This post was written by Friday guest blogger Annie Reid.
Roughly 6,000 film industry voters, most in the Los Angeles area, many living cloistered lives behind wrought-iron gates or in deluxe rest-homes, out of touch not only with the shifting larger culture and the yeasty ferment that is America these days, but also out of touch with their own segregated city, decide which films are good. And rumour has it that Lions Gate inundated the academy voters with DVD copies of Trash – excuse me – Crash a few weeks before the ballot deadline. Next year we can look to the awards for controversial themes on the punishment of adulterers with a branding iron in the shape of the letter A, runaway slaves, and the debate over free silver.
The Telegraph’s follow-up report (complete with news of conspiracy theories that Jack Nicholson read out the wrong name intentionally, and of death threats to Crash advocate Roger Ebert) on the controversy includes a money quote from an unnamed executive that sums up Hollywood’s response to Proulx — and writers in general — revealingly:
“Proulx is just a writer,” said one studio insider with a sniff. “Nobody listens to them anyway.”