The cinetrix has squandered her day reading the same Globe article over and over again, trying to penetrate the editorial intelligence that greenlighted it, even in this, the most provincial of cities.
What could possibly have her so confounded, you ask? Murray's 'Lost' cause resonates in Boston
The lede's OK, as such things go, even if it is patently untrue [Fishburne had the best accent in the flick].
For Boston film fans, it was admittedly hard not to applaud Sean Penn's best actor honor at Sunday night's Academy Awards. He gave a powerhouse performance in local writer Dennis Lehane's "Mystic River," and his striding out of the Kodak Theatre with an Oscar was a fitting tribute to a career marked by challenging and often brave choices.
Whatever. Not really. But it was good for the local economy, as a certain newspaper reported ad nauseum during the shoot.
It's the second graf where things go all squirrelly.
Yet as spring struggles to emerge from beneath another cold New England winter, it was hard not to feel empathy for his fellow nominee Bill Murray. Like our beloved Red Sox, Murray had taken an underdog role in the small-budget "Lost in Translation" to the brink of immortality, only to have his hopes dashed on the last play of the season.
Breathe. Breathe. I know, I was expecting a mention of spring to lead into Groundhog Day, maybe. But, nooooooo.
As if the nomination were not enough, there was also Murray's victory in the Independent Spirit Awards the previous day in Santa Monica. Nabbing the best male lead award was akin to sweeping the Yankees in a mid-season series. The award gave legions of the actor's fans a sense that this might indeed be their year, that Murray's subtle and often eccentric career actually stood a chance of being celebrated at the highest level.So when Nicole Kidman, the previous year's best actress winner, read Penn's name, it was somewhat akin to Aaron Boone's season-ending home run in last year's American League Championship Series with the Yankees. A magical ride, in which the underdog seemed poised to snatch an improbable victory, was over.
No, no, no! It is not at all akin to sweeping a mid-season series or to a season-ending home run. Plus, Murray's a golfer. And a Cubs fan. So while his sorrowful mien may have everything to do with baseball, I'm confident that it has nothing to do with the Sox. Not everything does, you see. [Despite what the Fesser would have me believe.]
Anyway, if any of you nice people out there can explain what the hell this article is about and why it should run as an article in a newspaper of note, rather than reclaim its rightful place in the universe as the ill-formed rantings of some belligerent, drunk "long-time listenah, first-time callah" to WEEI, I will gladly treat you to a raspberry lime rickey and a double-burgah with fries at Charlie's.
I'll hang up and listen to yoah ansah.
