I’m a Taylor Sheridan fan as far as it goes (respected and admired Wind River without actually “liking” it), so I can’t come up with any reason to not be at least marginally interested in Sheridan’s Yellowstone (6.20.18). The ten-episode western series (rich cattle rancher, family issues, violent altercations) was written by Sheridan. Kevin Costner, Wes Bentley, Kelly Reilly, Luke Grimes, Danny Huston, Cole Hauser, Gretchen Mol, Jill Hennessy, Patrick St. Esprit, etc. Do I have a Paramount Network app on my Roku box? Can’t be an issue to get one.

I’m already feeling miserable over the apparent likelihood that the weather may be chilly and wet during tomorrow’s Spirit Awards ceremony in Santa Monica. I’m also feeling glum over the distinct possibility that Jordan Peele‘s Get Out will beat Luca Guadagnino‘s Call Me By Your Name for the Best Feature prize. (I’m clinging to the fact that Guadagnino’s film won big-time at last November’s Gotham Awards, which may be a harbinger of Spirit thinking.) I’m presuming either Peele or Guadagnino will take the Best Director trophy. CMBYN‘s Timothee Chalamet and Lady Bird‘s Saoirse Ronan will presumably win the Best Actor and Best Actress award, but what do I know? Here’s hoping Lady Bird‘s Laurie Metcalf wins for Best Supporting Actress, and that Geremy Jasper‘s Patti Cake$, a Sundance breakout that made almost no money, takes the Best First Feature award. I’m playing the rest by ear.

For the seventh time, the Oscar Wilde Awards were celebrated at JJ Abrams‘ Bad Robot last night. Good people (Mark Hamill, Colin Farrell, Kathy Griffin, Martin Short, Diane Keaton, Barry Keoghan, Catherine O’Hara), warm vibe, nice speeches, tasty hors d’oeuvres, etc. But why didn’t Saoirse Ronan and Martin McDonagh show up?

The event was organized by US-Ireland Alliance honcho TrinaVargo, and was moderated by Abrams. It was too cold to hold the event outside (which has been the norm in years past), so everyone was crammed inside. Crowded as hell but no worries. Everyone spoke amusingly for two or three minutes. The Academic performed after the speeches.

The most moving portion of the evening happened during a reading of two poems — “The Bell and the Blackbird” and “Just Beyond Yourself” — by David Whyte.

Thanks again to JJ for the invite. May God abandon His/Her posture of neutrality and indifference and in so doing love and protect the Irish forever. I’m English (visit the village of Wells, Somerset some day) but my first thought when I visited Ireland in ’88 was “I could die here.”

I recorded a discussion a couple of hours ago with Jordan Ruimy. 78 minutes. Jordan’s insect anntennae are telling him that Jordan Peele‘s Get Out will pull off “the upset to end all upsets” when it comes to the Best Picture Oscar. I say “nah.” Peele’s only real shot is possibly winning Best Original Screenplay, despite most oddsmakers betting that Martin McDonagh‘s Three Billboards has this award in the bag.

But if Get Out wins…well, there will no joy in HE Mudville, I can tell you that. There will be, in fact, a great weeping and pulling of hair and refrigerator-punching…a great bellowing howl that will stand up to the legendary wailings of John Lennon during his primal scream period. If this happens I’m going to tap something out for the column but I’ll also record some thoughts verbally and post the mp3 as a form of post-traumatic therapy.

All I know is that apart from the sentimental embarassments (Chicago, The King’s Speech, The Artist, The Greatest Show on Earth, Driving Miss Daisy, Around The World in 80 Days), the idea behind any Best Picture selection is to somehow self-define, to capture cultural echoes, to say “this is a piece of who and what we are right now…not a profound summary of our contadictory drives and longings, but at least a partial reflection of same.”

This spotty, imperfect but occasionally honorable tradition will come under question if Peele’s film, a “trite get-whitey movie…a mixture of Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner and Meet The Fockers with B-level horror” (per Harmin’ Armond), takes the big prize.

If an emissary from the future had pulled me aside as I walked out of a Get Out screening at the Pacific Grove on 2.24.17 and said, “Jeff, you don’t know me from Adam and you obviously don’t have to trust me, but I’m telling you that a year from now Get Out is going to be a leading Best Picture contender, and may even win come March 4th, 2018″…if someone had looked me in the eye and said that in all sincerity I would have said “no offense, brah, but I really, really don’t think so.”

It turns out Oscar telecast producers Mike DeLuca and Suzanne Todd liked my notion about bringing back Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway to present an Academy Award on Sunday, only they’ve done me one better.

TMZ reported last night that Beatty and Dunaway will in fact present the Best Picture Oscar at the ceremony’s conclusion and, not as my “Mickey One” piece suggested, a “minor” award “for dignity’s sake.”

Excerpt: “[TMZ’s] Oscar sources tell us Warren and Faye both just showed up at the Dolby Theatre and rehearsed the big moment. We’re told they were shuffled onstage together very quickly to run through their bit. They went through their lines twice. She began by saying, ‘Presenting is better the second time around.’ Beatty followed up with, ‘The winner is Gone with the Wind. We’re told the writers are still putting finishing touches on their lines.”

Calling, please, for more show-stopping rants in which an offended party lets the offender have it in spades. Preferably with video clip attached. For me, nothing beats Steve Martin‘s brutal vivisection of John Candy in Planes, Trains & Automobiles (’87), but it’s all a matter of taste.