Earlier today I was reading the Wall Street Journal online. That’s not atypical, as I generally give it a look when it’s raining and I’m bored enough to want to know what sort of informational roofies Rupert Murdoch is slipping into my parents’ generation’s drinks. No matter how brutal the sodomy, they never feel the rectal tearing because they’ve been fed a drug dissolved into the appletini of respectability and grown-upness that is “The Journal.” Between editorials, op-eds, and news items arranged to function as editorials about how Obama is destroying the banks I found a curious item about sunglasses.
Remember that time Eddie Murphy stormed out of the Oscars like a PMSing Katherine Heigl after losing Best Supporting Actor to Daniel Day-Lewis? That was pretty much like crying yourself to sleep because ‘roids-era Mark McGwire got a hit off one of your pitches. He was nominated for Dreamgirls – when was the last time anyone watched Dreamgirls? Until today I forgot that was even a movie. He lost to Daniel Day-Lewis for his part in Gangs of New York, the best character in a legitimately good movie, and was so offended that he piled his entourage – Judge Reinhold and Hector Elizondo – into his panel van to go drink Scotch and watch the rough cut of Norbit. Classy move.
Well, The Academy was so impressed with him that they have given Brett Ratner what he wants, which couldn’t possibly be a bad decision. It’ll be nearly unwatchable, as the Oscars often are, and it got me thinking about the man himself. Eddie Murphy, despite being an incredibly gifted comedian in the 80s, probably has the least-developed sense of irony in Hollywood. Don’t believe me? Look what he did the second he had any clout:
The man is a black hole of irony. It gets sucked into him and consumed. He’s perfect for the tap-dancing, drink-when-Jack-Nicholson-wears-sunglasses-indoors Oscars! Can’t wait.