,John Skipp's Nightmare Royale (On Making Horror Better)
Well, the Oscars came and went once again: mainstream Hollywood’s annual jillion-dollar celebration of itself. Like the Super Bowl and the Presidential election, it’s something we’re all supposed to care about deeply.
As to we whether we do or not, that’s a purely personal thing.
I’m always torn, when it comes to awards. And the Oscars are top of the line for that. I love movies almost more than life itself, but my favorites are rarely in the running (I’m lookin’ at YOU, LOOPER and THE CABIN IN THE WOODS). And when they are, they rarely win (BEASTS OF THE SOUTHERN WILD was my actual 2012 fave, and I’m thrilled it was up there, but it didn’t stand a chance).
So I had the festivities playing downstairs, in the kitchen, and found myself wandering in and out towards the end, while feeding the dogs and waiting for THE WALKING DEAD.
But I gotta tell ya: I’m really glad I was there when Quentin Fucking Tarantino picked up Best Original Screenplay.
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