The Buzz and the Aftermath

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I just wanted to interject, among the already arguably clogged at least pseudo-Oscar-centric universe, my thoughts on a few matters that lead up to the nominations' announcement (this morning) and subsequently the awards' ceremony. These matters are all to do with buzz, that mysterious little sprite Hype who flits about on people's tongues more promiscuously than a smarmy prostitute - yes, prostitute. For, it is buzz of course that entices people into theaters, buzz that registers all across the online blogs, and buzz that leads ultimately to what, for haphazard or naught, is considered to be the seminal award in film each year - a veritable trip into the notoriously kinky and occasionally S&M bedroom of the film industry's rocky marraige to glamour. And, born from the uncertain loins of those united, spawn and spring both do arise. Forest Whitaker little worry had that his extremely well-buzzed performance would elevate his work (not undeservedly so) from the gleaming but few eyes of film enthusiasts, but his co-actor James McAvoy (also not undeserving) wasn't meant to benefit from that trade. Peter O'Toole, a seven-time Oscar nominee and only honorary-Oscar winner, I'm sure, consulted his Las Vegas bookies, to acquire as accurately as can be the knowledge, auguring or fortitudinously grasped, of his chances at nomination and win; but buzz has been a tease for him many a time before. And it is not only the men who fall under her nearly Succubic charms; Annette Bening has been there - need I say more? What is it, then, of this mystiquified seductress who flits so ambly from pink to pink, that causes men and women to fawn prostrate over her, and why does she choose the partners she does? If only film would get itself a divorce, it would be much more independent of show and glitz (i. e., glamour's wheedling best friends of course), to make its own well-grounded decisions regarding what to pick up and what to lay down (with...).