Along with a good portion of the rest of the planet, I watched the Academy Awards this past weekend. For me, it rounds out the winter must-see spectacle season, kind of a shadow of the Super Bowl just a few weeks before. I can remember when Johnny Carson hosted the Oscars. He was funny. I can remember when Jon Stewart hosted. He was funnier than David Letterman, but I knew that they were both out of their comfort zone, and I have remained fans of their appearances when the rest of the world has been happy to let these one-timers slide into history. I also remember Billy Crystal. He was funny.
Was. There was a time back in the nineties when he was funny everywhere.
Okay, maybe there's a problem here. Maybe we don't all agree on what "funny" is. "Causing laughter or amusement." This is a dictionary definition, but it does provide a little insight. E.B. White once said, "Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but the thing dies in the process and the innards are discouraging to any but the pure scientific mind." In the case of Billy's 2012 Oscar gig, with apologies to Woody Allen, what we have here is a dead frog.
One of the things that causes something to be found humorous is a sudden change in abstraction levels. Simply put, if you're expecting it, it's not funny. There is still comedy to be mined out of repetition, just ask David Letterman, but appearing in black face doing a passable Sammy Davis Jr. after twenty-plus years goes beyond beating a dead horse. In my mind, I could hear the grand old man, Bob Hope, warming up in the bullpen: "Hey, I gotta tellya..."
Bill Murray turned down a big paycheck to do "Ghostbusters 3." He didn't figure anyone wanted to watch a bunch of old guys chasing computer generated ghosts around. That's a young man's game. And so, it would appear, is hosting the Oscars.
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