(BY SAÏDEH PAKRAVAN) That would be me, of course. Me as a proxy for viewers who dutifully tune in to the Oscar ceremony year after year and, even with numerous TiVo stops, wonder why they put themselves through the pain. Of course, there’s the glamour of our favorite people from our favorite entertainment medium. This 80th Oscar ceremony was no exception. The films in competition were stunningly good for the most part and the protagonists some of the best actors of our time. No complaints there. None either on how great everyone looked. Women were ravishing, half the contingent in black, the other in red. (Buff bodies, superb gowns, tiny waists, smooth skins, is there no justice?) The men were charming and self-deprecating. George Clooney, the last film star, carried himself as urbanely as anyone who can channel Cary Grant to perfection. (Talking about channeling, am I the only one to have found Daniel Day-Lewis in There Will Be Blood channeling Sean Connery? As I am the only one to find Ralph Fiennes—absent last night—Peter O’Toole’s double, one generation down?) Jack Nicholson, who’s just hit seventy, still smiled his fiendish smile and Johnny Depp again had to brush away bangs of artfully unequal length from his face to see anything. But back to the Awards ceremony—whose rambling seems to be catching. The question on everyone’s mind is always why does the darn thing last so long. Really, why does it? For one thing, there are far too many awards. Do I really need to know about both the best sound editors and the best sound mixers in the business? I don’t know and don’t really care what either does and today have totally forgotten their names and their faces. Do I want to see the people responsible for makeup and for art direction and for visual effects? A film is the result of the cumulative efforts of dozens and sometimes hundreds of participants, we know that. But what the audience finally sees and may remember is a story written by a writer, played out by actors who are told what to do by a director and filmed by a cinematographer. Anything beyond that is simply too much information. These efforts could be recognized in one single sequence such as the one introducing the scientific Academy Awards that are presented elsewhere and on another day. Also, enough rehashing of other Oscar ceremonies. We have the sequence of the previous funniest moments, best actors, best supporting roles actors, best pictures (last night, we had a quick overview of all 79 (truly!) previous best pictures which only served to remind us how laughable some of the choices were. Forrest Gump? Kramer vs. Kramer?) Do the math, it doubles an event always best described as bloated. The only acceptable and indeed necessary montage is the moving In Memoriam, the past year’s deaths in the film industry, especially poignant last night in the case of, among others, Deborah Kerr for her iconic film career and Heath Ledger for his too short one. More suggestions on how to unbloat the event? Stop the music. We sat through three appalling songs, two from Enchanted and one from August Rush. What’s this about original music, the rule that eliminated from the competition the fabulous Radiohead music from There Will Be Blood? There was nothing original in that rehash of a hundred tunes we’ve heard before. The winning number, the excellent Falling Slowly from the equally excellent indie Once would have been quite satisfying on its own. As for the host, always an iffy matter since Billy Crystal passed on the baton, Jon Stewart was the glue that rather loosely held this very long evening together. He was occasionally funny but some of his lines fell flat (equating Harrison Ford’s last name with cars was about as funny as a six-year old’s taunt in a schoolyard.) So, final suggestions for next year: best script, best cinematography, best documentary, best foreign film, best supporting actress, best supporting actor, best actor, best actress, best picture. Short and sweet. (A grateful note here, the un-pc Academy still calls actresses actresses, thank God. Imagine the confusion if they gave out an award first for best supporting actor then for best supporting actor.) Also, before I forget, lose the Ziegfeld Follies/Son of the Sheikh décor, don’t have presenters walk a mile to get to the podium (those Jimmy Choos may look great but aren’t about walking.) All in all, heed the rallying cry of this day-and-age: simplify! simplify! And hand me my award. Thank you, Academy !