Joaquin didn't win his Best Actor oscar.
It wasn't unexpected but I'm a little sad anyway.
I mean, we all know that I dug Capote and I thought that PSH embodied his role quite well but his performance was still a little too studied to be completely natural.
Joaquin was completely natural. And this isn't just the obsessed fan in me speaking. From as objective a standpoint as I can possibly adopt, Joaquin should've won.
Oh well. On the bright side, at least I'm not as outraged as I was in 2001 when he lost that Best Supporting Actor to bloody Benicio Del Toro. In the first place I didn't like Traffic anyway.
I spent most of Legal Theory refreshing imdb.com for Oscar updates and trying desperately to find pictures of Joaquin at the Oscars. He wore all black, a la Johnny Cash and Joaq's role in Walk the Line, and damn, do I think he looks hot wearing all black or what. It doesn't make a freaking difference whether I stayed home to watch the Oscars or not, because I was completely distracted anyway.
I was looking at these pictures during Legal Theory and was quite excited.
Sigh. The man is beautiful. He's the one I want to marry.
LAWR in 20 minutes.
Or rather, now.
Will write about a crappy dream I had when I get home.
I was in the library when I wrote the chunk above and Kelvin came over and told me that class was starting. I was glad to hear that it was starting 15 minutes earlier since it meant that we could potentially end early, but no, we ended at around 6.10 p.m. I was so zonked that I spaced out in the middle of presentations quite a few times. Good thing I was only acting as judge (I misread the confusing schedule the tutor sent out). I asked a grand total of one question but I'm proud to say that it was an intelligent one.
Or at least, I thought it was an intelligent one. (The girl was saying something about how the implied term of trust and confidence between employers and employees is a major part of UK Employment Law but we should not apply it in Singapore and I asked her why.)
So now I'm super tired and I'm not physically or mentally up to reading stuff for Criminal tomorrow. I'm waiting for time to pass so that I could watch the Oscars at 10 tonight.
Speaking of which, I'm super proud that Lee Ang won Best Director even though I haven't seen Brokeback Mountain. The first Asian to win that award, and he's Chinese/Taiwanese (same thing, in my opinion). I was telling my dad that China should give him some sort of monetary reward if they really think that the Taiwanese people are a part of China, as they're so fond of insisting on when it comes to cross-strait politics.
Of course, that won't happen. The Taiwanese government isn't even going to give Lee Ang monetary reward because Brokeback Mountain isn't a Taiwanese production. Okay, whatever; I guess the fact that a Taiwanese citizen was the first Asian ever to win that award is nothing compared to the nationality (so to speak) of the film.
Needless to say, I'm quite shocked that Brokeback didn't win Best Picture. But yeah, it doesn't matter to me either way, as long as Munich doesn't win.
Anyway, I'm really super in love with Joaquin Phoenix right now. This current layout is nearly a month old, which means it's time to change it. The next one will feature Joaquin for sure. I love his Vanity Fair photo; it's so gorgeous, just his face alone, even if his shirt were fully buttoned-up. I finally procured pictures of him at the Oscar and - wow. His eyes are gorgeous. He is gorgeous. His hair is different now and he looks different, more grown-up in a sense. His hair - sharp contrast to that messy mop he sported during the 2001 Oscars. He looks polished now, suave and sophisticated, the kind of stuff meant to send hearts like mine bimbotically aflutter...
Haha, I was going for something serious there until the mushiness of the crap I was writing started to make me laugh. This reminds me of a General Paper essay I wrote two years back on the value of films. I wrote something about James Dean and Rebel Without A Cause, how Jimmy Dean is "timeless" and "eternal" or something along those lines.
Wait, let me go dig it up.
"On a more personal level, films serve the purpose of providing solace to the audience in times of bleakness and loneliness. The most classic example is Nicholas Ray's legendary 1955 film, Rebel Without A Cause, starring the eternal and immortal James Dean." [emphasis added]
Arthur Kok underlined the italicised words and wrote "gushing!" next to them.
He hit the nail right on the head. When it comes to people I admire greatly, my first instict is to Gush like a Retarded Fangirl. Not very smart, is it?
(A brief aside: I'd like to think that I'd be calm and collected enough to exude just a smidge of sophistication if the sky collapses one day and I get to meet Joaquin Phoenix, when the truth of the matter is, I'd probably take one look at him, look him in the eyes for a nanosecond, and be so dumbfounded by the intense beauty that stands before me that I'd be unable to speak. I'm stupid like that.)
Moving on now. I said that I was going to write about this horrible dream I had, and so I will.
Basically, I dreamt that Jay Chou died.
It was the most horrible thing ever. I couldn't stop crying in the dream and felt like something heavy was relentlessly pressing down on my chest. My dream was long and continuous and the Jielun dying part was at the end (right before I woke up, hence the impression it made) and I was already upset about something else before the horrible part, but still, finding out the news days after the fact and my looking forward to his seventh album made it that much worse. My tears cascaded down my face like the Niagara, my sobs were excruciatingly heart-wrenching, and it was just...bad.
And his cause of death? Some sort of accident when he was serving the army. He drowned.
I also remember thinking what a real shame it was that November's Chopin was his last work. HAHAHA. (It's arguably his weakest album to date, for the non-fans out there.)
If it eventually pans out that he has to serve the stupid army, I'd write a letter to him telling him to stay far, far away from the sea. Or the river. Or the lake. Or the wading pool. Whatever.
No Grey's Anatomy this week. Boo.