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...nations have tended to whip up enthusiasm with a ribald reference or two (the now decertified second verse of the German national anthem can read like a gleeful celebration of sex and drunkenness), others rely on bombs bursting in air and other martial images for their oomph. France's La Marseillaise may be the most stirring of any national anthem (or so it sounded coming from the lovely mouth of Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca), but you have to ask: are fields soaked in impure blood really the most fitting image for a modern anthem...
...record, the main winners in the dramatic acting categories were Daniel Day-Lewis (in There Will Be Blood) and Julie Christie (Away from Her). Johnny Deep (Sweeney Todd) and Marion Cotillard (La Vie en Rose) won for comedy or musical. The Supporting prizes went to Javier Bardem (No Country for Old Men) and Cate Blanchett (I'm Not There). For you xenophobes keeping score, yes, that's five foreign winners - two Anglos, a Frenchwoman, a Spaniard and an Aussie - and an American who lives in France. All these winners are shoo-ins for Oscar nominations. So is Juno, the indie...
...HFPA has taken heat for being a club of undistinguished foreign newsmen, desperately avid for access to the stars. Show business reporters for some top newspapers (The Times of London and Le Monde, for example) are not among its members (though others, including The Daily Telegraph and Rome's La Reppublica, are.) But the important point isn't the pedigree of the journal; it's the job of the journalist. And the job of most HFPA members is to cover the entertainment industry, not to write film reviews. They should be voting on Most Cooperative Actor, Least Obstructive Publicist, Best...
...politicians also need the late-night shows, on which they can end-around the harder-edged media. The night before Iowa, Huckabee kicked off Leno's return, answering such hardball questions as "How did you lose all that weight?" and jamming on bass with the house band, à la Bill Clinton blowing sax on Arsenio Hall in 1992. Beats workin...
...ocean view—and the inflated sense of self that comes with it—the two-month drone of pre-caucus news from landlocked, lumpy Iowa draws more than a little ire. The same lament comes up over seared ahi again and again, from the Hamptons to La Jolla: Why should a few pig farmers decide who gets to be president? I, suburbanite, felt myself slipping last week into precisely this rut as I watched a man in plaid saying, yes, he planned to caucus, as long as he could catch a bowl game around noon. This fellow...