The Oscar nominations: my twopenn’orth

Yesterday afternoon, Salma Hayek came into my living room to tell me the Oscar nominations for this year. It was nice to see her, but Salma dear, what was with that godawful dress? You looked pregnant and ready to drop. (Don't even ask what's going on in this picture either, cos I sure as hell don't know!)

I'm not going to rehash the list in full, because that would be silly when you only need head over to Oscar.com to find everything you need. But I will say something about it all. Well, you knew I would.

Best Actor:
Fuck off, DiCaprio, you freaky cunting man-child. Sure, you once showed promise. Now all you think you need to do is put in a fuck-awful accent and Bob's your fucking uncle. Like I say: fuck off.

Fuck off, Peter O'Toole, you old no-good-acting motherfucker. That shit you pulled in Troy? You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

Fuck off, Will Smith. Even though your Happyness movie was directed by a cool Italian director with some real promise, you bore the bollocks off me.

So I guess that leaves Forest Whitaker and Ryan Gosling. I hope Forest gets it. I've liked him ever since Smoke. Gosling boy: You were good in The Notebook, but I'm not sure it's your time yet, old son.

Best Actress:
Oh, has anyone mentioned that the Brits are coming? Fuck off.

Helen Mirren as QE2. Do I give a fuck? Well, other than the film's director being (apparently) the uncle of an author I worked with a few times, no, I don't much care. I guess that makes me three degrees away from Daniel Day Lewis, for those who like that sort of thing.

Winslet: Stop boring me, boring me, boring me.

Streep: Like, whatever.

Dench, I used to hate you. Sorry, but I really used to despise you when I was an angry young man. Now I figure you're okay.

But I really want Penélope Cruz to win, if only to see how fucking excited Salma Hayek gets then. She could barely contain her joy simply at La Cruz's nomination.

Best Supporting Actor:
This is a tough category, and as usual, it's the most interesting one. Thank the maker that that hammy old cunt Jack Nicholson ain't there; in his stead we get Marky Mark. Fuck off.

I'm hoping for Alan Arkin or that Hounsou chap from Blood Diamond.

Best Supporting Actress:
Sorry ladies, I have no opinion here, although it would cool to see Jennifer Hudson get it for Dreamgirls. I liked her in American Idol a couple of years back, and the fact that she's being recognized and that dull cunt Beyoncé isn't is music to my ears.

Best Director:
No David Lynch this year, unfortunately. Still, there's that Iñárritu bloke who directed Amores perros back in the day and 21 Grams. I hope he gets it. But against industry stalwarts Eastwood and Scorsese it might be a tough job. I'd also like to see Paul Greengrass get it for United 93. Well, you know, the Brits are coming. Stephen Frears probably has no chance.

Best Picture:
Having not seen any of these but hoping to see them all in the next month, I currently would like Little Miss Sunshine to get the gong, though I'm sure Letters From Iwo Jima must be great.

Word on this side of the Atlantic is that US fave Babel is a load of old bollocks masquerading as worthy cinema.

And you know I don't like remakes and think that Marty has lost the plot, so I shan't be rooting for The Departed either.

So, that's what I think. Thank you, and good night.