Oscar Results 2011 (Full Winners List)

Well the big night/morning is over. Not too many surprises, but we are deeply saddened by the fact that Dogtooth failed to win the award for best foreign film. The following list covers the wins of the night:

Best Picture
"The King's Speech" - 4 a lol see:                                                      http://www.myredhotphilosophy.com/2011/02/kings-speech-was-filmed-on-gay-porn-set.html

Best Actor
Colin Firth - "The King's Speech" - This was sniffed at a few days ago: http://www.myredhotphilosophy.com/2011/02/and-academy-goes-to.html

Best Actress
Natalie Portman - "Black Swan"

Best DirectorTom Hooper - "The King's Speech"

Best Original Song
Randy Newman - "We Belong Together" ("Toy Story 3")

Best Film Editing
Angus Wall and Krik Bacter - "The Social Network"

Best Visual Effects
"Inception"

Best Documentary Feature
"Inside Job"

Best Documentary Short
"Strangers No More"

Best Live Action Short
"God of Love"

Best Costume
"Alice in Wonderland"

Best Makeup
"The Wolfman"

Best Sound Editing
Richard King - "Inception"

Best Soundtrack
Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross - "The Social Network" 

Best Supporting Actor
Christian Bale -"The Fighter

Best Foreign Film
"In a Better World"

Best Film Editing
"The Social Network"

Best Original Screenplay
"The King's Speech"

Best Foreign Language Screenplay
"In a Better World"

Best Adapted Screenplay
"The Social Network" - Aaron Sorkin

Best Animated Feature
"Toy Story 3"

Best Supporting Actress
"Melissa Leo"

Best Cinematography
"Inception"

Best Art Direction

"Alice in Wonderland"

The Ice Mummy

The artists Alfons and Adrie Kennis have developed a masterly model of Ötzi the 5000 years old iceman who was believed to have blue eyes but in fact has brown eyes as rightly depicted in this reconstruction. The depiction is impressive in defying previous illustrations of him such as the image below, which is more romanticized and less scientific than the artist's work. At the same time these images can be attributed to an artistic and aesthetic triumph as Angelika Fleckinger a museum director points out "The aim of the exhibition is to present a more rounded picture of Ötzi beyond the purely scientific aspect,"  

These latest  renditions are beacons of the exciting advances that  technology has entwined with our thirst for uncovering the truths of our past. Snapshots of their DNA can reveal such deluges of information  the size of the river Nile!

Whats makes Ötzi so special? Well  Ötzi the Iceman  is the modern nickname of a preserved human man from about 3300 BC.It was in 1991 that his preserved body was found in a glacier in the Alps. The next oldest human is the mummified lads from Egypt called the Gebelein predynastic mummies, who are thought to be from around 3400 BC, ie  the Late Predynastic period of Egypt. Hollywood created an of these   mummifies similar to the mortal gymnastics of zombies; they just wont die!

For those who are curious cats, google "curse of Ötzi" and you will find an iteration of people that died soon after from car crashes to freak accidents through their involvement with Ötzi. 

And The Academy Goes To...................

Heidi the cross-eyed possum puts her predictive talents to good use in a bid to prophesise the Academy Award winners of 2011. In the following clip we see her choose from the best actor category the most eligible candidate for the award. Remember Heidi is a selfless, unbiased creature conveying only the truest predictions and cannot be bribed or bought by tasty dark round treats that linger mysteriously behind Mr. Firth’s head. 

Well done Heidi that gets the thumbs up from Jimmy our favourite polydactyl cat.

Mushrooms and Humans a New Frontier.

Next time you are out in the wilderness and you come across some mushrooms remember this interesting slice of biological pie; mushrooms may seem close to plants but this external resemblance is superficial, in terms of cladistics, fungi is more closely related to us than plants, here is a tree that demonstrates this:

We have a recent common ancestor we share with fungi, so next time you throw some mushrooms into a pasta sauce or salad, remember that the mushrooms are more closely related to you than they are to the lettuce ! Unlike lettuce we and mushrooms use external sources for energy. The texture of mushrooms can divide people up, some find it delightful and at the same others find it a dread, perhaps now we can embrace mushrooms as one of our own and get out of our naive intolerance of things not 'us'. 

