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THE OSCARS

I am not much of a movie buff.  Lord knows how many hours I spend trawling through the Sky Movies channel trying to find something, anything, worth watching, but for the most part it’s a fruitless exercise and I end up watching re-runs of Midsomer Murders.

I am informed that the Oscars started in 1929, no doubt under the benevolent patronage of Louis B. Mayer, he of “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it” fame.  It was reputedly his fragrant wife who, when she saw the statuette, said it reminded her of her Uncle Oscar, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Back in 1929, the winners had been announced several months earlier.  There was a dinner/dance, and only one speech, presumably by Louis B. Mayer, never one to shrink from the limelight.  How times have changed, and now everybody given half a chance has something to say.

I watched news clips of the Oscar awards, and by all accounts, I missed very little.  The show was compered by a complete nobody called Seth MacFarlane, who opened with a tasteless song about women’s breasts.  But the highlight for me was the misfortune that befell Jennifer Lawrence.  Forgive my ignorance, I’ve never heard of her, but she won an Oscar as best actress in a film called Silver Linings Playbook, and forgive my ignorance, but I’ve never heard of that either.

What morbidly fascinated me, and probably the highlight of the entire show, was when the visibly overweight Jennifer stumbled up the steps to accept her Oscar, and fell flat on her face.  By all accounts, she had squeezed herself into a Dior Couture dress worth in excess of $30,000 which she had picked up that very morning.

If I were Christian Dior, I would be mortified.  Assuming that Jennifer was not legless as a result of too many glasses of sparkling Napa Valley wine, the message going out to the watching world would be: if you wish to retain your composure, don’t wear a Dior Couture dress.  Dior has some fences to mend as quickly as possible if their reputation is not be be irretrievably damaged, not to mention their overpriced dress with Jennifer’s size nines punching a hole through the hem.

Bring back 1929, all is forgiven.

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