Oscar Night is my Super Bowl; it's charitable for Marc to watch, because this isn't the language he speaks. Certainly, I would not devote three hours to the (actual) Super Bowl. I think the Oscars must--at times--remind Marc of the experience of watching paint dry. But he watches.
"Who is Zendaya?" he asks.
"She is the biggest movie star on the planet."
(This calls to mind my own inquiry: "Remind me if Travis Kelce has a brother? And he plays for....a different team?")
I do not think the Oscars represent the best in moviemaking, but I do think of them as a kind of political contest. If you win, your bargaining power can increase. (Though this isn't always the case.) It makes me sort of breathless when Cillian Murphy scores a victory--not because this is unexpected, but because we now live in a world where Cillian Murphy is an Oscar-winning actor. He now might have options that weren't available one year ago. Who knows what this might mean for the future of storytelling?
3/10/24: Marc and I bonded over one performer, John Mulaney. Seeing Mulaney was like seeing Picasso at a blank canvas. He came onto the stage and, within the space of one or two minutes, he made a feast of Field of Dreams. His thoughts were biting and strange and completely legible--and they were a product of just one voice. No one else could write what John Mulaney wrote.
What a treat to witness that. My own "Super Bowl overtime" moment. This is the minute that lingers in my memory.
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