With all the award shows honoring the achievements in film over the last year, you’d think by the time the Academy Awards rolled around everyone would be done with it. It seems every weekend since the calendar flipped to a new year someone somewhere is handing out trophies to go with movie stars’ multi-million dollar salaries. I mean seriously, how many rehearsals does Julianne Moore need to get her acceptance speech right? And while once is funny, does Hollywood really need to force Reese Witherspoon to sit through night after night of pretending it really is an honor just to be nominated? Although in Reese’s case it is.

Of course each of those ceremonies is a little bit different, all have their own brand of fun, and all tend to nominate the exact same people as each other every year. Tuning in to watch one is about the same as flipping the channel to watch another. So this year I decided to forgo the foreplay of the Golden Globes, the SAGs, the DGAs, the WGAs, the PGAs, and a host of others and wait for the night they hand out the little naked gold men. Or I did until Dave suggested we spend a night at home cuddling in front of the TV. All that was on were the 68th British Academy of Film and Television Arts awards, more commonly known as the BAFTAs, or even more commonly not referred to at all ‘cuz no one in America is really interested in what the Brits think. Three hours of typical British reserve, and Gwyneth ‘I Must Be British ‘Cuz I Married One’ Paltrow’s fascination with having her vagina steam cleaned suddenly made sense.

Not knowing what I was getting into – with all the American stars and celebrities in attendance, presenting, and nominated for a BAFTA – I was amazed they handed so many awards out in the Foreign Language Film category. But as often as the Brits reminded one and all about being British during the ceremony, it turns out the awards themselves have nothing to do with the Merry Ol’e. The only requirement is that a movie was screened at British cinemas during the previous year. Which is kinda like Mexicans who know how to swim claiming they aren’t illegals.

But as a precursor to who’ll win an Oscar, the BAFTAs sufficed. They were hosted by Stephen Fry, Britain’s answer to Neal Patrick Harris. And other than deciding Steve Carell’s fake nose in Foxcatcher was only worthy of a Best Supporting Actor Award instead of Best Actor, thinking Jake Gyllenhaal’s weight loss for Nightcrawler was as worthy of a nod as Matthew McConaughey’s weight loss for The Dallas Buyer’s Club, and attempting to sneak in their own rip-off version of Ted, Paddington, as a Best Picture nomination, the BAFTAs went with the tried and true, nominating everyone who is also up for an Oscar. But from there the similarities between the two award ceremonies ended.

Not having the genius of Hollywood’s special effects champions, the first award presented at the BAFTAs spotlighted their own interpretation of special effects by wheeling out some paraplegic in his wheelchair. The audience gave him a standing ovation. Just to remind him of yet another thing he can’t do. Those Brits can be so polite even at their snarky best. From there it pretty much went downhill.

They presented a special award to director Mike Leigh (don’t worry if you’ve never heard of him, he’s British) who is known for using lengthy rehearsal and improvisation techniques with actors to build characters and narrative for his films instead of relying on an actual script. Mr. Leigh took his statue and then proceeded to give a ten minute speech, relying entirely on his hand-carried cue cards. But at least he showed up. Every other director who won a BAFTA wasn’t at the ceremony. They were all attending the Director’s Guild Awards in the U.S. instead. And no one in America is any more familiar with the Director’s Guild Awards than they are with the BAFTAs.

The Brit’s version of the Oscars ended (suspiciously as the Oscars do) with the Best Picture award. Fry made a big to-do about the presenter, who turned out to be Tom Cruise. Granted, Fry was undoubtedly thrilled to be sharing the stage with another gay man, but closeted, has-been, leading men are a dime a dozen in Hollywood and Tom can’t even get booked on Oprah these days much less as a presenter at the Academy Awards. Staying with the theme that worked earlier for them, that award went to The Theory of Everything, just so the cameras could cut to a shot of Stephen Hawking not being able to clap too. Undoubtedly Mr. Hawking is looking forward to the Academy Awards since American’s are a bit more politically correct. Although with Neal Patrick Harris taking on the hosting duties this year, they could have Hawking scheduled to appear in the opening dance number. I just hope no one mistakes him for Liza Minnelli.

