The Dark Knight Falls

No nomination for The Dark Knight, huh? You know, for an organization that’s named itself after a school, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences is as dumb as a sack of Gumps. And that’s saying something, because Forrest Gump had no sack.

The Dark Knight is the second biggest money-making movie of all time. The only more popular film in history is an adolescent love story placed in conflict by compelling and complex villains like… an iceberg. And the laws of hydrodynamics. And Billy Fucking Zane, who historically has only successfully vexed his agent, usually at the end of every month when the rent comes due.

This is a movie where, from the word go, you know how it ends. It gave us the most irritating love song ever, and its only redeeming quality is that it taught a generation of teenage girls that it’s romantic to get plowed in the back seat of a car, to the relief of teenage boys everywhere… that is, until the girls started demanding that the boys etch them before they would cough up the poon.

And not only was Titanic nominated for best picture, it won the fucking thing. Eleven years later, we can’t give The Dark Knight even a pity nomination? What the hell were the members of the Academy thinking? “Hmm… The Dark Knight’s a complex movie about the forces of order versus chaos, the effect of a unilateral enforcement of order in the face of the rule of law, and how obsession and intractability can destroy a person – OOOH! A Kate Winslet flick! That girl got me my first blowjob in the back of my Colt Vista, and she taught me how to draw! Check and mate!”

Given the history of the Oscars, it was probably a foregone conclusion that The Reader would get the nod instead The Dark Knight. This is, after all, the organization that decided that Forrest Gump was a better movie than Pulp Fiction, so of course they would slight a Batman story in favor of a story about an illiterate Nazi. Hell, If the screenwriters had also made Kate Winslet’s character retarded or given her Tourettes Syndrome or a cock, they could just mail the Goddamned Oscar and save themselves the embarrassment of having to postpone the awards ceremony while they tried to get the ballots unstuck enough to count.

It feels like the Academy’s been doing penance for fucking Pulp Fiction for the past fifteen years, throwing Oscars at little independent (or at least independent feeling) films. Which feels like it should be a noble penance, but in reality is no better than pleading a felony out to community service; sure it’s good that you’re ladling soup for derelicts, but it doesn’t exactly give little cousin Ginny her face back, now does it?

Oh, they’ve thrown the nod to some fun genre stuff now and again, but even that feels backhanded. Yeah, they gave Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King the Best Picture trophy, but only after they treated themselves to fucking it over twice. They should’ve just left the damn trophy on Peter Jackson’s bedstand and left before he woke up and started crying. Ridley Scott and Gladiator got the nod, but I firmly believe that it was only as an apology to Ridley for blowing off Blade Runner, and because that they were scared pissless of Russell Crowe.

(At least Russell seems to have calmed down a little bit in recent years, and I like to believe it was because of an intervention. I get a charge out of picturing little, bald Ron “Opie” Howard leaning in and whispering into Russell’s ear: “You know what, Dingo Fucker? Sometimes people in this country on a Green Card find themselves getting tazered for no reason at all. And they look around and realize that there isn’t a heavy landline telephone, or, in fact a friend within reach to help them. You think I’m fucking joking? Ask Winkler… but I wouldn’t say my name around him unless you want him to submissively piddle all over the tops of your Thom McCanns. Now shut your fucking hole and talk about Game Theory like it says in the script.” But I clearly digress…)

And I know the Academy’s patting themselves on the back for at least giving the Best Supporting Actor nomination to Heath Ledger for The Joker, but if you take a step back and think about it, all you can say is: fuck you. First of all, Ledger was in at least as many scenes in The Dark Knight as Batman, so it should be a Best Actor nomination. Second: Best Supporting Actor is the Special Olympics Honorable Mention trophy of the Oscars. All it takes to get that nomination are a rudimentary command of the English language and a wang; for all I know, I’ve been nominated for Best Supporting Actor.

Besides, I think we all know that if Heath Ledger weren’t dead he would never have gotten any nomination. The Academy knows they fucked him on Brokeback Mountain (But not as hard as Jake Gyllenhall! POW!), and they tossed him a pity nomination. Which is reprehensible; you’re going to hand out nominations for every Goddamned dead guy, but you’re gonna fuck The Dark Knight himself? He died last week, you insensitive douchebags!

But no, instead we get Oscar buzz over films like The Wrestler, about a world famous 80’s icon who’s fallen out of favor, and an empty piece of ass who’s best days were eighteen years ago, starring Mickey Rourke and Marissa Tomei as themselves.

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Update: My girl just read this draft over and said, “You know, I’m just as pissed that The Dark Knight didn’t get nominated, but to be fair, we haven’t seen any of the movies that did get nominated.”

“That’s not my fault,” I replied, “The last time we went to a movie theater, you cut up ugly. I’m not risking police involvement just so I can watch Brad Pitt looking like a used-up old fart while he cruises for pussy. A couple more years with Angelina Jolie’ll take enough out of him that I’ll be able to see that shit for free on Access Hollywood soon enough.”

“Still, do you want to publish something slagging five movies you’ve never seen? It doesn’t seem fair.”

“Maybe not, but what can I do? The days when I would cross the street to see Kate Winslet’s tits ended with the century; I’m sure as hell not paying twenty bucks to do it. Not when I can put ‘Kate Winslet’s tits’ into Google and see JPGs of every frame of film that’s ever been shot of them. Like this.”

“Yeah, but it’s Oscar season.”

“So?”

“So, the Academy sends screeners of the nominees to the members so they’ll vote for their movie.”

“And?”

“The screeners are on DVD.”

“Uh huh.”

“DVDs are digital.”

“Right.”

She sighed. “Stop looking a pictures of Kate Winslet’s tits and listen to me: DVDs are digital. And the Internet excels and moving digital files from place to place.”

“…Ah.”

So over the next week or so, I will be watching all of the Best Picture nominees, and will be explaining here why The Dark Knight should have been nominated over each and every stinking one of them. After all: Batman killed Darkseid; I think he could handle David Frost and Harvey Milk, even if they both decided to double-team him.

…Yeah, somehow that didn’t come out even a little right.

[tags]2008 Academy Awards, Oscars, The Dark Knight, Heath Ledger, dark humor, satire[/tags]