I'm the first to admit that watching the Oscars with me is no fun. This year was better, but not by much. Why? Because I have standards, damnit! Also, I was born spouting an opinion. ("Could you tug me a little harder next time, doc? Geez") So I complain, and I moan, and I bitch - loudly - about how the craft of acting in my country is a joke and empty and practiced mostly with little to no training (at least in film).
Call me a hater, but I'm right.
One of my common targets has been Scarlett Johansson. I first saw her in Ghost World, and while I loved the movie and kind of liked her, I always felt that Thora Birch was way better. But she doesn't look like Scarlett (and apparently has a cray cray daddy), so Team Hollywood chose the other one. And of course, Scarlett does have that "something," and was pretty good in Lost in Translation. And sure, if she asked me to dinner or coffee or wanted me to join her in Fiji for a month, I'd probably go. The actor in me, though, has never felt her work lived up to the hype, especially when asked to play a role that isn't so sexpotty.
Cut to the Oscars. They're playing the nominees for Best Original Song, and I hear this magical, sultry, totally emotional voice come on the tv. It's playing over striking images of glaciers and other cold stuff, and I'm moved. Like, totally moved. Voices always get me. And just like the first time I heard Robert Flack, or Johnny Cash, or Jerry Garcia towards the end of his run, I found myself getting really churned up by this voice. So I go to Google and...
Can you guess who's it was? Ding. Scarlett Johansson. I was shocked then, and still am. But Papa Matt is happily eating a big ol' mess of crow, cause the girl can sing. Listen for yourself.