War on Washington (Denzel, That Is)

"Beautiful" Backlash After the Blackademy Awards
or How Russell Crowe Got Extremely Justified, Quite Witty Revenge
By Jensen Incorrigible
IRSOS Oscar Correspondent, Reporter Extraordinaire

Sufficed to say, the 74th Academy Awards will not leave the minds of viewers for quite some time. Also, the ceremony left many of the recipients and nominees either insanely happy or just plain insane. While the Awards are no longer the "hip" talk of Tinseltown, its effects can still be felt in a stroll down Hollywood Boulevard. Tourists beware, this town is rife with tension and even the smallest beaver could burst this dam of suppressed emotions and anger towards Academy voters.

From the second he heard Denzel had won for Best Actor, Russell Crowe immediately plunged into a devastating state of shock and depression. This brave Aussie struggled to keep his game face as the show continued. While "A Beautiful Mind" director Ron Howard made his acceptance speeches, poor Russell who had lost the power of speech did his best to communicate with simple hand motions. The second the show went off the air, the quickly fading Crowe was rushed to his palatial Hollywood estate where friends and family stayed by his side, hoping to pull him out of the dark abyss his unwarranted loss had thrust him into. Ron Howard, posing as a doctor, pretended his Best Director Oscar was a stethoscope as he attempted to diagnosis what had caused this sudden sickness in his leading man. For nearly two weeks, Crowe tap-danced back and forth across the line between life and death. One moment he would rationally be discussing the strengths of his performance with the nation's top critics, the next he would be covered in sweat with a fever running high in the hundreds.

It seemed as if there would be no end to his torment. Nothing could coax him out of his almost-comatose condition. His band, 30 Odd Foot of Grunts, briefly discussed bringing in a replacement lead singer during a tense time when it looked like Crowe had finally gone to the big movie soundstage in the sky. Ron Howard, who viewed himself as a father figure to the rambunctious Russell, nearly signed the papers to donate the actor's body to science when fate intervened. Actually, a rogue detective named Jackson Brody.

Jackson Brody burst into the bedroom, which was filled with anxious actors all awaiting the fate of their fallen comrade. Brody was not glamorous or wearing a tuxedo like everyone else in the room. None of them knew who he was, and no one wanted to ask. Brody was a scruffily dressed-down detective. He had no time for manners, but plenty of time for saving lives. He had recently come out west from Philadelphia, where he had run into some trouble with a local mob boss named Archibald Continuity.

Ron Howard was now at his breaking point. He launched up from his chair and practically shouted, "Who do you think you are, sir, bursting in on this delicate situation? Either you explain who you are, or you get the hell out!" Brody kept his cool. He had only been in this town for a couple months, but he knew how to deal with all the egocentric pretty boys who inhabited it. "I'll do you one better. I'm here to help," replied Brody quietly. A solemn hush fell over the room. They had done all they could to help out Russell, and this man offered what they could not. Brody took long thoughtful drags from his cigarette as he told his tale, "I was walking the beat back a few days. thinking nothing of the world around me. caught up in my own little world of lies and missed opportunities. when I thought about my father's dying advice to me. it was the summer of '84.oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go on a tangent like that. Anyway. I ran into this crackhead named Rusty Max. I said to him 'Rusty Max.I hope you're not looking for crack 'cuz I don't got none, and never did.' And he says to me 'Jack baby, I got a lead for you. I know you're a Russell Crowe fan, seeing as you got Gladiator on DVD and all.' I began to drift off into my own world again."

At this point Ron Howard again erupted, "Listen up fan boy, if I wanted to listen to a story about a crackpot talking to a crackhead, this would be interesting to me. So either get to the point, or take your mildly amusing anecdote elsewhere!" Brody reserved his calm and continued, "So I looked Rusty Max straight in the eye and said. sorry to stop again, but does anyone have a light? I can't seem to find my lighter, there must be a hole in my pants. Thanks. Oh my look at the time, I'll just get straight to the point. Rusty Max heard Denzel Washington's biker gang talking about how 'Big D' rigged the Oscar race. I believe Max because he has shot so much heroin through his eyes that he destroyed the part of his brain that gives him the ability to lie. So. we should go kick Denzel's ass. and get that Oscar in order to restore not only Russell's health, but his dignity."

For some reason, Ron Howard let out a bellowing laugh. Perhaps it was from all the stress, or perhaps it was from the sheer ludicrousness of the story. "You know what, I think I'm going to believe you, detective. But this is a road you're going to have to walk alone. We can't risk accusing Denzel of such a crime. It would ruin Russell's chances of ever winning again," replied the diminutive director and added, "May God be with you on this quest."

Jackson Brody stamped out his cigarette on the carpet, and bowed silently. He left the room and began the long journey to Denzel Washington's evil underground lair. Luckily, Rusty Max wasn't just a crackhead. He also sold maps to the homes or in this case evil underground lairs of the rich and famous. Brody found the lair with no problem. The real challenge was to prove Denzel had rigged the Oscar race. The lair looked from the outside like a ancient and abandoned mansion. He cautiously opened the door and stepped inside. He was already sliding down a slick tube by the time he realized a trap door had been placed beyond the entranceway. The tube led deep underground. Once he landed and regained his composure, he marveled at the room he found himself in. Jagged rocks climbed up the walls like moss on the side of a tree. Many unconscious men in tattered clothes were chained to pikes scattered throughout the vile lair. Brody's attention focused on the steaming lava pit, and the magnificent throne revolving high above. The throne slowly turned around to reveal its inhabitant. The man wore an eye patch on his left eye, a vicious smile upon his face, and a mysterious metal claw where his right hand had once been. An Oscar statuette rested on the arm of throne "So," asked the man, "What are you? A reporter looking to expose my scheme? A melding do-gooder? Or another one of my adoring fans?"