Subodh Gupta an Indian artist who uses domestic stainless steel pots to create some marvelous sculptors has already embraced the cohabitational relationship of the mushrooms in our homes, we can see the fruits of these ideas with his piece 'Line of Control' a mushroom cloud sculptor.

The King's Speech was filmed on a Gay Porn Set

After some conversations with the Mack we were informed that The King's Speech was filmed on the set of a gay porn film. The following set of images demonstrates this to the nth degree (we took the liberty of removing cocks as they have been distracting people from the issue at hand).

So the next time you are watching Mr.Firth demonstrate his oscar nominated stuttering interpretation of Bertie, keep in mind the steamy male on male action that occurred in these locations beforehand. This use of the same location definitely makes Firth's transition from playing George in Tom Ford's A Single Man feel like a more natural acting transition. Although this only functions on coincidental irony, here at MRHP we treat coincidental irony like America treat oil - we go digital and tell the world it is ok to start sucking like god damn Kirby every once and awhile...

Enda Kenny Attacked by a Baby Cat while Casting his Vote

Whilst casting his vote this morning Enda Kenny was attacked by some sort of baby cat hybrid. From the image you can clearly see that Mr. Kenny was fairly shaken up after the incident and was reduced to tears. It emerged that Kenny was looking to pick up what seemed to be a baby in a buggy when it transpired it was in fact a baby cat. Baby cats and spider babies are rare but they seem to have found a niche in the west of Ireland. Enda Kenny is said to be recovering from the traumatic ordeal in his home in Castlebar. 

Political Horrors

With the general election to be held tomorrow much of the country is bracing itself, preparing for the next set of political monstrosities to be voted in. A couple of days ago our handsome young reporter Frank Stein took a stroll around Bray (Co. Wicklow, Ireland, for the reader afar) and posed with many of the hopeful candidates from this tumultuous constituency. Be afraid, be very afraid as many of these ghouls, gremlins, witches and demons may well be running the country in less than a month. 

Simon 'The Giant' Harris (Photo to scale)

I'm very afraidy of  John Brady

Everything got a little darker and bleaker around Dick < Roche (Little joke for the astute mathematician)

Things then brightened up for Frank as he became a little too enamored with Eugene 'Hurrah for the Nightlink' Finnegan

High up the pole was Donal 'the lamp' Kiernan

Close to his heart, Micheal Martin the leader of the party that has turned many peoples' lives into nightmares

Anne 'Liz McManus' Ferris

'Oh no the humanity. What is he doing here?'

'Go on please shake my hand. Your so stubborn Stephen.'

One ticket to anywhere but here please!

So the question remains which one of these monsters will you vote for and if you do vote them in will they just perpetuate the nightmare or will by some miracle some of these creatures emerge from their cocoons and will we get ourselves some political leaders. Will we loose the cronyism, the empty political rhetoric, will we have real change and real action, planning, foresight, expertise and above all honesty and integrity. Many of the monsters will throw these words around but do any of them know what they mean? MRHP proposes that all politicians be fitted with lie detectors for the next 10 years, one lie and your out, that should breed a new generation of open, honest and above all constructive politics. Enjoy the voting and just a final note make sure all you young readers get out and vote, MRHP has nothing against senior citizens but they will all go out and vote, their vote will not necessarily reflect the countries younger generations so get out and have your say so we can bring this country forward. 

Nicolas Cage Party Boy

Here is a little treat that one of MRHP's owls cooked up, hope you enjoy!

Ted Dempsey: Part 2 - Blimp Visits

Ted woke up as he did most mornings: in his green armchair, lamp fighting with morning sunlight to illuminate his right shoulder, and a whiskey stain on his leg, fallen glass on the floor at his feet, fag ash caught on the crotch of his trousers. The letter was still there in the hallway. Fuck off bank, said Ted Dempsey. 

