The other day when the nominations came out and the Academy thumbed their collective nose at him, I said that he was no doubt DESTROYED by the news, that he probably went home and cried and furiously masturbated and put lit cigarettes out on his nipples, or something, because I think he really cares about these things. I think that it upsets him ENORMOUSLY that he gets so little respect from his peers. And I think it especially stings that he’s not part of the Clooney/Pitt/Damon clique, how they all work together and hang out together and namedrop each other in their acceptance speeches. It’s always the bro-pack, the alpha-dogs at the most popular table in the lunchroom, and little Leo is off to the side, pining to be accepted. I’m digging out this old superclip of Leo doing what he does best, screaming and crying and mewling like a lost kitten. You need to watch it again. It’s heartbreaking. When he gets REALLY upset, you know, his voice goes up into that squeaky register and you just want shush him and rock him gently back and forth until he’s your happy little boy again. And when he cries! Oh! His voice gets all breathy and snot runs all over the place, it’s a perfect storm of boyish angst. He deserves his Oscar, goddamnit. I’m hoping that this year’s snub will provoke such an outcry, that the Academy has NO CHOICE but to reward him for next year’s Great Gatsby, whether he deserves it or not (à la Bette Davis’s win for Dangerous).
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