Pirates of the Seine

In which we use the occasion of the Academy Awards as an excuse to gather around a small box with moving pictures and feast.


The parrots were a bit disturbed. Maybe it was the extreme nature of the event--a strange celebration of the extremes of human behavior, from deep dark diggity down violence to Disney's trickly sickly sweet chansons de crap. Were we (dis)enchanted? A little. There was a bevvy of bright scarlet dresses. Helen Mirren's robe rouge with shimmering silver sleeves caused us to take a collective intake of breath. There were some really hot guys with sexy accents: Javier, Colin, and James McAvoy. (I love you James!) There was the understated wit of John Stewart (as played by Cate Blanchette). But when the women presenting the Oscars start to outstage the penguin suits who win the awards, you gotta admit the whole thing was a bit of a dry biscuit. The presentation of a statuette from the trenches of Iraq was painful on many levels. Those Enchanted song and dance numbers--what were they thinking? Disney lambs dressed as Hollywood mutton.




We ate and drank well. I think our party upstaged the Oscars. The parrots certainly did. Our Sweeny Todd made an excellent Argentinian flan. I provided minted blood oranges for a macabre effect. There were samosas, salsa, spanikopita, pita, prosecco, burfi, baked brie with cranberries and cashews. and an almost ratatouille.





The theme was quite open this year. It was a la français, an homage to the film(s) of your choice with a little Gallic seasoning thrown in. I wore a Jack Sparrow wig with a chapeau Parisienne. M. wore a gorgeous skeleton gown and tiny wings as a nod to the Todd and the Diving Bell Reflex, or whatever the hell that movie is called. (Apparently it's brilliant.) Ms. K had some new lacy pants. There was a contingent of cowboys and a 2-D character from Persepolis (another must-see, I hear).

We root for the movies our costumes represent. We root for the movies we loved. We cheer for Canadian movies, lesbian documentaries about mechanics, and movies with hot dudes and babes in them. The parrots were not amused, and when little Lucky, dressed as le petit sparrow entered their territory they screamed that theirs was not a country for little dogs dressed as little birds.

We munched, we moaned, we squawked, and we yawned.... Thank goodness for the clever folks at the party trading zingers over my head. Then Baba Wawa came on and we yawned some more and headed home. Thanks to Ms. K. for hosting, and thanks to the parrots for finally going to sleep.