So who will win an Oscar Sunday night? Other than not Reese Witherspoon? Or not any black actor or actress? While every year there are a few movies that garner multiple nominations, this year the Academy outdid itself by deciding there were only a handful of films worthy of an Oscar and split up the nominations among them. So rather than list the nominees and who will win by category, this year I’m gonna use the movies that are responsible for those nominations, and then tell you which Oscars it will win.

Batman VIII or (The Unexpected Appearance of Michael Keaton in His Underwear)
(AKA Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
At the top of everybody’s list (meaning it got 9 nominations), Batman VIII or (The Unexpected Appearance of Michael Keaton in His Underwear) tells the story of a washed up former super-hero playing actor (played by Michael Keaton’s Tighty-Whiteys) who tries to revive his career by . . . never mind, it doesn’t matter. And putting Keaton in that role was just type casting anyway.

The best part of the movie was the ending. Primarily because it was the end. Keaton uses a real gun instead of a prop to kill himself/his character in the final scene of the flick, but only manages to blow his nose off. Which they then glued onto Steve Carell’s face. The feel-good part of the movie is that after screwing up his first suicide attempt, he jumps out of the window of the hospital and Emma Stone gets her Best Supporting Actress nomination for looking out the window and acting like she cares. I mean seriously, Michael Keaton is no Robin Williams.

While the movie won a whole slew of Golden Globes, it’s real star power comes from the Oscars ‘cuz the producers of the Academy Awards couldn’t come up with anyone better than Director Alejandro González Iñárritu for John Travolta to screw up pronouncing his name. Especially since that means a Travolta snafu for a movie subtitled The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance. Take that Stephen Hawking! That and the movie is considered to be a black comedy, so all those haters who claim the Academy snubbed the African-American acting community can just eat cake. If Oprah left them any that is.

The awards that it is up for that count are Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, and Best Supporting Actress. Unable to get the mental picture of Keaton in his Fruit of the Loom’s out of their heads, the only award the Academy will bestow on the film is Best Director, thanks to the expected Travolta snafu.

The Best Exotic Wes Anderson Hotel
(AKA The Grand Budapest Hotel)
If it wasn’t for the Travolta meme tie-in, The Best Exotic Wes Anderson Hotel would rate right up there with Batman VIII or (The Unexpected Appearance of Michael Keaton in His Underwear) as it too received 9 nominations. Although other than Best Picture and Best Director those nominations are just in categories they use as filler between the commercials. A British-German co-production financed by German film-funding organizations, and filmed in Germany, The Best Exotic Wes Anderson Hotel is a comedy. ‘Cuz we all know how funny Germans can be. Especially when the film’s plot revolves around murder. Stephen Hawking should just be glad there’s not a German Academy Film Awards.

The movie recounts the adventures of a legendary concierge at a famous European hotel and the lobby boy who becomes his most trusted friend. Which sounds like it shoulda been filmed in Sunee Plaza. It too is considered a black comedy, so Oprah can line up for seconds of the We Are Not Racists cake. Loaded with talent, unfortunately it’s also loaded with the same talent Anderson uses in every one of his movies and as much as we all love Bill Murray, he shoulda just stuck with Caddyshack as his theatrical swan song. Between the same old same old faces and Anderson’s penchant for whimsical, ornate, stylized sets, The Best Exotic Wes Anderson Hotel comes off as just another Tim Burton production. But without the laughs.

I really wanted to like this movie, just to prove I’m as capable of refined cinematic tastes as the next queen. But then I remembered something important. I’m not a queen. And unfortunately every time I see Adrien Brody on screen my mind starts debating with itself again whether I’d do him or not. And then just when I’m thinking yes, I would, Ralph Fiennes appears and I remember what a putz he is for trying to convince everybody his name is pronounced to rhyme with safe. But at least he kept his clothes on in this flick. ‘Cuz if there’s gonna be a naked Fiennes on screen, it’d better be his younger and better looking brother Joseph. Who’d look pretty hot going down on Adrien Brody. And that might have won the movie an Oscar or two. Instead Anderson will have to hope he does better at the MTV Movie Awards, ‘cuz of those Oscars anyone cares about he’ll be taking home zip.