The sharp ring of the doorbell cut a hole in his birthmark, making Ted Dempsey wince and whine. He got up and looked through the frosted glass inset on his front door, just about being able to make out a fat person in a shiny silver bubble jacket, with a rabbit fur moscovite hat squeezed over the flabby head on top. It was a local imbecile known as Blimp, so called because he looks like a zepellin turned upright in that ridiculous jacket. Curiously, he was one of the few people Ted Dempsey could spend an extended period of time around without feeling the need to cease respiring, although of course his affection for the idiot would not be expressed outwardly.

Ted Dempsey! Ted Dempsey! Jed Mempsey! Fed Fempsey! Ded Tempsey! Dead Tempsey?! Ted Dempsey!!!

Come on in Blimp, enough of that blasted nonsense. 

Blimp was like a puppy licking a boys face on Christmas morning every time Ted Dempsey answered the door to him. He enjoyed Ted Dempsey’s company, perhaps because Ted never deviated from a plain routine, perpetuating a sense of normality in Blimp’s simple life. As usual, the two wandered into the kitchen, and Blimp unloaded the daily news bulletin from the gossips at the post office as Ted Dempsey slopped his porridge into his mouth with a bent fork. Blimp repeated some inane story about the arrival at the post office of a mysterious spherical package that repeatedly emitted the sound of a woman saying "No." Ted Dempsey half listened. He was more interested in combing some globules of porridge out of his nasal hair with his fork.

And the bank sent out some new amazing saving scheme that gives you presents! Isn’t that wonderful! Everybody is talking about it, they say they only picked out their favorite customers! I went straight to the bank this morning to start saving. Did you hear about it Ted Dempsey?

Ted Dempsey gesticulated vaguely toward the letter on the hall floor. 

Ah so you got one too! I knew you would. They only pick out their favourites you know, that’s what it says in the letter! Anyway, as I was saying, I went straight up to the bank this morning, and I have already reached my first Money Milestone and got my reward!

Ted Dempsey raised a brow, slightly. Oh? said Ted Dempsey, What is it?

Curious now! I still have it with me. Do you want to see it? 

Ted Dempsey nodded, and Blimp fiddled with a pocket inside his silver bubble jacket. After a moment, he produced the item: a white porcelain hedgehog. Ted stared at the reward. Little detail. The spines on the hedgehog's back formed one lumpy unity, only the vaguest suggestion of the animal's natural defense mechanism remained in the bumpy topology. But it was certainly an interesting ornament: virginal, white, and pure. Slightly gaudy and banal perhaps, but it had a strange allure to Ted Dempsey. He decided to hide his curiosity and feigned indifference, much to Blimp’s disappointment. He scowled.

Do you not like it?

It’s just a nonsense piece of nothing. It’s worthless.

Blimp looked dejected. Ted Dempsey lit up another cigarette. Blimp decided it was time to continue with his errands, and let himself out of the house. Ted Dempsey watched him turn the corner at the end of the street from his upstairs window. When he was safely out of eyeshot, he quickly rushed downstairs to pick up the letter from the hall floor.

Stray

Should we have talked about how their beliefs fall under the tattered wings of a flying cult? Should we realise that these men have been brainwashed to the point where these gusts have carried them to a realm of non compliance with reality? That night these questions where raised through the guise of the importance of the family unit. As this socially lubricated speech continued, the man twisted and turned in his seat. His stomach gurgling with the strain of excess. No wonder he comes crawling out of the rain and onto our front porch. Like a depraved dog, ravenous with the hunger, the stench of his moist bristles linger with him. His so called family place shrapnel in his dusty pockets. They allocate money for cigarettes if you smoke. The only needs that are not met are the emotional ones. Conditioned to a point where what is natural is rejected. The conversation in the household was naturally rejected and was soon followed with the man’s departure. As he left our family unit, I realised that an institution that frowns upon an aging man returning home for longer periods to visit his mother who has entered the final stages in her personal decay, is not a religious institution. It uses religion as a wall to hide behind, as a shock tactic in mass manipulation. These thoughts are what where flashing through my mind as I strained to see the dotted line on the road as I drove through the blurry lines of rain. The glowing eyes of a stray cat dragged me out of this mental flow. I suppose that the cat’s skull being crushed by my front bumper might have also had a role to play in my sudden shift in thoughts. By the time I had exited the car and reached the place where the cat had been catapulted to, its gentle twitches had turned into sporadic bursts of movement. Upon examining the situation, I decided that the prime reason for these convulsions was probably due to the fact that half of the cat’s brains were spread out across the road. Before I had a chance to produce my butter knife I heard the squelch of footsteps emerging from the distance. As they grew in number a familiar smell drifted up into my left nostril and began twisting and tugging the nostril hairs, this jungle-gym treatment leapt to the point where water began to seep from my eyes. The glistening whispers of a strained stomach transferred a name and a face to the shadowy figure. The speckled blackheads sat rigid on his sweaty brow. Masticated food fell from his yellow teeth with the quiet decadence of gentle snowfall. His patchy stubble caught onto these speckles like dry tarmac in Winter. His eyes danced deliriously, caught in the excitement of his face’s sudden change in weather. This moment lingered on for quite some time, until I eventually re-entered my car. In the rear-view mirror I could see him standing over the now stagnant cat, his worn face lay slumped to the ground. The roles of fat curled upwards from his chin hiding any determinable expression. The road ended there, he no longer had anything to chase.

