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Hollywood has chosen its two messiahs.

The Daniels,

on the back of the A24 fashion studio, are designated from Sunday morning to Monday to create the elixir of eternal youth by decision of a frightened industry and against the ropes, it is not clear if only aged or simply in a state coma.

The seven Oscars of

Everything at the same time everywhere

they seem like the perfect definition of fear.

Or maybe hope.

What has been achieved by a film that makes a profession of faith in its foul-mouthed independence has few precedents.

That an uncatalolagable and somewhat crude comedy, which is also a science fiction film, an action film and a family melodrama, raises 73 million dollars and rises to the 27th position of the most watched productions of the year in the United States, and does so with a distribution in theaters that does not reach half of its competitors, it only means that things have changed and that the public is perhaps another.

There is life beyond Marvel.

It soon became clear that, short of slapping, the whole night was his.

Everywhere.

Or almost, with permission from

All Quiet on the Front

.

On the heels of Netflix's Guillermo del Toro clinching his Animated Feature Oscar for his

stop-motion

version of Pinocchio,

Ke Huy Quan,

formerly known as Plug in

Indiana Jones,

he was excited.

And he did it in a big way for his award as best secondary.

It didn't matter that his was the most obvious prize, the one that admitted no doubt, the one that was paid the worst in bets.

For a man who was first a refugee, then a child prodigy on the screen, then an actor who failed for more than two decades and, finally, simply an actor, the award tasted like glory.

"The true American dream," he yelled.

And it sounded convincing.

It was the first.

Immediately afterwards, it was time for the litmus test.

Or cotton.

If

Jamie Lee Curtis,

on the pools the second option after the favorite Angela Bassett, achieved the Oscar for her, that meant something.

So it was.

It was something.

His speech, which was no less exciting than that of his companion in fatigues and distribution, made clear his teaching and dynasty.

Not surprisingly, the one who spoke (everyone standing) is not only the forever Queen of Scream, she is also the daughter of Tony Curtis and Janet Leigh.

Later,

backstage

and before the press, her passionate and unapologetic speech in favor of women, her trans daughter and inclusive politics made it clear that her reign goes far beyond the decibels.

Enormous.

And so they fell, one after another, all the others.

After turning the labyrinthine pile of shots between parallel and possible worlds into the best montage of the year for

Paul Rogers

, it was the turn of the directors who are also screenwriters.

Feverish and happy Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert

woke up

and, the same ones who turned Harry Potter into a jet ski propelled by farts (that happened in his previous film

Swiss Army Man

), crowned themselves, as has been said, as messiahs of the new time.

The hottest moment of the night remained before finally reaching the summit, the Apocalypse.

Would it be

Michelle Yeoh

able to defeat the almighty Cate Blachett?

And she also went.

All was.

Yeoh, a heroine of a thousand kicks and the first woman of Asian origin to achieve this, cried.

And she did it again.

And one more time.

The announcement of the film of the year seemed like a pure formality.

Poor Spielberg.

And instead of exception, to the right of the winner,

All Quiet Ahead

, by Edward Berger.

For the German blockbuster based on the novel by Erich Maria Remarque with the Netflix label, the photography awards (brilliant the elegiac, gray and bloody tone of

James Friend

), the production design against all odds (delirious the walk through the guts of trenches facilitated by

Christian M. Goldbeck and Ernestine Hipper

), the intense, screeching and obsessive soundtrack by

Volker Bertelmann

and the one that designates the international film (pity

Argentina 1985

).

Great achievement, finally for Netflix, which turns its nine nominations into four Oscars.

This too points to the future.

And not only for Netflix, but for Germany.

Moral: Hollywood wants to relocate.

Due to its position and importance,

Brendan Fraser

and his redemption with

The Whale,

by Darren Aronofski.

For him it was the award for actor of the year that came to add to that of the spectacular, more spectacular than really achieved, makeup.

In this way, the walk of tears and accusations that he began at the Venice Festival came to an end.

Good for him.

Good for Fraser's bitter tears.

In the squad for one Oscar per head:

Wakanda Forever

, Ryan Coogler,

Avatar: The Sense of Water

, by James Cameron,

They Speak

, by Sarah Polley, and

Top Gun: Maverick

, by Joseph Kosinski, who took, in order, the wardrobe for the feathers;

special effects by the Navi'i;

the screenplay adapted by fiercely and radiantly feminist and from the book by Miriam Toews, and the thunderous sound of engines taking off.

All of them and

RRR

, for their song

Natuu Natuu

, of course.

And at this point.

Note the gap left by

The Fabelmans

, by Steven Spielberg, and his seven unsuccessful applications.

Note the hole

in Martin McDonagh's Inisherin's Banshees

and his nine!

Lost nominations in Ireland.

Notice the void left on the dance floor by

Elvis

, by Baz Luhrmann, and his eight... A whole carnage.

Poor Spielberg.

About the gala little to say.

And that said like that seems to say little.

It's actually a lot to say.

Jimmy Kimmel,

the presenter, said just enough to not be boring or newsworthy.

Well said.

He turned Will Smith's slap last year into a joke over and over again (tiring), paid homage to the superhero Fabelman (ie, Spielberg's most nominated director) and took a donkey for a walk.

The thing about the bear, bad, everything is said.

And then Natuu Natuu

was danced ,

which is like the

Macarena

, but wildly.

How good they and how bad Rihanna.

Of course, all eternal.

As usual.

The world will change, Hollywood will change, but the Oscars are still in the same place.

And so things, everything for everything.

A whole new time begins.

Or that's the idea.

Poor Spielberg.

According to the criteria of The Trust Project

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