Dan and Byron Allen Present: Oscar Fever in Iraq

by Dan Tester

 

Good Lord, man. I recently realized I have been writing for CINEMASPEAK for nearly six years now. This means that about a year ago, I passed the online requirement to become an official “entertainment journalist.” I am so relieved. I can now, without any reservations, report on the things that are truly important, without the contempt of my show-biz contemporaries who, up to now, have judged me as an unworthy hack. I have been MADE. To be honest, I started feeling the symptoms of “entertainment journalist” worthiness in the last year or so, but only now can I understand them. I remember hearing that Heath Ledger was dead, and I immediately decided that I needed to know all of the sordid details. I remember when I heard that Benazir Bhutto had been assassinated, I instantly wanted to know who she was wearing. When I heard that Brad Renfro was dead, I immediately camped out on his parents’ front lawn to be the very first to ask them about their emotions upon hearing the news of their son‘s tragic death. On the day that Gerald Ford passed away, I asked Betty “On your very worst day, how drunk was ‘drunk‘?” And when I heard that GW Bush was proposing a troop surge in Iraq, I wanted to know who the President sided with in the ROSIE v. TRUMP battle. Yes, these pipes are clean. I am a journalist.

But I am not interested in a 30-second gig on ENTERTAINMENT TONIGHT every Thursday, nor do I seek a featured anchor role on INSIDE EDITION. No, no. I want a Pulitzur (or however you spell it.) So I decided to take on a true journalistic endeavor. I wanted to do something important. So, at the outset I want to thank Mr. Warren Curry, the owner of CINEMASPEAK, for giving me the funds to promote my dream, and also to promote the website. He knows my passion, and he knows my vision, and he just signed a blank check and said “Tester, when you stop reaching for your dreams, take a swig of Gatorade and reach a bit further.” God bless you, Mr. Curry. You are a mensch. So I decided to travel to Iraq. This is where the buzz is, from what I hear. I have heard from some “liberal” friends that this area of the world is a virtual war zone, but I don’t care. I am an entertainment journalist. I wanted to know what the Iraqi people thought about the Academy Award nominations. And believe me, I am glad I took this mission. It is Pyulitzer worthy (or however that is spelled.)

When I first arrived in Iraq (in an undisclosed location for my safety), I have to be honest, I was shocked. What a mess that Iraq is. I saw homes that would never pass building codes back in the US. Wild cows, sheep and piglets were wandering through restaurants. People were just running around without any shoes on, wearing terribly distasteful attire. A shoeless elderly woman ran past me, and I quickly tried to ask her what she thought about the nominations for Best Supporting Actress, but she just started screaming “Yalllllla Yalllllla Yallllla Yemsheeeeeee” and threw a piglet at me. I realized quite quickly that I would need an interpreter of some sort. I yelled out, “Does anyone here speak English???” and out of nowhere TVs Byron Allen appeared, wearing a chef’s hat and a t-shirt that read “Eat At Raheem’s”. I was astonished to see Byron in Iraq, but as he explained, “A job is a job, no one can beat my ma’mounia, and I just happen to speak the language.” Thank God, I thought. Now we could proceed.

Byron secured a number of Iraqis for quick interviews. The first was Mohammed, a Sunni father of six whose entire family had been massacred by Shiite rebels. I asked him who he predicted to win the award for Best Actor, and he said, without hesitating, “George Clooney for MICHAEL CLAYTON.” I congratulated him on a fine pick, but informed him that Clooney just won an Academy Award two years ago, and that Lady Oscar does not like to pile on wins too quickly for anyone, not even George Clooney. Mohammed seemed a bit confused, and then continued “Fine then, I will go with Daniel Day-Lewis, although he was really not who I would vote for.“ Next was Farah, a lovely twenty-something woman who in her youth had been raped repeatedly by the Republican Guard, was thus banished from her village, and had only recently returned home from an unbearably long distance after hearing Dick Cheney announce that the insurgency was in its last throes, only to discover that her entire family had been killed by insurgents a few days before. I asked her who she thought would win Best Picture, but she only wanted to know, ”Who will Cameron Diaz be wearing to the Red Carpet Festivities?” I told her I simply did not know, and that the red carpet might be canceled if the writer‘s strike is not settled.  She spit on the ground and murmured, “The red carpet is all that keeps me going….but to answer your question, I will go with JUNO.” As I thanked her and started to walk away, she tugged at my bulletproof vest and quietly asked, “How is Britney doing?” I informed her that Ms. Spears was not nominated this year, and Farah just started to laugh and said “Ohhhhh, I know that! I know. I just hope that sweetheart is back on her meds.”