Is There Something Strange At The Edge Of Our Solar System

At the edge of our solar system lie a number of small icy bodies that are believed to make up the long hypothesised 'Oort Cloud'. Some researchers believe that a hypothetical planet bigger than Jupiter called 'Tyche' is located here. You may ask why would such a planet not have been observed by a telescope by now, speculators claim that 'Tyche' would be too cold and would not give out enough visible light to make it observable by conventional means. Nasa's WISE, the Wide-field Infrared Survey Explorer, however, may provide the evidence that is necessary to prove the existence of such a planet or to lend weight towards dismissing it. WISE scanned the entire celestial sky from earths orbit at the infrared wavelength and if 'Tyche' is there there is a very high probability that WISE will be able to detect it because even if the planet is very cold it will still emit infrared radiation that WISE could detect. There is still much analysis to be done on the data produced by WISE but if things go 'Tyche's' way after losing Pluto through planetary relegation we could be about to gain a colossus. MRHP is crossing all the Owl's feathers.  

If Nicolas Cage was in a Metal band...

Nicolas Cage loathed and loved in equal measures, does not get credit for the mighty use of his diaphragm. Unsurprisingly Cage's son Weston is in a metal band called Eyes of Noctum. It is easy to see where he inherited his vocal disposition. In so many roles, Cage yelps, screams, raps violent notes into a hypnotic whirlpool. We here at MRHP want to pay tribute to his method of madness and stunning vocals:  

Herzog is a beautiful protagonist as a plastic bag

I came across this by accident, I am a huge fan of Werner Herzog since his classic colonial adventure Aguire, Wraith  of God, all the way  up to his metamorphosis  from director to actor in Julian Donkey Boy where he turns in a frightening performance:

Herzog seems to endorse and mentor young film makers in obscure ways and this is no different as he takes the lead of the voice of the plastic bag in this short film.  The closest narrative style I can think of is Robert Bresson's Au Hasard Balthazar, a masterpice which centers around the journey of a donkey's life. Here is a famous scene where a tiger and donkey have a mutual understanding, a deeper sense of communication than the humans can ever imagine:

When I heard about this film I wasn’t sure if this was a joke, but the more I watched it the more I couldn’t take my eyes away from it, the emotions within shimmered and it was a beautiful transcending  experience. Plastic Bag is exciting and not only because Roger Ebert has proclaimed its young director Ramin Bahrani the 'new great American director' but it is head above heels in the 11 films that were put together for this free online project by Independent Television Service.  It has to be watched to be believed!  So without further ado here it is: 

A Few Optical Illusions For Your Sins

MRHP has several of it's many long fingers stuck in the pies of psychology, art and design. And we have always been a fan of a few optical illusions take a peak, the first one is definitely my favourite. Enjoy!!

Which horizontal line is longer A or B?

The Ames Room, is there really a giant?

Are all the red lines parallel?

Many people often ask what is the point to these optical illusions, are they just gimmicky and interesting to look at. Well in fact they can tell psychologists a great deal about how our visual perception works and about objection recognition. Oh and A and B are both the same in case you didn't guess, in the Ames room both people are the same size one kid is just further away than the other and all the red lines are in fact parallel. Huh!

