Whoa. I was surprised to see that Annie Proulx, the author of the short story that became Brokeback Mountain, wrote a sour grapes rant about the Academy Awards in the Guardian. At first, it seemed like poor form to be such a poor loser in a public forum. But then I kind of enjoyed it. She’s shooting from the hip, in beautiful language (of course), not having vetted her response through an agent managing her personna. She’s trashing Crash, dissing celebs, and pooping on the academy.
She lives most of the year in Bumfuck, Wyoming, close to where my parents live, and hangs out in bars. I wondered why, when the film won an Oscar for best adapted screenplay and Larry pointed to Proulx in the audience, the cameras didn’t pan to her. Maybe she was wearing clogs and a puffer vest.