The beauty is, Brangelina could probably take or leave the Oscars. They’ll probably be either pregnant by Feb. 24 or adopting again.

Hi there,

I’m working on a story for tomorrow’s paper on the Oscar nominations, that will doubtless be posted this afternoon here as well, but in the meantime, can I just say:

1. There are Signs of Progress in Hollywood. Neither of the women who did major directing work this year, Sarah Polley with Away From Her and Tamara Jenkins with The Savages, got recognized in the director category, which is traditionally all boys, all the time. But they did both get nods in the screenplay categories, Polley for her adaptation of an Alice Munro short story, and Jenkins for her original screenplay. And the original screenplay nominees include 3 women out of 5 spots (Diablo Cody for Juno and Nancy Oliver for Lars and the Real Girl. That’s impressive. Of course, I can’t decide whether this is actually sort of patronizing — “You ladies do such a nice job of writing! And cooking!” or something more encouraging.

2. There are Also Signs of Good Taste. Much as I adore There Will Be Blood, I know it’s a challenging picture. I didn’t expect to see it up there with the best picture nominees, and I am delighted about that. And also so pleasantly surprised by Paul Thomas Anderson making it into the best director nominees. There Will Be Blood’s eight nominations (it’s tied for front runner with another seriously fabulous but complex film, No Country For Old Men) also makes up for the complete neglect of a film I just couldn’t get out of my head in 2007, David Fincher’s Zodiac.

3. It pays to be a kid or a senior citizen in Tinseltown, although only in Oscar season. The Academy loves them. Saoirse Ronan was very fine in Atonement, but this just feels like another of those nominations that stems from Hollywood’s perpetual amazement that children can actually act. Talk about a viewpoint of arrogance; if acting is a natural gift, why shouldn’t you be just as likely to have it at a young age as you would at 30? And then on the flip side, there’s the classic Hollywood reaction to veterans, which I like to think of as the Gloria Stuart approach. Both Into the Wild’s Hal Holbrook and American Gangster’s Ruby Dee were nominated for their supporting work as well. Now Holbrook was lovely, but all I remember about Dee’s performance is that she smacked Denzel Washington across the face. I think her nomination was a case of Wow, We Thought You Were Dead (and we’re glad you’re not.)

Okay, I’ve got writing to do for the paper. Look for that story later and when I clear the decks a bit, I’ll return to this space to spank myself for all my bad predictions (and pat myself on the back for the ones I got right in Sunday’s paper, including 5 out of 5 in the Best Supporting Actor category.)

UPDATE: the video was removed from defamer’s site, although it can be found other places, including dlisted. but not for long, i’m sure.

Yesterday gawker.com posted a video interview with Tom Cruise talking about Scientology, supposedly put together for a “church” event a couple of years ago at which Cruise was honored. It disappeared so fast I never had a chance to click on it, but it resurfaced Monday afternoon on YouTube and linked on defamer and popsugar. It’s jaw droppingly weird, especially the last three minutes. If anyone knows what “spectators” are, please comment. Enjoy.

Readers, I do try to take a positive attitude. Here are my reasons why it wasn’t such a bad thing to be Globeless.

1. One less opportunity to see Katie Holmes in that hideous Louise Brooks bob.
2. Or Tom Cruise clutching her in that weird way he does, as if they’re taking the floor for their final dance in a ballroom dancing competition.
3. Rumer Willis didn’t get to be Miss Golden Globe, which doubtless saved her from at least a dozen heartless, pointless and cruel posts about her visage on perezhilton.com.
4. And saved us from video clips of Demi Moore or Bruce Willis saying how “proud” they are of her for putting on a designer dress and walking across a stage. Honestly, Miss Golden Globe is the dorkiest awards ceremony tradition ever. It’s like Hollywood’s idea of a debutante ball, but for just one girl (or boy). And I use the term girl loosely; one of my high school classmates, who happened to have a semi-famous mother, did it nine years after we graduated. Which would have made her about 27. And truly desperate for fame.
5. No pictures of sweaty, drunken, celebratory Globe winner Jeremy Piven surrounded by women half his age or the ensuing rumors that he propositioned them. (But, for the record, “Entourage” would be nothing without him.)
6. Being spared any more tedious “Grey’s Anatomy” name calling or backstage cast dramas. Although it’s always fun to see Katherine Heigl’s outfits. She dresses as if she were an established Hollywood goddess instead of an ingenue. And landing that Vanity Fair cover, albeit January’s, suggests that there really is power to positive thinking.
7. I get depressed every time I see George Clooney with that plastic looking 20something girlfriend of his. The classiest-looking man in Hollywood finally has a relationship that lasts more than a month and it’s with a reality TV star? This is the kind of thing that gives girls like Lauren Conrad over-inflated egos.
8. Angelina Jolie would have worn black. Again. With Christian Louboutin heels. And a trench coat. It’s criminal for someone this beautiful – and rich — to be so boring in the fashion department. The only variety in the Brangelina look is Brad Pitt’s hairdo and that’s not saying much.
9. If the Oscars do happen — and please, let them! — Jon Stewart should have no trouble finally shaking the Billy Crystal curse. After suffering through 30 minutes with the likes of Ryan Seacrest and Mary Hart, America will cling to Stewart like a life raft.
10. It’s always good to be reminded that writers are useful.