Tiredy Tot-Stars

We all know how hard life is when you’re on top. The ecstasy of gyrating your hips for a lifetime in the limelight is an illusion and a myth so our beloved pop stars are slowly finding out. The modern day pop star has endless schedules, international flights, tours, tours and more tours and jet lag becomes a way of life. It’s tough for those who bring us entertainment in 2010 and ’11 and it’s showing in their public lives. I’ve noticed a strange pattern seeping into the public eye from our famous counter-parts, exhaustion. It’s a crying shame really, god bless their little souls. They’re falling asleep on set! And the industry big wigs are trying to exploit these sleeping beauties by putting them on their album covers!

Fame is not as glamorous as it used to be and realistically, those baths in champagne and serene chiffon encased nirvanas backstage with ONLY archipelago candles and teddy bears and 12 newly born Labrador puppies, they’re just for the press. Instead the glamazons of pop stardom skulk away to the dark corners of abandoned locker rooms during the intervals of their shows, catching a 5-minute nap on a hard varnished bench next to the dregs of old aromatic jock-straps and skid-marked underpants. It’s an outrage, what these starlets must endure, falling asleep left, right and centre.

This exploitation must stop! Join me in the fight against the exploitation of tired pop-stars. It’s a travesty. It must end.

The Strokes, Bright Eyes and Radiohead *NEW SHIT!*

This week The Strokes, Bright Eyes and Radiohead all have new material out on the public sphere, here is three videos to give your ears a nibble. Starting with The Strokes, their first single in five years! Ending with a song from the new album entitled The People's Key, by Bright Eyes, the Bob Dylan of our generation. And in-between we have Thom Yorke of Radiohead getting kinky and weird.

First Pirate Trial since 1861

The pirate in question was a Somalian man (although the defence team claimed he was under eighteen, the court did not buy this). The judge who sentenced the pirate called Abdiwali Abdiqadir Muse to 33 years and 9 months in prison explained that she meted out such a harsh sentence for he "appeared to relish...most depraved acts." She gave an example of one such depraved act as holding mock executions. Also allegedly he shouted "bury him in a shallow area of the ocean” at the captain of the hijacked Maersk Alabama ship off the coast of Somali where it is not unlike scenes from the movie Waterworld:

The trial was also used as a showboat to curb the steady ship of 19th-century maritime laws been applied to 21^st century piracy. The argument defending such pirates as young Abdiwaii is one of common sense; they have nothing to turn to in such dire economic conditions and such a harsh sentence is been meted out by a hypocritical government who are attempting to police oceans thousands of miles away to protected their own evil multi-corporate businesses from going about their lucrative trade. Somali fishermen who have little means to defend themselves in their small-scale infrastructures have complained about being shot at by foreign fishermen with water-cannons and firearms.

Peter Lehr, a lecturer in terrorism studies says “The first pirate gangs emerged in the '90s to protect against foreign trawlers". These initial motives have conflated into a thirst by these exponentially mycobacteriatic pirates for more treasures. The sanctioning of Abdiwaii’s trial has thrust America and their dealings with foreign affairs into the limelight. Can we expect them to look beyond the acts of violence in the case of Abdiwaii as more than just an isolated case into how they manifested and are in fact a phenomenon directly linked with their own actions and perhaps help these countries rather than throw the old, wrinkled canon against the wall and then turn away?

Tourism in North Korea

Every fancy taking a trip over to Pyongyang to visit Kim Jong Il, the 'Dear Leader', 'Our Father' and 'Generalissimo' as he likes the locals to call him. Every year about 1500 westerners and several thousand Asians are granted access to the upper most country of the Korean Peninsula. You get off the plane and are driven by Limo to the countries only five star hotel. A banquet in your honour is held and it is hosted by the 'Dear Leader' himself. 

The finest selection of cuisine is presented fresh from the local famine fields, delivered by starving but enthusiastic natives. Fine wines and champagnes are produced and the party begins. Once you have had 'all you can eat', apparently that phrase actually comes from North Korea, the entertainment begins. A spectacular marching display begins and you get to witness one of the most well choreographed armies in the world, which in terms of manpower is the largest infantry in the world. Very impressive to say the least.

