The Oscars. The annual parade of who's who in "great" Hollywood filmmaking. This year I must admit was a year full of projects that offered a more truthful testament to the world we live in: Brokeback Mountain, The Constant Gardener, Capote, Good Night and Good Luck, Tsotsi. And I must confess I was routing for Good Night and Good Luck not only because I thought it was an important project about censorship, but George Clooney was at the helm of it. And George is a greater-Cincinnati boy. His dad Nick Clooney worked as news anchor at the ABC-affiliate in Cincinnati throughout my growing up years. Secondly, I was routing for Phillip Seymour Hoffman for his performance in Capote. I love Phillip. Not only because he's a champion for New York theater, but his skill in Capote was top notch. It's so inspiring to see an actor who loves what he does, who commits to every role as if it were his first.

But then came the PIMP song. How disturbing. Taraji Henson sang the song as if it were a testament to Jesus during Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting. She looked like a fool. So desperate. So bleached teeth. So willing to showcase her talent and daringness so Hollywood will cast her in something big that pays lots of money. Yeh, that's exactly what she was doing.

Something is very wrong in our world that ACCEPTS a film that chronicles a pimp's life written and directed by a white artist who romanticizes about black ghetto life and is rewarded for it. How titillating black ghetto life can be. How sexual and brutal and highly entertaining. Ha!

I didn't like Hustle and Flow. But I had quickly revived from the deadening slap of its critical and pedestrian popularity. BUT with last night's "It's Hard Out Here For a Pimp" receiving a soulful rendition with costumed pimps and hoes strutting along in choreographed RIDICULOUSNESS, I couldn't hold back the nausea. It was like a circus. A carnival of freaks high on opium. A display of artists of color trapped by their own unwillingness to settle for excellence and dignity. To stand up and say: They're is NOTHING hard or colorful about a man exploiting women in the streets to improve his pocketbook and the length of his fur. I say, challenge social/economic marginalization and find another business plan.

Oh, and when Queen Latifah [Dana Owen's slave name] happily announced the winner and the PIMP song won.... Needless to say, I could've spit a hole through the TV.

The time is now. To really examine WHO we are. WHAT we've endured. HOW we live and love and think and believe and try and hate and batter and bully and save and embrace and cry and shout and divorce and educate and cuddle and sing and laugh and rage and steam organic broccoli in a bamboo steamer. WE have to be more honest about US. About our contractions and conflicts. I believe once we embrace THAT journey, it can only empower us, make our voices stronger, help us infiltrate this industry with projects that MATTER. From broad comedy to serious drama.

We can NOT settle for mediocrity and SOME ONE exploiting our experiences. The Tyler Perrys of the world are full of fun and laughs, but they're also a testament to how thin our search for truth really is.

Yeh, as long as there's an UNEARTHED us, there will be plenty of romanticized pimps and men in drag beating up kids for laughs.

Until next time,

Keith