There's not really much to say about this week's Oscarcast, except that it was as long as usual and far less entertaining. I'm sure that nobody but a few die-hard John Irving fans had any doubt about how the big awards would turn out, and the real lack of controversy dulled the proceedings. The snore factor was such that, while I was disappointed that Haley Joel Osment didn't win, for example, I was not upset that Michael Caine did. It was like that in every category; any winner would have been fine. Ironic, I suppose, that a year of high quality work produces a mostly "so what" reaction. You know there's something wrong when the most exciting contest is whether The Matrix would beat out Phantom Menace for the tech awards. It did, which was nice to see, but hardly made for a horse race.

On the production end of things, this year's set was just plain tacky, with its illuminated floor that Billy Crystal quipped was borrowed from Soul Train. The high-tech flat panel monitors were a nice touch, but why constantly flaunt a movie theatre aspect ratio image to an audience that's watching on old skool 4:3 TV sets? And, while the attempt at giving the home audience a backstage feel was noble, sticking Peter Coyote in front of the shelves full of awards made him look like he was either running a concession stand (as one critic pointed out) or that he was guarding the little gold men from another theft.

The biggest plus this year was having Billy Crystal back, but the opening montage was hit or miss. Sure, there were some funny moments, but the key to making the "Billy in the Picture" sequence work is tying every piece to the five best flick nominees. Otherwise, the whole thing comes across as arbitrary. While the Psycho homage set in Kevin Spacey's American Beauty shower was funny, The Godfather segments were totally unrelated. And, I'm sorry, but just adding the line "I see dead people" to The Gold Rush does not a parody make. As if to overkill the flat montage, we were then treated to Crystal's "Oscar, Oscar" musical tribute, which wasn't strictly about the best picture nominees, either. In the words of every high-strung, flamboyant choreographer in the business, "Focus, people. Focus."

So, once again, the Oscar show is like a big old bag of Hostess Twinkies. We all know it's no good for us but we still indulge, even if we just feel fat and queasy afterwards. Herewith, then, are my awards to the awards, brickbats and kudos for a mixed-bag year.

Most Incomprehensible Acceptance Speech: Arthur Cohn accepting for best documentary feature, One Day in September. What the hell did he say, and why did he have to use up the other guys' time to not say it?

Most Gracious Acceptance Speech: Michael Caine, who acknowledged each of the other nominees personally and at length, adding that he was glad the terminology had been changed from "and the winner is." Classy, classy, classy, and it mitigated my disappointment over Haley Joel Osment not winning. Sorry, getting the Oscar.

Most embarrassing faux pas: Kevin Spacey, who annihilated all respect for him from the Writers Guild by, first, mistakenly identifying Sam Mendes, director, as the writer of American Beauty, then compounding the error by correcting himself, but adding, "It felt like (Sam) wrote it." Big, big, big, big, big mistake, Kevo. The crowd I was watching with, at a WGA function, roundly booed, hissed and jeered.

Most Regretted Comment the Morning After: Best Cinematography winner Conrad Hall, pretty much admitting that he lusts after his sixteen year old daughter's friends.

Best Recovery: Roberto Benigni's "they told me to stay the hell off the furniture." Yeah, sure, he may have learned the line phonetically and never had the joke explained to him, but it was a humbling acknowledgement of his excited behavior last year.

Most Heinous Win: Phil Collins. Or, for that matter, any nominee in the song category except Blame Canada. Honestly, could anyone tell any of the other four songs apart from each other, or apart from anything on top forty soft adult-oriented three chord mushy-gushy "here's music for people afraid of emotion" crap? Maybe next year they'll give this award in an elevator, where its winners usually belong. The only award Collins should win is for proving that Peter Gabriel is the talented one.

Nicest Presenter/Presentee Match: It was really neat to see Antonio Banderas get to give Pedro Almodóvar his Best Foreign Film Oscar. A reunion of sorts, Almodóvar discovered Antonio, who starred in a handful of his films before being found by Hollywood.

Most heinous nominee: I said it in my original Oscar article, and footage on Sunday proved it: a screenplay didn't get anywhere near the Topsy-Turvy set, and it had no business being nominated in this category. For sharp eyed viewers (or ones with really big sets) it was pretty obvious, during the pre-award montage, that they didn't even have a shooting script to show for this flick, and so used images from some sort of scene breakdown grid.

My Most On-Target Prediction: Topsy-Turvy for art direction and costumes -- "the Academy always falls for theatrically set flicks in this category, thinking heavy make-up and elaborate costumes are art direction..." Not that this is a good thing.

Most Unexpected Winner: Best score, The Red Violin. Probably for reasons related to the above, a film no one saw wins, over both American Beauty and The Talented Mr. Ripley. "Hm. It's about a violin, so the score must kick ass." Incidentally, Oscar conductor Burt Bacharach showed a little home team chutzpah when, for the only time I can think of in Oscar history, he stopped the "get the hell off now" music for winning composer John Corigliano. Let's not let the ass-kissing get too obvious, Mr. Bacharach, m'kay?

Best Ad-Lib that Bruce Villanch Probably Wrote: Billy Crystal's voiceover for Dame Judi Dench's thoughts: "this thong is killing me." Perfect line and perfect reaction -- and I bet the folks back home won't let her forget it soon. I know I won't forget the image of Dame Judi in butt-floss for a long, long time.

Best In-Joke that Bruce Villanch Definitely Wrote: The Laura Schlessinger slam; she wasn't at the awards because she couldn't get anyone to do her hair or make-up. Think about it.

Best Joke that Bruce Villanch Definitely Didn't Write: the lyrics to Blame Canada.

Worst Oversight that Wasn't: I was ready to walk over to the Academy and start screaming when their "In Memoriam" segment omitted Stanley Kubrick, until I was reminded that he died just in time to be honored at last year's Oscars. What this tells me is not that I have a short memory, but that the Oscar show really has no staying power. Case in point: right around the time that Hilary Swank was getting Best Actress, I couldn't for the life of me remember who'd won Best Supporting Actress only three and a half hours earlier. Proof that Kubrick does have staying power: the huge number of clips showcasing other people that happened to be from his films.

Strangest Staging Concept: Peter Coyote, announcer. I guess he's insuring a second career if game shows continue to make a comeback.

Stupidest Staging Concept: "The Shrine stage is about half a mile wide, so let's have the actors enter on one side and walk a-a-a-a-all the way to the other. That oughta add a good twenty minutes to the show." Even worse -- let's put Jane Fonda and Jack Nicholson center stage to intro retrospectives, then make then walk to stage right -- while talking -- half way through their speeches as the big screen comes up. Fonda did this with no comment and made it look like she'd fucked up her entrance; Nicholson was smart enough to read his stage directions out loud and prove who the real fuck-ups were. Yes, he was the coolest man in the room.

Biggest Fashion Felony: Erykah Badu. I don't think I would have minded that thing on her head as much if her whole outfit hadn't been florescent green. Second runner-up, Dionne Warwick, whose psychic friends should have told her that her brocade and chenille number was all wrong for a formal evening event and should only be seen at a Pasadena church social. And someone should have told her that a drop waist on anyone but a supermodel makes the booty look gigantic (how often do you see "booty" and "Dionne Warwick" in the same paragraph?). Both women should have taken a clue from Queen Latifah, whose outfit was elegant, gorgeous and perfectly suited to the occasion.

Most Embarrassing Production "Oops": Isaac Hayes' disappearance into gallons of stage smoke during his performance of the theme from Shaft. On the other hand, you could argue that it was a perfect homage to the Oscar shows of the 70's, in which stage smoke was a frequently featured element. Or was that cannabis smoke? But, I said you could make the argument. I won't. If I remember correctly, Debbie Reynolds also vanished the same way during her 1974 performance of Live and Let Die. This kind of blunder is always just plain old embarrassing.

Most Useless Segment: The tribute to past Oscar songs. For once Whitney Houston showed some sense by pulling out at the last moment. Not only was the segment way too long, it omitted some of the more memorable songs. Where was As Time Goes By from Casablanca, anyway? By ending with When You Wish Upon a Star, the whole thing came off as a lame Disney tribute. At least it proved one thing: No matter how hard you try, you can't fuck up a Cole Porter song. Ray Charles tried really hard, too.

Best Dressed: Trey Parker, Matt Stone and Marc Shaiman, nominees and South Park bad boys. Stone was tres chic in a replica of Gwyneth Paltrow's pink Ralph Lauren 1999 Oscar gown, while Parker dressed to impress in Jennifer Lopez's cut to the cootch green Versace dress that wowed 'em at the Grammys. While Shaiman didn't appear in drag, his blue leisure suit topped with a shaggy overcoat could best be termed Retro-Pimp.

Best Commercial: Sally Field's Schwab commercial -- "You like me, you like me, you really, really like me..."

Strangest Commercial Campaign: The Gap's West Side Story series. Well-choreographed and all that, but why don't they just sponsor the whole musical somewhere and get it over with? Call it "Models who can dance" or "Dancers who look good" or something.

Surest Sign that This Year's Awards Show Really, Really Sucked: I remember the commercials

Jon Bastian, a native and resident of Los Angeles, is a playwright and screenwriter who works in the TV trade to keep his dog rolling in kibble.

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