They march and parade and shuffle, swing there guns and chant out the most wonderful of communist propaganda. Then as darkness begins to fall things get a little bit more intimate, the 'Generalissimo' invites you back to his room for a few quiet drinks and encourages you to get more comfortable. 

One thing leads to another and you get a  real insight to a truly unique North Korean experience. The next day you are woken before dawn and escorted to a helicopter, a morning after treat from the 'Dear Leader'. You are flown for several hundred miles and watch the sunrise over the spectacular heaven lake, before being dropped off in the neighbouring China. 

Actually that was all a lie, when you arrive in North Korea you get off a plane and having paid thousands for the luxury are, shadowed by two government agents, photography is restricted and your contact with the locals is kept to an absolute minimum. Sounds like fun. 

Ted Dempsey: Part 1 - Letter From the Bank

Ted Dempsey was a fidgety and feckless grimace of a man, bristles of white hair popping out of his ears and nasal passage like buried toothbrushes. He was 65 years old, lived alone - and had done so since he first left his family home at age 15 to work “on the ships.” A bald patch, haloed by a tattered mop of white hair, revealed a queer birthmark (in the shape of a keyhole) on his scalp, drawing a strange vertical symmetry with his nose. He stood sullenly in his kitchen, toeing some loose floorboards as he stared at the remnants of the breakfast-pan: sausages, egg and bread fried in a now-congealing block of butter.

His ear bristles caught a sudden papery sound from his hallway. He moved like a cartoon character, feet spinning agitatedly without actively propelling his body forward. He quickly located the sound source: some envelopes that had just floated through his letterbox. He scrabbled at them like a mouse with some gourmet blue:

LOYAL IRISH BANK Invites You to Our New Saver Reward Scheme

Ted Dempsey muttered a few undistuingishables, but read on, reflexively pushing his spectacles back another inch or two into his hollow black shark eyes. Ted hadn’t much money left to save. He had the remnants of some currency he had put away to make his old age a little bit more bearable - the bulk of which was spent on smoking Camel Cigarettes, something he acquired as a hobby to alleviate the boredom of retirement. He eyeballed the letter with a vague sense of curiosity.

    Dear Mr Dempsey,

    As a loyal lifetime customer of Loyal Irish Bank, we would like to present to you a chance to engage in a very special savings arrangement with us. We are deliberately selecting our most valued customers to pioneer a new scheme to encourage financial responsibility and clever saving practice with our customers.

    With the Saver Reward Scheme, Loyal Irish Bank will assist you in placing money in your Reward Account, and offer you very special and prestigious gifts as you reach your “Money Milestones”.

    We are pleased to inform you that your next Money Milestone is: €100
 
    We have automatically opened your Personal Reward Account so you can start saving right away. If you do not wish to avail of this incredible offer, please contact your local branch of Loyal Irish Bank.

    More information can be found in the accompanying brochure.
 
    Sincerely,
    Jad Harris.
    Overseer of Schemes at L.I.B.

Ted Dempsey coughed, peppering the letter with soggy crumbs and pork stains from his egg and sausage sandwich fifteen minutes previous, then dropped the letter on the hallway floor. He could get it later if his curiosity was re-piqued. But they could piss off if they think he’d read that fucking brochure too. 

That evening, Ted sat in his darkened living room on a green leather armchair, with a single lamp buzzing and flickering above his right shoulder. A Camel Cigarette dangled from his lips, ash crumbling onto his lap. To any external passersby, he cut a terrifying figure, with his intense gaze through the window to the street outside, and one hand gripping a glass of cheap whiskey as if he expected to be suddenly and forcibly imparted from it. 

The door to the hall shuffled open in the draft, and his eye caught that blasted letter from the bank earlier. He swore at it, the emblem of the Fat Banks, money stuffed down their trousers to exaggerate their manhood, banknotes cushioning their testicles. Fuck off you boloxes, shouted Ted Dempsey. Outside, a frightened passerby overheard and quickened their pace, unsure of whether they spied a human or a spectre in that overgrown house.