Oscar turns seventy-three this year, and to hear some tell it, he's lost his touch.
He's still a big fan of cleavage - just ask Erin Brokovich. But his penchant for men in sandals and epic struggles has a few crouching tigers growling in the wings. If Oscar bought Traffic's take on the war on drugs, some Hollywood-watchers snicker that Chocolat tried to buy him. In some ways, though, nothing's changed. Sour grapes are always the fruit du jour when the Academy Awards come around. But somewhere between the cinderblock schlock of multiplexes everywhere and the fussy, pretentious stuff that's as good as a cure for insomnia, there's a crop of films that deserve their own megawatt merit.
Forget the borrowed jewels and drippy acceptance speeches. We're hosting the Anti-Oscars this hour, and our red carpet's open to all comers. (Hosted by Judy Swallow)
