The Oscars: Who Should Host Them
The following individuals are, from what I can tell, the best candidates to get dolled up, slouch around, behave cantankerously while at the bejeweled ceremony of the Oscars. Some celebrities didn’t make the cut, unfortunately, but here are the notable mentions: Gary Busey’s hair, Judge Reinhold in a jogging suit, my neighbor’s dog, a bowl of oatmeal. After a strenuous process of elimination, here are my choices to host the golden boys.
Forget last year’s manicured duo of James Franco and Anne Hathaway, give Brian Cox and a handle of bourbon a go. The best thing that could happen to the Academy is having the dogged glare of an unenthusiastic Cox sitting on the steps of the stage, like a lump of coal, as he tells drunken stories of his times with the Royal Shakespeare Company. If anyone gives this grizzled Kodiak a hard time, he would turn his fist into a swinging nine-iron. Yes, please!
Andy Rooney is grouchy, decidedly pompous, viciously opinionated. The man is like a razor blade in a bow tie. And who wouldn’t want to see this ninety-two-year-old writer wag his spindly finger at a young Hollywood actor or actress when they flub their grammar? Rooney would be curt – the lengthy time of the Academy Awards evokes rage in my body; I feel like I just finished a marathon of David Lean movies when the final curtain ploughs into the stage. Rooney would eagerly walk around, eyebrows so thick they make Eugene Levy’s caterpillars look like ruler lines, while he would demean every person he could. I’m lobbying for this entire situation to happen.
Angelo Badalamenti’s stare is as devastating as what came off the end of David’s sling. What I wouldn’t do to see this Italian composer propped up, angrily, at the podium, the lines of his face mimicking Joe Grant’s witch from Disney’s “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.” I can also deduce, by watching Badalamenti’s reactions in the past, that he would probably wouldn’t be a man of many words – and if the Academy really wanted their show to be a barn burner, they would hand him the keys to their music department; yakking award recipients would thereby be cut-off by doom laden synthesizers and mechanical clanging.
Once an Oscar winner and now, most notably, a contestant on “Celebrity Apprentice,” Marlee could do wonders as a presenter at the Academy Awards. The deaf thespian would reign supreme in the monologue – you cant muff the delivery of sign language – and the audience could actually learn something during the proceedings. I know the sign for applause, but there is so much more to fill my gulliver with that I wouldn’t get with, say, James Franco at the wheel. And no, rubbing his head at last year’s ceremony, out of confusion, doesn’t count.
The quick-witted, overtly cynical, unabashedly vocal actor and musician would be my first choice to helm the award show. Goldberg has more nervous tics than a stray dog, admittedly, but his lack of regard for the politically correct is sharper than Chris Rock, funnier than Jon Stewart, and more cohesive than both the aforementioned jokesters combined. I could watch Goldberg gnash syllables all night long. What’s better than his story of Andrew Garfield breaking into his house? Nothing.
Who would you want hosting the awards?
