Golden Statuettes: Meet Misguided Feminism.

So The Hurt Locker beat Avatar to both “Best Picture” and “Best Director”. Well, happens. So what’s the big deal?

Ah, I see. Disgruntled ex-wife owned the Big Bad Wolf Husband who got on our nerves with Céline-Dion-infested movies. Well, one was bad enough, wasn’t it? And, and, dancing-with-giant-smurfs-in-outer-space! For chrissakes! Cameron can’t direct his way out of a traffic jam! Without CGI, he would be nothing! Thank goodness his latest ordeal only received three Oscars. Think of the marketing campaign we’d be subjected to otherwise!

And anyway – ’twas about bloody time a woman earned herself Best Director! The suppressed larger part of our society finally got what it deserved! Feminism, raaaah!

And so on, and so forth.

Seriously, folks: Bigelow had shown great promise with Strange Days already. I don’t give a bloody damn what genitalia swing (or don’t) between a director’s legs. Gender doesn’t come into it – either you are able to write and/or direct a film that the Academy Award voters enjoy, or you don’t. Bigelow would rock even with, err, rocks.

I have to admit, though: For a short while, I too was wondering whether “directing” had played a substantial part in Cameron’s/Bigelow’s former marriage. Disturbing mental images ensued, whips and ball-gags were involved. But that’s probably just me.

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