It’s an Honor Just to Be Aggravated

It seems like only last March that Hollywood was holding its annual celebration of how great it is for the 81st time. Yes, it's that time of year again, and people are making wild speculations. Will The Young Victoria triumph over Il Divo for the coveted Achievement in Makeup prize? Will dark horse and white lady Sandra Bullock win Best Actress? Will Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin bring a much-needed injection of psychosis to their role as hosts? So many unanswered questions, and so much ire, demand critical public revelry and mean-spirited running commentary. Hence, this Up the Oscars Benefit Bash is a sort of concerned citizens’ meeting-cum-festival of character assassination, where anyone with a few dollars and a dream can envy Meryl Streep, lionize Jeff Bridges, and slander James Cameron in good company. A costume contest is included, so now is the time to slather on Avatar-blue body paint or climb into a custom-made bomb suit à la The Hurt Locker. Expect some free hors d’oeuvres, but don’t expect them to suffice for the entire epic length of the awards show — gnawing one’s own leg off is encouraged. Come, then, crotchety and cross, to that alternate reality where, according to 20th-century comic novelist Evelyn Waugh, “all is loud, obvious, and prosaic.”
Sun., March 7, 4 p.m., 2010

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