The Crying Game
(AKA The imitation Game)
Remember the first version of The Crying Game? Where the film’s secret surprise twist was Dil dropping trou to prove she was a man? That doesn’t happen in this one. Not only do we not get to see Benedict Cumberbatch’s penis, but they also clipped off Alan Turing’s gay foreskin, treating his homosexuality almost as much of a secret as Dil’s unladyboy-like penis was in the first version. But while the original version got six Academy nominations, this time around it gets eight. One has to assume that’s based on the irony of Oscar not having a penis too.

The Crying Game is supposed to be a historical thriller based on the life of Alan Turing, who cracked the Nazi Enigma code during WWII, although the producers decided to go with all but erasing Turing’s gay identity. They did have him name his code-breaking machine Christopher, after his boyhood schoolmate crush, even though in real life it was called the Bombe. But at least they made an attempt at gaying up the non-gay part of his life since for the rest of the movie there is not a speck of gay sexuality on screen. Turing’s homosexuality does make a guest appearance toward the end of the flick, but that’s more about him undergoing chemical castration in lieu of a jail sentence, with turning him into a replica of the Oscar statue more important than the character’s gay sex life that ultimately led to him being prosecuted for being a boy who loved boys.

That along with nominations for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, and a handful of minor statues the flick got a nod for Best Supporting Actress too is the icing on the non-rainbow flavored cake. Keira Knightley does a decent enough job in the role of Turing’s beard, Joan Clarke, but no mention is ever made of Turing’s real-life butt-buddy, Arnold Murray, and that was the role that should have been up for that award. Nonetheless, the Human Rights Campaign has honored the film on behalf of the LGBT community, ‘cuz hiding our dirty little secret away in the closet is what equal rights is all about.

The Crying Game is up for Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Supporting Actress, and Best Director. But there’s not enough gay sex in it to score the Best Picture award, Cumberbatch’s possible win for Best Actor gets cut by the equally but more boyishly cute British vote for Eddie Redmayne, Keira Knightley fails to impress ‘cuz playing the role of a beard isn’t acting it’s just one of the normal duties of a starlet in Hollywood, and since Morten Tyldum didn’t take any tips from Chi Chi LaRue, the Best Director statue won’t be going home with him either.

12 Years A Boy
(AKA Boyhood)
12 Years A Boy is up for six Oscars, and four of those are awards that he world doesn’t head to the kitchen to see what’s good during their presentation. So it’s kind of a shame it’s the only nominated movie I couldn’t force myself to pay to see. In fact, not that anyone has offered, but I couldn’t force myself to be paid to go see it either. The not-really-a-plot of the film is the adolescence of a young boy growing up in Texas with divorced parents. Yawn. I’m gay. And one of the reasons I am is so that I don’t have to suffer through watching some rug rat grow up. So why would I bother wasting a Friday night on that experience?

Yeah, yeah, Director Linklater is a genius for taking twelve years to film his movie so that he could use the actual boy’s growth instead of his make-up department’s efforts, but if you follow that train of thought then we should all be prepared for a five year reality-based television show of Bruce Jenner becoming a woman too. And I think that should put things into perspective. Besides, if Linklater was going for realism, a third of the movie should have been of the kid masturbating ‘cuz that’s what boys of that age bracket spend most of their time doing.

Nonetheless, 12 Years A Boy will score heavily at the Oscars ‘cuz the Academy loves to portray itself as being something other than the money-grubbing industry it is. It will win Best Picture, not because it was but because everyone hopes no one else will pull that twelve-years of filming thingy again. And Patricia Arquette will snag the Best Supporting Actress award. ‘Cuz while the rest of the cast aged 12 years during the filming of the movie, her hips doubled that and she now looks as matronly as Meryl Streep (who is up for the same award but the Academy loves nominating her more than it does actually handing her an Oscar.)

But the Best Supporting Actress contest is a close one this year ‘cuz Laura Dern is up for her role as Reese Witherspoon’s mommy as well, and giving her that Oscar while Reese goes home empty-handed yet again would prove the Brits have got nothing on the Academy’s ability at snarkiness.

Titty Titty Bang Bang
(AKA American Sniper)
Titty Titty Bang Bang has been setting box office records since its release earlier this year thanks to the controversy over whether it glorifies war and the American Way, or merely glorifies Bradley Cooper’s abs. It is directed by Clint Eastwood and is said to be his best film yet. Which is why it didn’t get a Best Director nomination. But it is up for Best Picture and Best Actor. And in both categories it will, appropriately, be shot down.

