True Story --- In terms of pure entertainment value, the Independent Spirit Awards trump the Oscars. If you've never watched the IFC Channel-found ceremonies, I suggest you start making a habit of it come next February; it always airs the day before the Academy Awards, and, being that it airs on cable, it's a million times more raw than your boy Oscar. F-bombs fly from the mouths of people you may have deemed "sophisticated" at other censored, stuck-up awards programs. Filters are off. Small, sadly overlooked jewels that Oscar is to sadiddy to fuck with, such as The Signal and Wendy and Lucy, are honored.
The aspect of the Independent Spirit Awards I actually like the best is how they always put me on to a few obscure, little films that deserve my attention, and I'm yearly-thankful. Yesterday's broadcast has me hunting down Medicine for Melancholy, and further wishing I could somehow see Ballast, which looks just great.
But here's the hands-down highlight of yesterday's awards....the man himself, Mickey Rourke, giving the best acceptance speech I've seen in years. I'm currently watching the Oscars, fingers tightly crossed that Rourke takes home the gold in t-minus two hours, and counting. One, becaue The Wrestler is astounding still, and was totally robbed of a Best Picture nod, and Rourke is just a force of owned-in human emotions in it, and two, I'm dying to hear what he'll say on Oscar's big stage, with the censors on guard and the band ready to play his long-winded ass off.
It's Mickey Rourke's world now, snitches, and we're just all being thoroughly entertained in it.
I remember reading a magazine story/set visit on Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead remake, and Sarah Polley said something to the effect of, "Every movie should have a zombie in it." Well, I think every awards show should have Mickey Rourke, winning something at least once every 20 minutes. Fuck Hugh Jackman dance numbers and a 1930s-vibe; just toss Rourke a mic and watch the magic ensue.
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