My dearest Oscar

My dearest Oscar,

It’s been a year since last we talked and I feel terrible that we parted on such bad terms. That our last words to each other were angry and bitter ones. I’ve spent the last year without you, searching my soul, questioning my actions, pondering how and why everything went so horribly wrong, when they started so well.

Last year was off to a magical start. The Clooney was nominated for three of you, one of my favourite movies of the year was going to win your Best Picture, my darling Jon Stewart was presenting. Things looked good, nay, great. The opening montage was hilarious, Jon was self deprecating and George won the first Oscar of the night. We were off to a flying start! I laugh joyously to think of it.

But as the night wore on, I noticed your audience didn’t seem to appreciate Jon’s humour as much as one might have expected. They seemed . . . disappointed. What was it? Were his constant references to The Clooney not appreciated? Are you still not ready to let someone take Jack Nicholson’s place as Hottest Man Requiring A Seat Filler? Were there too many jokes about the number of facelifts in the room? Were the people from Botox on the phone? Were they pissed?

And then the Horrid Thing That Happened, happened. Was I out of line to expect it to win Best Picture? When you gave Ang Lee Best Director, I thought, for sure, this is it, finally you would right the wrong grievously forced upon me the year Forrest Gump beat Pulp Fiction and The Shawshank Redemption. Good god, the betrayal. I’ve struggled with the betrayal for the last 365 days. That awful awful film winning Best Picture.

It hurt. It hurt me greatly.

Now the ball? Is in your court. I’ve taken the first step. It’s up to you now to make things right between us. You've made a good start, as much as I'm sad Jon won't be back this year, I am happy you've chosen Ellen to host. And your habit of always asking back the previous years winner to present an award means that once again George will wear The Tux. But you know what? I’ve seen the bookie’s odds. There are too many Dead Certs this year. I was surprised (shocked, horrified, didn’t sleep for three nights) when Crash beat Brokeback, so I want to see some shock winners this year.

Now, I’m not talking about Helen Foregone Conclusion Mirren losing out, if that happens, consider our relationship dead and buried. If Helen doesn’t win Best Actress, you may as well just slap a toetag on us and call for a time of death. But as much as I’d like Jennifer Sure Thing Hudson to win Supporting Actress for Dreamgirls, my heart would soar if adorable Abigail Breslin won for Little Miss Sunshine. And if Forrest Isn’t It My Time Please Forget That I Was In Species and Battlefield Earth Whitaker can’t win Best Actor for Last King Of Scotland, then the rugged hotness of Ryan Gosling winning for Half Nelson would more than make up for any past indiscretions. As an added bonus, we’d get to see his lovely partner Rachel McAdams when he won. Wouldn’t that be worth the shock?

Please Oscar, I beg of you. Help me patch up our relationship.

We’re worth it.

Love TallulahBelle
xx