Cooper has been desperately attempting to prove he’s a real actor (much like his desperate attempts at proving he’s straight) and even starred on Broadway in a revival of The Elephant Man this year. But in that play too Cooper comes up short. If ya get my drift. No? it’s ‘cuz as an actor of stature Coop is known for his short comings. Got it? Still no? Geesh. Bradley Cooper has a small penis. Y’all just make me wonder if you’re really gay men sometimes.

Anyway, according to the movie Cooper is the deadliest marksman in U.S. military history, with 255 kills, 160 of which were officially confirmed by the Department of Defense. If ya been following the news, what they are still trying to confirm is who upped him by one by shooting his ass. And having someone paint a bull’s eye on your ass is something Cooper is quite familiar with. Which is why Eastwood cast The Coop in the role instead of Eastwood’s much hunkier looking son.

The liberal left hated the movie before it even premiered and called their brethren to arms over its thumbs up portrayal of war and other bad stuff. The religious right responded by flocking to theaters to get their fill of death and mayhem in a homage to the Aurora, Colorado shootings. Neither got the movie right as it was never intended to support either side’s version of what is right, or wrong, with America. But right-wing Academy voters took the battle to the Oscar nominations anyway, even though they shoulda known they’d be out-gunned by left-wing Academy members. So not unlike Reese Witherspoon, Titty Titty Bang Bang will end its Oscar’s run in defeat.

12 Angry Black Men
(AKA Selma)
Blah, blah, you’re all racists, blah, blah, blah. The buzz around 12 Angry Black Men is that the Academy membership forgot to nominate a token black actor or actress for an Oscar this year. Which ignores the fact that it got a Best Picture nod. And a Best Original Song nomination too. But then the Academy is the first to admit that those darkies sure can sing.

12 Angry Black Men is based on the historical 1965 Selma to Montgomery voting rights marches led by Martin Luther King , etal. Except in the movie version Oprah reprises her The Color Purple role, only this time as fat Oprah. Or I guess that’s fatter Oprah. It’s difficult to tell ‘cuz she’s such an accomplished actress. In any case, there’s much outrage over the movie not garnering more nominations, although its sequel, American Sniper, is rumored to be expected to do much better at next year’s ceremony.

Unfortunately for 12 Angry Black Men, the producers made a few fatal mistakes with the movie. First, they cast a Brit to play Dr. King. And he didn’t even win a BAFTA, so how could they expect him to fare any better with an American film award? Second, the civil rights issue of the day is The Gays, not The Blacks. We’re even in charge of the Academy Awards this year. Just like we were last year when Ellen hosted and the year before when Seth MacFarlane took over hosting duties. But the biggest error the film made was one of timing. With the visuals of Ferguson still fresh in movie goers’ minds, 12 Angry Black Men looked more like a news reel from the ’50s than it did a feature film. Besides, as we all know, that whole civil rights thingy is a bad ink stain on The American Way of Life of the past ‘cuz racism no longer exists in the USA.

12 Angry Black Men will not win Best Picture, but will snag that Best Original Song trophy. ‘Cuz when you give the Grammy for Best Rap Song, Album, and Performance to Macklemore, ya kinda have to follow up Let It Go’s win with an Oscar win for the home boys team.

The Unbearable Darkness of Being Stephen Hawking
(AKA The Theory of Everything)
Did you know that Best Actor winner Eddie Redmayne and Best Actress winner Julianne Moore have appeared together before? Granted, that time it was as a mom and her son having incestuous sex, but everyone knows how kinky those gingers can be. The Unbearable Darkness of Being Stephen Hawking is up for five Oscars, tied with the latest in the Magic Mike franchise. ‘Cuz when it comes to beefcake or brains, America is gonna go with Channing Tatum every time.

Based on the tell-all memoir of Stephen Hawking’s ex-wife, the movie covers Hawking’s life from when he lost his virginity up until he lost his ability to use any of his other appendages. The story is based on the dysfunctional, allegedly incestuous relationship between . . . or wait, that’s the Redmayne/Moore flick again. The one in which he has lots of gay sex in too. Not to be confused with the other movies he’s been in where he’s had lost of gay sex. Like The Goat, in which he had an incestuous relationship with his dad. But enough about why The Unbearable Darkness of Being Stephen Hawking did so well at the BAFTAs.

