Hollywood Bust

The numbers have come in, and the Oscars tanked, having scored the smallest number of viewers since Nielsen started the whole Oscar-ratings biz back in 1974.

Myway.com reports that one night of Oscars is worth about 10 million views less than three nights of American Idol. Idol's Thursday special last week scored over 23 million viewers on its own (83 million for the week), while the Oscars brought in a paltry 32 million viewers. In other words, 24 no-name kids singing karaoke songs are drawing more attention than all of the movie stars combined.

No surprise to me. If Hollywood thinks the average American viewer is going to watch movie stars pat themselves on the back, they've got another thing coming. The latest slew of American-bashing flicks did nothing to make America proud of its movie factory, and neither did the endless stories of stars' excesses with booze and drugs.

One minute the audience is hearing about drunk driving charges (Mel Gibson, Kiefer Sutherland, et al), the next they're hearing Michael Moore say, "Please forgive us," to the "international audience" while he walks the red carpet. Then they're supposed to watch these people stage-cry while picking up a statue? Right.

Just once I'd like to hear an honest movie star accept an award:

"All right, here's the deal. I have to thank my agent, the director, the producers, and my publicist. The list of names we all rattle off when accepting an award are not people we care about, only people that can help our careers. I don't really have time to thank mom and dad, because I have to be a sycophant and kiss some A-list ass, otherwise I'm screwed. Besides, I went into rehab and found out that my dad used to beat me and my mom dressed me as Heidi until the age of six. You can see it on the next Oprah.

"If I don't thank the director, he won't want to work with me again, which wouldn't be so bad because I think I'd be a better director than him. Still, I should thank him because he let it pass the day I wouldn't come out of my trailer after taking too many Quaaludes. Not like it mattered. After three weeks of shooting at fifty grand a day, what could he do, fire me? In my defence, if they hadn't run out of Diet Coke, I wouldn't have been so upset. But no Diet Coke? Give me a break. That's like an invitation from Mr. Quaalude himself.

"I have to thank the producers, too. They're the ones that give you the job and hand you a check for 20 million and all the rest of it. Anyway, they phoned me up while I was lounging by the pool. My agent (who's an even bigger prick than me, if you can believe it) had them get me the script. I thought it was great. After the fifth re-write and my script consultants were done with it (that's the Harry Jones and John Crenshaw that I just mentioned, in case you thought they were friends or something), I decided to do the picture.

"This film was a tough spiritual journey. It was a real pain in the ass shooting during basketball season. I had to give my Laker tickets to my hair stylist and he stiffed me for half the money. My trailer was the eighteen wheel Winnebago, which is a little better than the mini-Winnie, but not by much. It sucked, but I accepted it because I thought the film was so personal. I really felt a connection with it. Sure, it was about a serial rapist that lives in Des Moines, but hey, I've been to Kentucky.

"Next I have to thank my co-stars. I'd rip their heads off for a movie role, but there's no need to tell them that. Though they're all no-talent hacks compared to me, and I'd sell their daughters into slavery to get the part in the next Spielberg movie, I love them all very much. By the way, I banged the blonde, and screwing in a Winnebago is not easy, take it from me.

"Finally, I have to thank the fans. I'd like to thank the kids that go on double dates and drop a hundred bucks a night so I can stand here in a tux, pretend like I give a shit, and then go get drunk at a party and crash my car afterwards. All of the courtroom judges in this town are star struck anyway, so who cares? Barbara Walters will have the camera guys shoot me in soft light during the interview, and you'll forgive me. Don't eat meat, drive a Prius, and end the war. Good night."

Photo: Reuters