Just in case you all didn’t catch that scintillating press conference for the Golden Globes — and it wasn’t easy to find on the old remote — here’s my hit on it. On the one hand, the briskness of the pace had a certain appeal. But oh, the hollowness of that room! The sadness of its smallness! I haven’t figured out yet who that blonde in the purple dress was, reading out the first batch of Golden Globe wins, but wow, wasn’t it so depressing that she was not someone famous, wearing something fabulous? I mean yes, she was right when she said that this “feels different,” but it almost makes it worse, to have someone you don’t recognize reminding you that she shouldn’t even be there.

But “I’m Not There’s” absolute best version of Bob Dylan, Cate Blanchett, winning for Best Supporting Actress? That’s almost enough to lift me out of my depression over the lack of an actual ceremony…And Marion Cotillard, my personal favorite for Best Actress come Oscar time this year, winning for Musical/Comedy, that is good news as well.

God, good picks notwithstanding, who are these morons I’m watching on E!??? That chick who is married to the Apprentice guy, blathering about how she never thought she’d be announcing Golden Globe winners? Stop rubbing it in! Your job is to read the names. That’s it! And Ryan Seacrest, telling me that Javier Bardem is an upset win for No Country for Old Men? Hardly an upset, every man in that supporting actor category was fantastic and deserving, and Bardem’s wicked hitman was the showiest thing in a great movie.

Okay, I know Chuck Barney is busily reacting to the TV wins and losses, so this isn’t really my place, but how could they overlook the great Alec Baldwin for Best Actor in a TV comedy? Didn’t they see the clip where Baldwin impersonates five different people, three of them related to Tracy Morgan’s character, in the space of 90 seconds? David Duchovny is cute and fun in Californication, but Baldwin is masterful…

It’s really a shame not to see Julie Christie picking up that Best Actress award for Drama. I bet she would have worn something silvery and classy, in the style of Helen Mirren but sexier. I love her, it’s nice that she won. I’m glad she wasn’t up against my girl Marion Cotillard, who absolutely embodied Edith Piaf in La Vie en Rose. Sometimes it’s nice that the Golden Globes splits the categories, even if it is just a shameless ploy for getting maximum star power at its ceremony. When it comes Oscar time, these two women are going to be each other’s toughest competition, definitely.

No one is going to give Angelina Jolie an award, no matter how good she was in A Mighty Heart (and she was good, very good). She has too perfect a life. Fact. She can forget about ever winning an Oscar again too. Unless she and Brad have a very painful breakup; then maybe she’ll have a shot.

This whole shabby little event went by so fast. And weren’t all those plastic announcers indistinguishable from each other? Mary Hart is so low rent…This is tragic. I miss my stars.

Julian Schnabel for Best Director? Instead of No Country for Old Men’s Ethan and Joel Coen? That IS an upset. Don’t get me wrong, I loved The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, really loved it. But I stand by my belief that No Country is a perfect movie and the Coens deserve the award. I wonder if being co-directors, technically speaking, makes people less inclined to vote for them? When it comes to awards, the individual tends to be what matters, after all.

Sweeney Todd for Best Musical or Comedy? Yes it was a weak field, but over Juno? And Johnny Depp for Best Actor? Oh, the softness of the Golden Globes. Squishy, so often silly Golden Globes. But also populist, and that’s why we love them. That and the fact that usually they give us an opportunity to see relaxed (ie, drunk) movie stars roaming around patting each other on the backs.

