Anne Hathaway’s Nipples! Also, The Oscars.

(Feature image courtesy of Business Insider)

Editor’s Note: I felt compelled to sit through and critique the Oscars after I did the same for the Grammys earlier this month. The results were worth it.

So, the Oscars (or, to use the properly highfalutin title, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences Awards) were last night, and the biggest news wasn’t Ben Affleck‘s vindication as Argo won Best Picture, or even Jennifer Lawrence‘s epic dismount as she tripped on her way up the stage to accept her Best Actress award. It was this:

Yes, that’s right, Twitter birthed not one, but two accounts based on Miss Hathaway’s unfortunate choice of red carpet attire (the other has since been suspended, for God knows what reason).

In all honesty, everyone knew it was the cut of her dress, not her actual happy buttons, but still. Why?

My biggest concern with the Oscar festivities, apart from the choice of host, musical numbers, self-fellating back-slapping, self-important blustering and empty praise, is the length. Who actually cares about sound editing? Or costume design?

The lay people, like me, who even give one rampaging rat poop about the Oscars, only need five awards: Best Actor and Actress, Best Supporting Actor and Actress, and Best Picture. Also of note, when did they stop calling it Best Actor? Last night, all I heard was “Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role.” Has it always been that pretentious and I’ve just never noticed? Or is it like janitors now being “Hygiene Engineers?”

Anyway. Everything else could be relegated to the “Scientific and Technical Awards,” the pre-Oscar show Oscar show where awards no one cares about are given out to the people who actually make the films. How do I know no one cares about these? That show isn’t televised.

Good thing, too. You never know who’ll show up to these things.

And don’t even start me on Seth MacFarlane. I’m a Family Guy fan, don’t get me wrong, and I did enjoy Ted (Or, Peter Griffin Stars As Teddy Bear: Meg Really Is Hot, You Guys), but still.

It’s not the same without the hat.

MacFarlane’s jokes were largely flat, and his constant smiling mug and soft snickering reminded me of SNL-era Jimmy Fallon, laughing at his own jokes because no one else would.

He was up and down, all over the place, and his opening monologue (which lasted 25 FREAKING MINUTES) included a rousing performance of a song called “We Saw Your Boobs,” so everyone knew immediately how the evening would go.

Even Charlize wasn’t impressed.

And the musical numbers! Catherine Zeta Jones‘ rendition of “All That Jazz” from Chicago (part of an ill-advised tribute to movie musicals, which was sorely lacking a Moulin Rouge performance) was a well-gelled hairpiece away from not being good enough for a midseason replacement episode of Glee. Even Her Highness Adele, queen of all musics and ruler of the depressed women of the world, gave approximately three-tenths of her best during “Skyfall,” which ended up winning the Best Song award anyway.

She’s halfway there, and don’t tell me you’re not concerned you’ll see her in an episode of Mad Men.

I will, however, say this: Jeniffer Hudson BLEW THE EFFING HOUSE DOWN with “And I’m Telling You (I’m Not Going).”

Not only did she actually hold a microphone, there was no distracting chorus line or glittery backdrop to distract the viewer from the fact that this girl can sing like a combination of Fergie, Jesus and Oprah.

I didn’t put the whole song, because there’s no way you can listen to that much diva-y goodness and still feel good about yourself and what you’ve accomplished in your life.

Now, onto the funny tweets and GIFs, because that’s all you really come here for, right?

For reference: If Hugh’s a 10 (Which I believe he is; who knew he had the voice of an angel?), she’s gotta be a -5.

UPDATE: I had to include this one!

(GIFs courtesy of Guyism)

Don’t lie, that’s how you look at your grandpa.


So much awesome is happening here, it’s hard to believe it. Bonus points if you catch the chomp.

Most important, though, was the unintentional PSA generated by teenage wasteland Kristen Stewart.

Run, Harry! Voldemort’s grown breasts and a nose for heroin!

It may be hard to see from the small photo, but K-Stew hobbled to the podium like she just left a battered women’s shelter for non-recovering coke addicts. Granted, there was a reason for the hobble, but no explanation was given for the dead eyes, post-hobo-sex hairdo, or the bruise on her arm.

“What’s everybody lookin’ at me fo’?”



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