Tara Maher     Oscar da Grouch If only the real Titanic had as much luck in 1912 as its cinematic namesake did in 1998, we all could have been spared four award-winning hours in our schedules. On Oscar night James Cameron, Titanic's writer, director, and producer, cleaned house. He left competitors like the The Full Monty with nothing but their skivvies to take home with them. Upon winning the Best Director Oscar, Cameron announced that he was "the king of the world." I suppose one can't afford to be modest when given only 30 seconds to indulge oneself to one billion people. His "moment of silence" bit during his Best Picture speech was his subtle way of thanking those 1500 men, women, and children for drowning, and the Titanic for sinking . What puzzled me though was his thanking his wife Linda Hamilton. Did she show up on the Titanic as Sarah Conner and take a few people out when I wasn't looking? Celine Dion made an appearance to sing "My Heart Will Go On." She surprised me with the grace and ease with which she sang. She must have taken whatever is usually up her butt and put it around her neck for the occasion. Brava, Celine, brava! A major upset of the night was Robin Williams' win for Best Supporting Actor in Good Will Hunting. Burt Reynolds was the anticipated recipient for his portrayal of a porn producer in Boogie Nights. However, when I think about it, why was he even expected to win? Burt's performance was no big stretch. How hard is it for a dirty old man to play an executive in the porn industry? Anyway, it's no big loss for the old "Bandit." An Oscar would not, all of a sudden, garner him respect from his colleagues. They'd still make toupee jokes. As far as the Best Actress category goes, those damn Brits left us with only Helen Hunt to root for, and let's just say I'm not "mad about her." The only thing cool about her is she dates the man behind the voice of Apu and Chief Wiggum. The Best Actor award was nabbed by Jack Nicholson. Surprisingly, he made no attempt to grab at the "Oscar girl" and failed to use any profanity. He's getting old, folks, for shame! This side of entertainment, in between awards, provided a yawn at best. I must admit, though, I was on the edge of my seat with anticipation hoping the girl held up by cables during the interpretive dance segment might take a nasty spill. Instead it was merely a tease of down and up again. Susan Sarandon made an appearance as an award presenter. She was sans Tim Robbins and her usual political appeal to the world. I guess she must have thought if she did one all by herself, without Tim, it might make her look dumb. Good thinking, Susan, you're always one step ahead. Oscar night '98 marked the Academy's 70th anniversary, but it will probably be remembered as the night Hollywood patted itself on the back for the 70th time. How on Earth has it become such a success? It is reported that a billion people tuned in on Monday night. I find that hard to believe. Did millions of Frenchmen and women momentarily cease their grape-stomping to make fun of ze stupid Americains? One billion seems like a doctored number. But if that's what the media tells us, I guess it must be true. So here's to another year of overpaid narcissists making bad movies, and robbing us of our $7.50.

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