Will Smith wants to bring back Slapstick comedy to the modern flickers it seems. But he isn’t very funny. More of a Keystone clod than a Keystone cop.
Tim Allen had as good a remark as can be had, in my opinion: “It’s not ok at a Comedy Club, concert hall, or hosting some cheeseball award show.”
The key phrase for those with some learned deportment of class, and classical appreciation of entertainment of both art and artist: “…cheeseball award show.” That is to say, the Academy Awards have little to do with art and/or artists and for the past 3 or 4 decades have opened the world to, what we used to call down-home, trash, and trashy behavior. But then trash is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose. Allen chose to call it cheeseball.
Will Smith and his siren of openness to boys-night-out should get a special Charlie Chaplin award for the cheeseball slapstick moment of the year. He laughed. She then pouted, which made him manhood-it-up and with a very masculine wagon wheel roundhouse swing, he slapped Chris Rock. Rock laughed off the “punch.” Smith then strutted off the stage hopefully not having smeared his lipstick.
From his cozy little seat in the audience, he bellowed, with all due respect to his wife and the other ladies in the room something to the effect of keep your f****** mouth shut about my wife. He then repeated something similar. Robert DeNiro (fellow cheese-baller awardee) would be proud. The language of the modern artist. Come unto me thou language of speech. Suckle filth from my tongue.
Better is the poor that walketh in his integrity, than he that is perverse in his lips and is a fool. Proverbs 19:1
I still call these people and their little get-togethers trash. But then that’s just me.
It has been many, many, many years since I’ve watched the Academy Awards. I think Bob Hope was still hosting—maybe his immediate replacement—not sure, but a long time. It was a period when Walt Disney was getting his umpteenth award or John Wayne finally getting an award.
Though not entertainment as a fine piano concert of Van Cliburn or a classic opera like Rigoletto, it still had a formality of dress and demeanor that spoke more of taste than of privileged people and their debauched lifestyles.
The greatest entertainment I ever enjoyed was The Mississippi State Fair when I was a boy. The feature and the people all had sentiment, tradition, entertainment, and manners. You would ask your girlfriend what ride she would like to get on or if she wanted cotton candy or taffy. You did not ask if she was a boy or a girl or if she wanted a f******hamburger?
Now Walt Disney, Bob Hope, John Wayne had at least one thing in common beyond their Hollywood connection. They all had feet of clay. They were no more perfect than the rest of us.
But they had something in common that Hollywood and the Academy Awards lost in a universe a long, long time ago. From the vulgar slapstick slop that we have just witnessed, that thing-in-common is lost, sucked into some black hole by a Grendel-like publicist, and the politically “corrected.”
That thing? Class.
By Paul Yarbrough
Paul Yarbrough is a regular contributor to The Blue State Conservative. He writes novels, short stories, poetry, and essays. His first novel. Mississippi Cotton is a Kindle bestseller. His author site can be found on Amazon. He writes political commentary for CommDigiNews.
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The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The Blue State Conservative. The BSC is not responsible for, and does not verify the accuracy of, any information presented.
Featured photo by Jamison, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons