Aww, Ellen made Jack Nicholson laugh. “I look out there and I see him smiling and laughing... and then I went backstage and saw him standing in a corner, smiling and laughing... and shaving.” And Jack roffles.
Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst, who needs some shut-eye, with Original Screenplay. Little Miss Sunshine wins, as was expected.
An interpretation of The Devil Wears Prada! They turn a guy with a pitchfork into a large high-heeled shoe. Very nice.
There’s a commercial, but I’m running out of gowns.
“Please welcome film star, recording star, and excellent reason for high-definition television, Jennifer Lopez!” Oh, stop sucking up, Announcer Man. She’s here to introduce the three Dreamgirls songs and “Grammy award winner Beyoncé Knowles, Academy Award winner Jennifer Hudson, and Tony award-winner Anika Noni Rose.” Okay, I laughed a little there. Jennifer is wearing a fantastic sparkly red column halter dress. Here’s Beyoncé, in a frilly crimson dress to step in on Jennifer’s song and then move into “Listen”--oh, snap, they’re doing “Listen” together. Wasn’t this Beyoncé’s song in the movie? Also, Beyoncé has brought Phake Phantom (who has snatched the body of Phake Jamie Phoxx) back, and is singing... at him? On him? Something. Beyoncé does like her some man-props, she does. She finishes “Listen” after having willed Jennifer offstage. And now here’s poor overlooked Anika Noni Rose in another red dress with a jeweled neckline that matches her necklace, while Keith Richardson sings most of her song, and then the other two women join her. Oh, and now there’s a choir.
“Uh!” says Ellen. “I would not want to follow that! Our next presenters...” Are John Travolta and Queen Latifah. Because she sings, and... he dances... get it? “And I love a full-figured woman who can stand in front of a camera and sing her heart out,” says Travolta, “...but enough about me.” Yes, that’s Hairspray he’s talking about. Yes, he’s playing Edna Turnblad. Yes, the idea haunts my waking dreams and nightmares as well. OH MY GOD MELISSA ETHERIDGE JUST WON WHAT THE HELL. I mean, I love her and I’m thrilled (“That feels as good as you think it does!” she says, and then thanks her wife Tammi “and her four children,” and of course Al Gore), but what universe is this? What world is this where Melissa Etheridge can beat three, three!, songs cooked up for Oscarbait? And can we stay here?