I wasn’t sure about gong to see this movie; watching the handicap on screen can be uncomfortable. Which is why I almost passed on watching that Reese Witherspoon flick too. Besides, it’s not like ya can’t see handicap people fighting for their rightful due (a parking space) at Walmart every day of the week anyway. But since Redmayne has played gay so often, and will soon be seen in the transgendered love story based on the novel The Danish Girl, in which he’ll play the first man to undergo gender reassignment surgery, I figured it was either sitting through The Unbearable Darkness of Being Stephen Hawking or slashing my throat for watching Bruce Jenner become a woman on his new reality TV show. And with my luck if I’d gone with the latter, I’d screw it up and end up looking like Stephen Hawking.

Oh, before I go any further just let me say that there is nothing funny about the handicap and no one should ever make jokes at their expense. Or about the transgendered either. Or the Brits for that matter. Thank you. So hold your comments for a website that cares. Like Yahoo.

Old people, however, are a different matter. Which brings us to the Oscar for Best Actor. Yes, Michael Keaton’s acceptance speech at the Golden Globes was touching. But also unfortunate. That award made him think he actually stood a chance at winning again. So not only did he have to foot the bill to fly to London for the BAFTAs, Stephen Fry made him kiss him too. I told ya those Brits can be devilishly snarky. Now if Cumberbatch had gone gay as often as Redmayne, he might have stood a chance at winning this one. Cooper, on the other hand is gay but doesn’t play one in the movies, so he blew that one. Not to mention half of Hollywood if those rumors are true. And Carell . . . well come on, that nomination was just a double down on the Witherspoon joke. So Redmayne wins Best Actor. And if the producers had spent twelve years filming Hawking’s slow deterioration from his motor neuron disease, it would have won Best Picture too.

Magic Mike X: Bigger, Longer, More Gallic
(AKA Foxcatcher)
You’d think a movie with Channing Tatum in a bulging wrestler singlet would be a shoe-in for the Best Costume Design Oscar. But the producers blew it, spending their budget on enlarging Steve Carrel’s nasal passages instead of the more costly route of enlarging Chan’s package. Which was a shame ‘cuz otherwise the Dirk Diggler Lifelike Achievement Award would have been a sure thing. But it is up for Best Actor, Best Supporting actor, and Best Director, although it did not get nominated for Best Picture, the first film since 2008 when they extended the maximum number of films for the Best Picture category that a Best Director nomination didn’t score Best Picture too. Which may sound like unnecessary trivia to you, but then Carell’s nose extensions were totally unnecessary in Magic Mike X: Bigger, Longer, More Gallic.

Like five of the eight films that did get nominated for Best Picture, Magic Mike X: Bigger, Longer, More Gallic is based on a true story. In this case it’s about an Olympic gold medalist wrestler who became the apple of multimillionaire John E du Pont’s eye and the subsequent murder by du Pont of the wrestler’s older also-a-wrestler brother, the role for which Mark Ruffalo got a Best Supporting Actor nominations, which his not winning is a shame ‘cuz Ruffalo is one of the biggest straight gay supporters in Hollywood. Plus I’d do him. Even before I’d do Chan. Although as a tag team . . .

When the movie came out the real Mark Schultz (the role played by Chan) threw a conniption fit because of a scene where it is lightly suggested that du Pont had a gay thing for Schultz. Which he claims is not true. Yeah. Right. Because totally straight multimillionaires blow their money so they an hang out with a bunch of hunky male athletes in bulge-revealing outfits. Sounds like they should have cast Bradley Cooper in that role instead.

