And then the sun itself will turn us all to sand
Spurred by a gloomy desire to know what the hell movie Spike Lee's era-defining Do the Right Thing (1989) lost Best Original Screenplay to at the 62nd Academy Awards,
spatch and I just spent the last hour reading Oscar nominations and results from 1990 onward, an activity punctuated by frequent cries of "[X] was robbed!" "[Y] should have been nominated!" and "That was poop!" I had forgotten how many years I had opinions about. I've seen even more of those movies now. I have more opinions.
The answer to our original question, by the way, was Dead Poets Society. My opinion about that is: "That was poop!"
The answer to our original question, by the way, was Dead Poets Society. My opinion about that is: "That was poop!"

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It was actually an entertaining and instructive use of an hour, because it reminded me that the Academy has always had its own weird system of preferences that don't at all reflect what I consider the point of the awards, and every year there is at least one something that's well-deserved and one something that is incomprehensible by normal human standards of talent and taste. Which does not stop me from crying poop on the latter, of course. Often.
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