Paper Monitor
11:54 UK time, Friday, 24 February 2012
A service highlighting the riches of the daily press.
It's a glitz celebration of Hollywood glamour. So you would think this weekend's Oscars ceremony would inspire fevered anticipation in the nation's newspapers, right?
Wrong. Perhaps they are jaded, having spend too many hours with notebooks in hand on the fringes of the red carpet, but the punditocracy casts a dismissive eye upon the forthcoming Academy Awards.
"If the Oscars were about Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, and even the kid from the vampire movies who insists that he does not use steroids, my eyes would be glued to the TV set," in the Guardian.
"But that's not what the Oscars are about. They're a chance for crass, middle-aged men with salt-and-pepper ponytails to thank their mums."
Attending the event doesn't sound like much fun either, The reality is, she said, endless appointments to attend, not getting to see any films, trashy "gift" bags and, worst of all, a lack of access to toilets:
As for me, I remember thinking in a moment of particular desperation that maybe I could just tinkle right here, right down my leg, concealed under my gown, step away from the puddle and let Penélope Cruz -- just behind me -- take the blame.
Never one to be outdone, Jan Moir of the Daily Mail goes further, blaming awards nights like the Oscars for
"From million-pound bank bonuses to Golden Globes, from Baftas to Oscars, from Grammys to gongs dished out by Buckingham Palace (to the undeserving elites in the performing arts), it is all getting out of hand," she fumes.
"Our entire culture has become completely obsessed with trophy-giving and ostentatious awardery -- the brasher and flashier the better... Just doing a lovely, glamorous job and accepting the generous remuneration isn't enough any more. There also needs to be some sort of public beatification as evermore glittering prizes are lavished on those who already glitter with privilege."
Blimey. For Daniel Bettridge of the Independent, however, it is not these events that blight the industry so much as another trend -
"Think back to the earliest days of cinema, and a string of moustachioed movie stars spring immediately to mind: Charlie Chaplin's trademark toothbrush 'tache, Clark Gable's shapely chevron, Douglas Fairbanks's neatly coiffured caterpillar, and Errol Flynn's impossibly manicured mo," he sighs.
Sadly, save for a few notable exceptions, this example of facial furniture is rarely seen on today's silver screen. Perhaps an Oscar for Best Supporting Moustache might appease the doubters?
The 
