Oscars 2013

I heaved a sigh of relief 30 minutes into the Red Carpet. That's when they took Anupama Chopra off the air and we got back on an even keel listening to Kelly Rowland and Kristin Chenoweth. They were much worse than Anupama Chopra, (inane questions, meet Oscar Red Carpet hosts), but at least they had the requisite camera personalities, something sadly lacking in La Chopra whose high-pitched voice and dead expression makes me very restless indeed. And her hair and make-up were simply embarrassing. No, make that the shag carpet she seemed to be wearing.

Why is it that Indian women have no concept of fashion? From Aishwarya Rai to Natasha Poonawala, it's a case of what top-notch designer the stylist decrees. Style is Anne Hathaway's Prada, Salma Hayek's McQueen, Halle Berry's Versace; most Indian women would be unable to wear any of the above-mentioned ensembles. The only one who comes close to the panache necessary to wear Dior and Lacroix, for example, is Sonam Kapoor but that's the point; you are not Sonam Kapoor and you need to figure out what suits you, especially when you're in the public eye.

But what a fun Oscars it was.

* I thought Seth MacFarlane was hilarious, talented, suave and entertaining (more of that camera personality thing). Thought his “We Saw Your Boobs” was especially fun – only to read how a female columnist at The New Yorker went ballistic saying SM was a misogynist etc etc, boosting a “hostile, ugly, sexist night”. Dear Lord. I say please go in search of your sense of humour, not to mention perspective and, probably, try to get citizenship in a country that doesn't equate political correctness with a moral high ground. The first is tiresome, the second suspect.

* Thrilled to see Tarantino win for Best Original Screenplay, (man's a God as far as I'm concerned; cinema's answer to Jay Z in the cool quotient), but there was an outrage that balanced his win out, and not in a good way. DiCaprio's 20 minutes or so of screen time in “Django” was, as always, riveting, and he wasn't even nominated. I challenge anyone to name a single movie this guy has been in which wasn't outrageously sublime, (yes, even “The Beach”). But there you go. His absence at Oscar-time is as baffling as Jennifer Lawrence scoring over Sally Field or the 9-yr-old with the unpronounceable name. As baffling as Affleck not being nominated for Best Director when his film was a shoo-in for Best Film. As baffling as Ang Lee scoring over Spielberg (what, the tiger's acting was better than Daniel Day-Lewis'?).

Daniel Day-Lewis, meanwhile, is probably one of the best actors ever, but his real-life persona is even more intriguing. He looks so ascetic, doesn't he? So refined and otherworldly. When he speaks it's as though he is weighing each word (unlike Jen Lawrence who seems to have been born with no filter between the brain and the mouth), and then carefully proferring it for your delectation. He is, let us not forget, son of a poet laureate, and husband to a renowned playwright's daughter. Maybe that's why.

* It's always surprising to me, this herd mentality, don't know why; should be used to it by now. But everyone oohing and ahhing over Adele left me cold. She gave a completely underwhelming performance, so much so she could almost not be heard over the music. While even Barbra Streisand and Shirley Bassey's voices have faded in power over the years, you don't notice it with them because their charisma enters the stage before they do and leaves you little time to think of anything else. They lift the hair on your arms and make you sigh in contentment because you feel there must be hope for a species that they represent. There is a photo on the Net where all three divas are caught together. It's a wonderful thing to have lived long enough to see.

Glam radar alert!

Grammy whammys

Janelle Monae sticking her finger in her mouth at the entrance to the Grammys' red carpet walk of fame was a sight I could have done without. So ok, she was doing the slightly disgusting beauty trick where you put your forefinger between your lips and slide it out so that lipstick doesn't stick to your teeth (see, you learn something new every day) but these days cameras are on you everywhere. Don't celebs know this?? It was a good show, though, with Justin Timberlake and Jack White showing wannabes like Taylor Swift and Hunter Hayes, (whose over-singing of his hit song 'Wanted' was almost as painful as Taylor's endless putdowns of boyfriends who keep dumping her), how it's done.

The coolest man on the planet has to be Jay Z; he's so cool he doesn't need to speak but when he does they STOP the music instead of running it when people are going over time. Man's a God, and anyone who has listened to '99 Problems' and 'No Church in the Wild' knows that. Prince is pretty close to one, too. Musical genius who doesn't need to pitterpatter at the mike, he has nothing to prove.

Loved the flame-red dress on Rihanna who seems to have donned a much more raw musical persona: 'Stay' is going to be a major hit; pity she hasn't improved her taste in abusive men.

Jennifer Lopez's leg carried itself much better than La Jolie did at the Oscars.

Carrie Underwood is very possibly the voice of the year, no matter what anyone says about Adele. Carrie has the range even though you prefer listening to Adele; and no prizes for guessing who wins the style stakes looking at the sublime Cavalli number on Carrie and the giant question mark on Adele (Valentino must be turning over in his retirement home). Carrie also came up with the idea for the stunning projections on her performance dress which was way cool.

Poor Giuliana Rancic, meanwhile, and that has nothing to do with her health issues which I wouldn't wish even on people I actively detest. She became more and more manic as the evening went on. She was the best host/interviewer in her early days but fame seems to have unsettled her.

I don't like seeing people I admire going down the tubes.

Speaking of which, note to Johnny Depp: The scarf hanging from the belt is Aerosmith-dated and plain embarrassing on a man just shy of celebrating the big Five-O. Cease and Desist, we beg you.

Homeland Fever

What a series. They have actually made a terrorist a sympathetic character. Damian Lewis is so tortured in every which way that you come to the point where you think, Man, dude needs a break – as long as it's not his neck, as the saying goes.

You can't tell what's real and what's fake; love, sex, sympathy, nothing is as it seems. (Come to think of it, this could be a reality show.)

Adding Rupert Friend to the mix has been especially smart. Great actor, easy on the eye and seems so on edge that you're wondering where the next explosion is going to come from, and we don't mean in the way of bombs.

There's only one person whom I want to bitch-slap and that's the daughter. Good God. To say she's more annoying than Carrie says it all. Whiny, naive, demanding, I'm groaning every time she comes onscreen.

Yup, you just can't escape the fact that these characters seem so real you react to them with the same changing empathies you feel towards people in real life.

I'm hooked.

I Die....

...As Rachel Zoe so eloquently says when she sees fashion that makes her heart beat faster. These were my gilty pleasures this month, at ridiculous sales prices. They show style as art, don't they.