Hey, babe. I can’t thank you enough for coming back to my place tonight. I know it takes you an hour by train to get here, but I think you’ll find it’s worth it.

See, remember when you said you thought our sex life was “very dull” these days? I think it’s because I haven’t been honest with you about what turns me on more than anything else.

The Academy Awards (or “Oscars”) are decided by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, a historically stodgy and reactionary voting body that sometimes gets naughty and awards a more progressive film. Then they go right back to stodgy and reactionary. They live to tease you, babe. Let me rub your back.

There’s a whole season of awards leading up to them, some that are good, some that leave a lot to be desired. However, like all great foreplay, they also leave you wanting more. Light that candle, babe. I’m gonna tell you about category confusion.

Mmmm. That’s when the producers of a movie think one of their stars has a bigger chance of going all the way in a supporting category. That’s why you would have thought The Favourite would run Olivia Coleman as a Supporting Actress due to her profile in the United States, even though she’s ostensibly the lead of the movie. And that’s why it’s so sexy that they didn’t, babe. They just did whatever they wanted. They just did it and said fuck it and they’re gonna take their reward.

Pop that screener in the DVD player, but turn it down so the neighbors don’t hear us.

Some categories at the Oscars are essentially handcuffed to the bed, babe. You can bet that Alfonso Cuaron is winning Best Director for Roma. It’s as plain as the socks that are still on my feet, babe.

And Into the Spider-Verse has proven the fragility of Pixar’s staying power as a prestige studio. That’s because it’s so beautiful, babe. It’s like you. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It’s the kind of kid’s movie that makes me think we should make a baby, babe. Don’t make that face, you know what I meant. Let’s see it again next weekend so I can break down the post-credits scene for you.

This is the turning point for us in the sheets, babe. After we watch the ceremony, I’m going to be riding high on explaining the results to you for the rest of the year. You’ll hear me say dirty, dirty things like “this reflects a seismic change within accepted models of film distribution,” or “I would have nominated Martin Freeman for Black Panther.”

Now, please don’t kink-shame me, but I want to hear your thoughts on the Writer's Guild Awards.

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