Jamee Lee CuTrtis to her mother and father and all the people who ever worked in any of her films
The greatest speech you can give. You Oscar night. Somehow better than Will’s.
Imagine you being there.
Comming up stage.
And whatever.
It’s the culmen of the American Dream.
It’s the good old Hollywood people.
The hyped whites.
And how we all mixed geeks in the Valley.
The hunks and troublemakers from NEWLA.
The end of an era.
The death of cinematography.
The rebirth of postcinematography.
Be that this: the Tyrany of the Frame.
Same game.
Almost entirely.
Just NEW rules.
Also a flick.
About decay in a city.
Spinning out of control society.
Only in our home terf.
The way we never imagined it could happen.
Again.
Pocageddon.
Wankers.
Then of macholand.
Fires.
Tacos.
Cinema.
Industry.
The guys.
The girls.
The NEW shit.
NEWLA.
The transformed thoomb of good old Hollywood.
At Oscar’s night.
Hi, my name is Oscar, and I am a ticatalán artist landing here tonight.
I’m like that unvited guest who takes on the floor dance with some salsa moves.
Not everyone’s cup of tea.
Those nemesis repelling.
Repellion.
My first chance at an Oscar.
My own opera prima.
9 nominations.
I just won 9 Oscars.