Academy Awards 2011: Meh...

Goddamn are the Oscars ever getting safe.

Best actor, director, screenplay and film - all from the same film - The King's Speech - which, essentially, is: the story of a guy. He's a guy who happens to be King of England, but he's a guy. The movie does everything it can to bring him down to our level, the level of ''just a guy'', with a speech impediment. Lo and fucking behold, at the end of the fucking movie, he can deliver a goddamn speech. It took him two hours of intense training, he even doubted himself at some point, but in the end, he fucking prevailed. Based on a true story.

You know what else was based on a true story, about a fucking guy who wanted something, but something else stood in the fucking way, but two hours later he fucking prevailed? The Fighter. The Social Network. In 2010? The Wrestler. Benjamin Button.

It's the recipe for every fucking damn safe film ever made.

This year, Toy Story 3 was robbed of its Best Picture Oscar, and Inception was robbed for Best Original Screenplay. Keyword: original. Toy Story was more touching and genuinely heart-breaking than any of its live-action counterparts this year. It's a little miracle of a piece of art. And Inception captured the minds of movie-goers for 8 months - and just about no other movie looked as good. Well, Alice In Wonderland looked great, but it was boring as fuck.

I mean, I knew The Imaginarium Of Dr. Parnassus was way too ''out there'' for Academy voters although it was the best, most original, brilliant, inspiring, ground-breaking and eternal film of this year's crop, but Inception was its more viewer-friendly distant cousin of sorts. And it got a lot of the technical awards, which it deserved.

It's just that in general, this year's crop of winners were too safe: give the huge studios their candy, give a few to the independent films, and give the British period piece the good shit. Melissa Leo's acceptance speech was the best, and no one thanked God. And a few thanked their same-sex life partners (in the Year Of Lesbian Films, no less) - which will probably get the right-wing sociopaths pundits to say the godless Hollywood elite rewarded themselves again - and everyone thanked their parents. Which is good - and safe.

The only person who did exactly what he wanted, the way he wanted to do it, without censoring himself was Kirk Douglas, who hit on every woman in sight and seemed to grab Melissa Leo's boob as he escorted her backstage. Because he doesn't give a fuck, and because he is fully aware that he's lived longer than he has left, and he'll let no one get in his way or in the way of what he wants to do.

Host-wise, Anne Hathaway was alright, but pretty-boy James Franco seemed at times stiff as a corpse, and other times too stoned to function. I miss Jon Stewart and Chris Rock, but perhaps the Academy should think of trying out Stephen Colbert, Jon Lovitz or Johnny Depp - people who would do nothing to displease the mass audience but could also have a second degree for people who like to think. Or why not George Clooney? He's Hollywood royalty and is a definite charmer and crowd pleaser.

When the winners are bland, with no Kathryn Bigelow (first female director), no Halle Berry (first black woman), no Michael Moore (politically active and hugely outspoken on current issues), no Roberto Benigni (the surprise winner who walks over people to get his prize), no ground-breaking and genre-changing film à la Quentin Tarantino's Pulp Fiction, the hosts have to provide the entertainment, steal the show, stir the pot. This year's eye candy did not.

Should the Academy insist on having two hosts at once, here are a few suggestions: Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston; Snoop Dogg and Cheech Marin; Trey Parker and Matt Stone; or Quentin Tarantino and Kevin Smith. And, especially for the last two couples, let them write their own scripts. Then go nuts and nominate innovative films. It'll feel like the 60s and 70s again - good.