February 25, 2007: Gimme My Damn Oscar!

While everyone else in Hollywood is getting corseted, spray tanned, and bejeweled, you just know that Martin Scorcese, the Susan Lucci of Oscars, is pacing, cigarette in hand, arms waving, talking to some "suit." That cigarette is not his first of the day.

Give him his damn Oscar. End the long national tragedy.

He's been nominated five times previously for best director. But like La Lucci, he's been the bridesmaid who missed the bouquet more than once. This year's nom is for the (surprise) violent movie "The Departed." His first nomination in 1980 was for the "Raging Bull," which really should have delivered the gold. Other directing nominations included "The Last Temptation of Christ,""Goodfellas,""Gangs of New York" and "The Aviator." Notably, he was not nominated for 1977's "New York, New York," arguably his most violent film of all, especially when Robert De Niro whacks pregnant Liza Minnelli in the back of a cab, forcing her into labor, amid much cursing and Liza-shrieks. Could 2007 be the year we right this wrong and give this man his due? But first, why do I care?

While I am getting ready for a night of vicarious...something, I am thinking about why people love the Oscars so much, trying to understand why we project our hopes and dreams onto this one night, this one award.

The attention we never got, recompensed by five minutes at a podium? The applause for a job well done? The glamor and pageantry focused on you? Being made a fuss over? Looking and sounding sharp? Being envied (Hello Trim Spa ad)? Doing something the world considers so very meaningful, at least for that night, when they show their dramatic appreciation for your art? Some combination of the above?

Tonight I am watching alone to just enjoy the full "vicarious thrill" experience, which gets muted at Oscar parties or with other people.