Catherine Zeta-Jones is looking lovely as ever. It seems Nicole Kidman has now lost all expression from her face – did she recently suffer a stroke? Does Jen Aniston have a new beau? It’s about time! What in god’s name is Helena Bonham-Carter wearing? Uh – who is Jennifer Lawrence?
Tis that time again. Time to be voyeurs. Time to scrutinize the rich and famous as they march about in an endless parade for our own personal amusement. Yes, tis awards season. And as awards season comes to a close with the upcoming 83rd Annual Academy Awards, I’d like to give a shout out to the whole reason we watch awards ceremonies. Not to see the winners or the weepy speeches (yawn. “I’d like to thank the academy. (sniff sniff) My incredible fellow nominees, you are all so …blah blah blah” DOUBLE YAWN) – no – this is all BORING and not our reason for returning year after year. And so, I’d like to give a shout out to the bringer of ongoing praise or relentless ridicule – the red carpet.
And so – a history of the red carpet. Sans embellishment. With quotes.
It seems the history of the red carpet dates all the way back to Ancient Greece. References to it can be seen in Agamemnon, the first part of Aeschylus’ The Oresteia, (if you’ve read The Oresteia you may skip ahead). Agamemnon has just returned home – victorious – from the Trojan War. His beloved wife, Clytemnestra, is there to herald his arrival.
“Now, dearest husband, come, step from your chariot. But do not set to earth, my lord, the conquering foot that trod down Troy. Servants, do as you have been bidden; make haste, carpet his way with crimson tapestries, spread silk before your master’s feet”
Aw. How sweet. What a thoughtful wife. She has these red carpets placed down to honor him. And the touched, triumphant Agamemnon strides across them into the house. What a beautiful gesture.
It should, however, be noted that Agamemnon was only able to win the war by slaughtering their daughter, Iphegenia, and offering her as a sacrifice. Clytemnestra’s pissed. And once inside an unsuspecting Agamemnon is about to get himself killed eight ways from Sunday by his wife and her new lover. Don’t worry. They’ll both get it in part two. And don’t worry about that, their murderer (who happens to be Clytemnestra’s (and Agamemnon’s) son, Orestes) will go pretty bat shit crazy in the finale, part three. (I’ve decided that the Greeks are also the original source of the soap opera)
So this Sunday while you’re watching celebs twirling on the carpet, trying to have clever insights on political matters, spouting out the oh so clichéd “It’s just so much fun to be nominated”, and you’re still trying to figure out who the hell Jennifer Lawrence is, just think about matricide, patricide, filicide, mariticide, homicide – you know, where that first red carpet led.
I must admit, it seems only fitting. The vast majority of those who enter, victoriously spouting the “honor to be nominated” BS won’t feel too victorious in an hour or eight, when they’ve had to hold that smile plastered to their faces for an eternity, endure James Franco and Anne Hathaway as their hosts (sorry all – no high hopes for any comedy stylings there), can’t get blitzed during the ceremony cause it’s not the Golden Globes, and won’t even get to leave with a shiny new toy named Oscar.
Colin Firth (mmmm), Melissa Leo, Christian Bale, Natalie Portman (or MAYBE Annette Bening) rest at ease, no red carpet for you. All the rest – you are really just lambs for the slaughter. So stride across that red carpet with poise and confidence with no inkling to what awaits you. Once you step off the carpet and set foot inside the Kodak Theatre, Oscar’ll be waiting. Smiling. Knife hidden behind his back, and ready to gut you Clytemnestra-style.
Happy Hunting!
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