And now, the Oscar for best naked dance through a stately home … Yes, the seemingly interminable “awards season” – as industry luvvies like to call it but real people mostly don’t – has finally entered its endgame.
From early January’s Golden Globes to next weekend’s Oscars, it’s been two oxygen-hogging months of “noms”, “nods” and “snubs”; of red-carpet pose-striking and unfunny opening monologues; of gracious losers’ rictus grins and smug winners’ weepy speeches.