There was sudden mortar fire near our klieg lights, so we had to pack up and move elsewhere. Our next stop was Tikrit, and I was informed that this was the birthplace of Saddam Hussein. I wanted to see the house Saddam grew up in and to ask nearby residents if he was a decent neighbor or if he ever had loud late night parties like Dennis Rodman, but Byron Allen told me we should just get a few quick interviews and get the hell out of there. Although I smelled a scoop, I reluctantly agreed. Our first interview was with Mahmood, who seemed to know what I was going to ask, and just kept screaming “Why no nomination for Joe Wright??? ATONEMENT did NOT direct itself, sir!” I told him I understood his sentiments and asked who he would pick for Best Director in any case. He told me “P.T. Anderson, of course! P.T. should have won for BOOGIE NIGHTS, and HARD EIGHT was a lovely little sleeper, and this will be his recompense”. 

As I wandered the streets of Tikrit, I stumbled upon a small comedy club. Intrigued, I entered. Onstage was popular Iraqi comedian Shiskatop, a prop comic. I was stunned that his entire opening act was a word-for-word recreation of David Letterman’s opening monologue from the 1995 Academy Award ceremonies. The audience just ate it up, but when Shiskatop strolled from one end of the stage to the other, saying “Omarrrrrrrrr…Abduuuuuuuul…Abduuuuuuuul…Omarrrrrrrrr” the audience literally roared with laughter. It occurred to me that, even in this hell-torn foreign land, where imminent death was constantly hanging like a vulture over their heads, the people of Iraq truly had Oscar Fever warming their blood. Hollywood magic.

The next interviewee was a horribly disfigured, nice man named Yusuf. The entire right side of his face had seemingly melted away in a house fire after a sneak attack from insurgents, his entire family had perished, and he looked quite freakish. For my American audience, he looked a bit like the Nazis at the end of RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK when they stupidly looked at that Ark, even though Indiana Jones was quite clearly screaming out loud that it was not a good idea for anyone to look at that Ark. I was very mad at Byron for choosing Yusuf for an interview, because he was not “camera friendly”, but I decided that if he gave good audio we could always use cutaways. I asked him who he liked for Best Actress, and he just stared at me for a few moments, and then started screaming “Ratatouille!!! Ratatouille!!!” And then he ran away. As I tried to explain to him that RATATOUILLE was nominated for Best Animated Film, and not for Best Actress, I was suddenly blown off my feet by a huge explosion. I later found out that the word “ratatouille” is Iraqi slang for “Look out, you idiot, there is a missile about to hit your ass.”

So unfortunately, as a result of the explosion, I suffered a severe case of turf toe and had to return home to America before I really got a good report worthy of a Poohlister (I think that is close). But I still feel this is an important document regarding swarthy people and their Oscar picks. I got hurt, so that should at least garner some sort of award consideration. Hell, I’ll even accept a Webby. And if anyone is concerned, Byron Allen is fine, although I am a bit miffed at him. He kind of stole one of my ideas. Next month, his new syndicated show BOWLING WITH THE KURDS is premiering on SPIKE TV. I would ask you to please not watch. It is an absolutely sickening thing when a colleague steals another’s ideas, don’t you think? To be honest, I would expect more from American journalists in this day and age.