Oscars. Thoughts By A Grouch.

Last week, the Academy Awards decided to expand the best picture nominations from five films to ten. Instead of weakly camouflaging this as a throwback to the days when ten pictures were the norm (it last happened in 1943), I would have appreciated a more honest explanation: the economy is killing everybody. Studio execs need to fill the tanks on their Bentleys, ya know.

As a guy who watches an obscene amount of movies, I’m a bit miffed. Here’s the only positive aspect I can find to this whole thing, delivered via sports analogy: it sure did benefit Major League Baseball and the NFL when wildcard teams were added in the last decade. Seasons now have meaning down to the very last games. Movie-wise, this could help often-overlooked independent films, whose teeny budgets don’t allow for award-show promotion.

And now, the cons:

• The year is already half over, and in my humble opinion, only one film has been worth seeing, and it was a raunchy, non Oscar-level comedy. Does this mean that ten incredible films will be released between now and the end of the year? Doubt it. So the field is already looking weak.

• The expansion lowers the value of a nomination, in much the same way that every Little League kid gets a trophy nowadays. It’s just an honor to be nominated? Nah.

• Quick, off the top of your head – name one film that should have been nominated from any year but was overlooked. Now name five from every year. It ain’t happening.

• Here’s the real kicker: more nominations are only going to expand the length of the show. Which increases the number of Hugh Jackman song and dance numbers. Hand me my Glock 23, will you?

By the way – my streak of never having seen a Hugh Jackman film – proudly still intact. Gimme a damn trophy for that.

New Levels Of Scumbaggery: An Ongoing Series.

This was in the actors’ breakdowns (our version of classified ads) yesterday for something called Green Wash Ball, which apparently cleans everything including a guilty conscience:

"We are looking for a pitchman like Billy Mays. Around the same age will do. Needs the lively energy, strong and positive appearance. Pretty much open to any one who knows how to pitch a product well."

Quick, someone get a snip of Billy’s beard and clone that boy before we bury him; America’s whites have just got to look their whitest.

Festivus, Part XXII.

How fittingly terrific that on Independence Day, my movie got into a film festival in Philadelphia. Though I suppose it would be just as fitting if it were accepted on Anger Consciousness Day. Philly's a surly town.

By the way, although there are 96 shopping days ‘til Anger Consciousness Day, it’s never too early to start looking for that perfect gift. Like a flaming bag of pooh. Or the more traditional pillowcase with a bar of soap in it.

I just hope people don’t forget the true meaning of the holiday; it’s gotten so commercial.

Thanks, Philadelphia Independent Film Festival. You’re my 22nd. And you rock.

Suck It, Britain.

As I drove past this temporary fireworks stand on Rosecrans, I wondered if our founding fathers dreamed of a nation in which a guy no longer had to go into Chinatown to illegally purchase the very item that was going to blow off one of his hands.

And I couldn’t help but think yes, yes they did.

Happy 4th.

Brad The Butler.

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Today, as part of the long American weekend celebration, click and see how our stars are treated over in Japan.

John McClane Shed His Grace On Thee.

I hear that many of you who work for a living are getting tomorrow off to celebrate Independence Day. If you must drink, please drink domestically.

As a kid back east, I was a freak for the Revolutionary War. But since moving to the Greatest City on Earth, I’ve found that Cali has its own own patriotic history.

Above, in Century City in L.A., is 20th Century Fox’s headquarters. Better known as Nakatomi Plaza in the movie Die Hard. And really, what’s more American than killing German terrorists? I’ll tell you what: killing them again when they come back to life five minutes later.

God Bless Hollywood.

The Greatest Audition I’ll Ever Have.

Some guys have a Super Bowl T.D. Or the time they solved a Rubik’s Cube. I had an audition for a cracker.

The cracker brand was Gran Pavesi. Which is quite possibly Italian for “sexual assault.” I’ll have to check.

The call was for a guy in shorts and flip flops, and talk about typecasting – I’m like the Marlboro man of European snacks.

It all took place last week. I arrived at the casting office, read the storyboard and my eyes widened a little bit.

Here’s what they needed me to do: sit in a beach chair next to a sunbathing woman in a bikini, which in this case was a tall, 10 of an Australian blonde, nibble on crackers (tasty, lemon ones) and spot an imaginary fly circling around me until it lands on Aussie Chick’s butt. Then take a rolled-up magazine and swat that butt. Then apologize by splitting a cracker with her.

The director wanted four takes. Aussie Chick urged me to hit her as hard as I liked. And I am nothing if not professional. It was sensory overload.

I suppose it’s all downhill from here. Worth it. Grande grazie, Gran Pavesi.