Listening to Mary Hart makes you realize how much we need writers.

More writers like 30 Rock’s Tina Fey, who has been proudly walking the picket line and also really deserved that Best Actress award for Comedy.

Best Actor goes to Daniel Day-Lewis in There Will Be Blood! My favorite performance of the year, and the award I was most passionate about. No one else, not even a great actor like Philip Seymour Hoffman, who was spectacular in three movies this year (Charlie Wilson’s War, The Savages and Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead) could touch Day-Lewis. This was the role of a lifetime.

Atonement winning Best Picture. Hmmm, that’s an interesting indicator. Will the Academy go the same way, horrified by all that killing in No Country for Old Men and choosing the “easier” film? Probably. (This isn’t meant to demean Atonement, which I also had on my top ten list. It’s just a more digestible film than No Country, romantic, dreamy, lush and lovely to look at. With such a sexy sex scene. But I digress.) All I know is, there better be an Oscars. This 31-minute long extravaganza was not exactly fulfilling. I can handle missing one awards ceremony, but not the Oscars…I’m going to go make dinner for my family. With a glass of wine in my hand. That’s as festive as tonight is going to get.

I’m a movie critic, but I don’t know that many people who actually make films, beyond a few documentary filmmakers I met in graduate school at Berkeley. But I do have two friends, San Francisco-based director/writer Dave Munro and his producing and writing partner (as well as wife) Xandra Castleton, who finally got a big, beautiful break this week when their film “Full Grown Men” was awarded IndieWIRE’s 2007 Undiscovered Gems audience award. The prize is a theatrical release, which any first time feature filmmaker will tell you is vastly superior to some dumb statuette to put on the mantle. And I can’t think of two people who have worked harder in the name of creativity or are more deserving of a break. I won’t be able to review the film when it comes out because I am terribly biased in Dave and Xandra’s favor (to the point where one of the most important events of my life was propelled by Dave’s 40th birthday party, but that’s a whole other story). But I can tell you that it is the first film to make me want to go to Florida, Alan Cumming plays a tough guy in it (which is just as crazy and cool as it sounds) and that Dave and Xandra’s devotion to their project shines through in every frame. Dave says he’s hoping for a Spring 2008 release, so keep an eye out for Full Grown Men at your local theater sometime soon.

1. Start watching “The Wire.” I’ve got a boxed set of Season 4 somewhere in the house, courtesy of being on some mailing list I probably shouldn’t be on, but I think I might just have to start with Season 5, supposedly shaped around the death of journalism, a story I expect to hit tragically close to home. Anyway, I’ve been inspired by the seemingly dozens of stories everywhere about how fantastic a show it is, but the one that pushed me over the edge is this New Yorker piece by Margaret Talbot from back in October. It’s a profile of showrunner David Simon and well worth the temporary paralysis to my right index finger brought on by scrolling through its massive length.
2. Stop reading anything related to Britney Spears. I know she’s an idiot, but what the media and the gossip hounds on the Internet are doing to her is disgusting. I’d rather watch seagulls tear apart one of their wounded brethren.
3. To whit, it is time to turn away from Perez Hilton. I’m pretty sure I fried 8 percent of my brain looking at his site this year. Instead I plan to limit my revolting consumption of Internet trash to reading dlisted.com, because the guy that writes that is actually funny and smart.
4. I’m going to listen to the commentaries on all my DVDs. I watched a batch while sick over the holidays. Some observations: 1. A team of three participants watching the Coen brothers “making of” piece on The Big Lebowski agreed that the brothers HAD to be stoned while making the commentary. 2. All celebrities should be forced to watch the DVD BEFORE they do their commentary. I’ve over-dosed on “My So-Called Life” the boxed set, and while it is fabulous, I found it completely annoying that Claire Danes had clearly not seen her own show in at least ten years. I knew more about the episode that she did! 3. Is the true definition of getting old when you realize that Jordan Catalano is a complete dope and that the true object of lust on the show is, oh, the horror, Angela’s Dad???? How I long to visit the restaurant he never got a chance to open, due to cancellation.
5. Continue to support the striking writers, even though I really want my Oscar fix.