More Juno hate
It’s not really hate; both myself and the below writer like the movie. Still, twee tears make me grow … stronger:
We’re cool, Juno, but this cannot be. I guess I’m glad that the Academy has, in consecutive years, cultivated a turbulent, media-friendly square-off between Juno’s quirky ilk and other, far graver contenders. We’ll have lots to discuss in the months ahead—everyone wins. But not everyone wins come February 24, and, frankly, I don’t want to see Juno within a thousand feet of the Kodak Theater. I want her and her twee champions stopped at the metal detector. I want her turned away for being underdressed. I want her Toyota Previa to run out of gas on the 405. I want Blood’s Daniel Plainview to barge into Ellen Page’s pre-Oscar interview with Barbara Walters and bellow: “I drink your Sunny D! I drink it up! Slurrrrrrrrrp!”
“If There Will Be Blood and No Country for Old Men split the smart-person vote, and Juno actually wins, I will understand, even better than I do now, how the Unabomber felt in his cabin all those years,” wrote Mark Asch this week on The L magazine blog. New York magazine’s David Edelstein jabbed even harder, paraphrasing his target’s patois: “Diablo Cody might be one doodle that can’t be undid.” The context for each, of course, was Juno’s fruit basket of nominations, a putative gift that now forces otherwise casual viewers to extremes: Will it or won’t it? Should it or shouldn’t it?
God. It shouldn’t. Settled?