Obviously, Carell’s nomination for Best Actor was a rift on the Reese Witherspoon Best Actress nomination joke, or they just needed one more name for the nomination list and wanted to avoid having to give the nod to a black actor. Just as obviously, he won’t win. Ditto for Best Picture. Which you’d know by know if you hadn’t scrolled down to that photo of Chan and started reading from there. And unfortunately, Magic Mike X: Bigger, Longer, More Gallic won’t be taking home the Best Supporting Actor statue either. Which brings us to:

Fifty Shades of Glee
(AKA Whiplash)
I hated Fifty Shades of Glee. Not because it wasn’t a good movie. Surprisingly, it was. I hated it because it reminded me of how hot HBO’s OZ was and I ended up binge watching the entire six seasons of the prison drama that made male nudity a household necessity for American television viewing. And if the producers of Fifty Shades of Glee really wanted me to love their movie they coulda figured out how to include a nude Christopher Meloni shower scene in their flick.

In this update to OZ, J.K. Simmons reprises his role of Vernon Schillinger who, now out of jail, no longer selling insurance, and still looking for some male booty, follows life’s natural progression and segues into the position of a high school musical director. But that’s only because Jerry Sandusky was still the coach at Penn State. So he sets about abusing a 19-year-old Dave Grohl wanna-be ‘cuz he hasn’t heard you can find even younger guys to abuse in Sunee Plaza. But ya know Schillinger would be a cheap bastard when it comes time to tip anyway.

So a long-time later, the movie finally reaches Schillinger’s climax, a hyper-masculine celebration of punishing dedication, success, and lies in a great battle of wills between a man and his boy that left audiences confused over just who the winner was. Some viewers considered Schillinger to be a monster, others a cruel but necessary teacher, while many worried for the boy, not just for his sanity, but for his physical well-being as well as he furiously banged out Schillinger’s perfect tempo, his spirit broken. Schillinger is moved to tears and he smiles at his boy, his boy smiles back, and great art, or at least a great performance by rote, has been achieved, but at the total cost of the teen’s humanity. Which leaves the audience feeling a little queasy for admiring the boy’s victory, no matter how Pyrrhic it might be. So basically, a typical Friday night at Krazy Dragon.

Fifty Shades of Glee is up for Best Picture and Best Supporting Actor, not that it stands a chance against 12 Years A Boy. But J.K. Simmons will take home an Oscar ‘cuz as quixotic as Keller and Beecher’s on again off again romance may have been, Schillinger always scored the hottest ass and J.K. did the abuse of a younger man thingy better than did Steve Carell.

Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore
(AKA Still Alice)
The early on-set of Alzheimer’s disease is the subject of the movie Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, starring Julianne Moore and, uh, um. Uh oh . . .

Well, the important thing is that Moore wins Best Actress. Because Alzheimer’s disease is evidently contagious and no one in the Academy could remember any of the other nominated actresses. Except for Reese. Tee hee hee.
The ladies of Hollywood have been bitching for years about the dearth of substantial leading roles for talented women. Have they ever thought that maybe it’s the lack of actresses with the chops to carry a movie that’s at fault?

I mean I’ve never heard of Marion Cotillard, or her movie Two Days, One Night (but suspect that’s how long it lasted in theaters). And Felcity Jones couldn’t act her way out of a wheel chair. I don’t know who Rosamund Pike is either, but if anyone deserved an Oscar nod for Gone Girl it was Ben Affleck’s penis in its supporting role. Not that Moore isn’t a talented actress, ‘cuz she is. But seriously, if they don’t want the Academy to drop this category, the girls in Hollywood had better start acting like Meryl Streep. Or Bruce Jenner is gonna be walking home with an Oscar in another year or two.

Into The Woods
(AKA Wild)
Not to be mistaken with the fairytale film of the same name included in the nominations because ya can’t have Meryl Streep in the cast without nominating her for something, this Into The Woods is the fairy tale film that attempts to make you believe Reese Witherspoon is a serious actress and worthy of a Best Actress award. It’s the based-on-a-true-story tale of a woman’s thousand+ mile hike along the Pacific Crest Trail in an effort to heal herself following a divorce from Ryan Phillippe, the death of Laura Dern, and years of destructive behavior starring in films like Legally Blonde. Uh, I didn’t see this one either. ‘Cuz I’d rather be diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Which, with luck, Reese will be and then she’ll forget about that time the Academy nominated her for a Best Actress Oscar as nothing more than a cruel joke.

So there ya have it, the entire list of the 2015 Oscar winners, or at least those anyone really cares about. So now instead of watching the ceremony you too can binge watch the entire six seasons of Oz. You’ll be glad ya did.