"I'm here on behalf on Russell Crowe. I believe you have something of his," snapped Brody. "Foolish boy," said the man, "You think you just march into Denzel's home and take his property? No no, my friend. I worked hard to get this little statue. And no acolyte of that tactless Aussie is going to take that from me." Brody shot back, "Who are these men chained to the walls? The supposed reporters trying to expose your scheme?' "Oh no," chuckled Denzel as he rose from his throne and crossed the steps that led back to the solid floor, "Meddlers go straight to the pit. These men. well. no harm in telling you. You won't be around much longer. I gathered them. This man right here," he said motioning to the chained individuals "Was a college student. His professors praised him, saying he had the range and intensity of Morgan Freeman. Ooh! And this one right here, critics said he had a style and wit that rivaled Samuel L. Jackson. Oh yes. now you look upon the real jewel of my collection. I picked him out myself. He possessed the same magic quality that earned Sidney Portier a reputation as a leading man. Now it's all mine!" Now it was Brody's turn to laugh, "So what? You kidnapped them so their great abilities wouldn't rival your mediocre talent?" "Naïve boy. my plan is much greater than that," said the smug Washington, "I've slowly been draining them of their life force. I took their raw talent and processed it into a serum that gave me the edge to get ahead in the acting game," and he paused to reflect on his madness for a moment, "But that wasn't enough. so I intercepted all the Academy Awards ballots and, ahem, 'altered' them to my liking," he spilled out before descending into a maniacal laugh.

"You pathetic hack," Brody practically screamed, "You stole from innocent men who could have been the greatest actors of their generation. All this pain, all this deception, and you still had to cheat." At this point, Brody's brutally truthful words had placed too much weight on Denzel's hardly used but existent conscience. Denzel launched towards Brody, and gripped the detective's throat with his metal claw. "Watch your words, boy," he growled, "I could crush you. But, no, I think I'd rather see you melt." With no sign of effort, Denzel sent Brody hurtling across the room. Brody struggled to hold onto the edge of the pit. If he lost his grip, he would fall to certain death. "Now that even my wildest dreams have come true, nothing can stand in the way of perfect happiness," boasted Denzel, "Except pesky evidence." From somewhere in his lair, he produced several boxes and juggled them in the air as he approached his helpless victim. As he began to hurtle the boxes in the pit, he again spoke, "These boxes are filled with the real ballots, which sadly show a landslide vote for your precious gladiator. If that loudmouth from the land down under had just stayed out of the game like I warned him, none of this would have been necessary."

Denzel flung the last box into the inferno below. He lowered his foot down on the hand of Jackson Brody. That feeble hand was the only thing that kept poor Jackson alive. It looked as if his casebook were about to be closed, when a distinctly Australian voice bellowed throughout the lair, "What we do in life, echoes in eternity. you motherfucker!" As soon as the villainous Denzel recognized the voice, he knew the game was over. Even with an ego as big as his, he knew there was no way he could defeat Russell Crowe in one-on-one combat. Of course, he did not show his fear as he lamely attempted to rescue himself from this unexpected development. "Ah, s-so the sore la-la-loser finally shows his face." said Denzel weakly, stuttering over every other word.

"There is a mathematical explanation for how much of a dick you are!" Crowe barked back effortlessly, having made his second clever reference to one of his own films. Denzel no longer cared whether Brody lived or died. He took his foot off Brody's hand, and made a wild sprint for a secret exit. The calm and collected Russell Crowe would have none of that, so he drew a double-barreled shotgun from his knapsack and politely shot Denzel in the ass. "That's how we get things done in the Outback," he quipped.

"You fool," snarled the wicked Washington, "That will not stop me. My titanium-enforced metal skeleton will simply regenerate! See Brody, all I did was a little tampering to ballots. I'm no more evil than a Republican. But Russell here, he'll kill to get what he wants!!" "Yeah right," said Brody as pulled himself up, "And I just wasn't hanging perilously over a pit of lava. Finish him off, Russell."

"Yes Russell, finish me off," Denzel said sarcastically, "With your rifle! The day is still mine!" he gloated, then added, "I'm afraid such toys make you un-equipped to take me down."

"Then it's good that I made a stop at Toys-R-Us on the way. Sorry I'm late," said another late entry to the game. Ron Howard stood tall in the entranceway, providing powerful backup for Russell. "This little thing right here," said Ron referring to the impressive silver laser cannon that was in front of him, "Is something DreamWorks cooked up for me in case something like this happened. I'm afraid your happy days are over, Denzel." Before the thwarted Washington had a chance to run, Ron had unleashed the fury of his weapon. The energy blast emitted from the cannon did not kill, but instead sent him flying through the air. His screams of agony filled the lair as he landed in the pit of lava. Russell, Ron, and Jackson gathered around the rim of the pit to watch him melt. He quickly sunk, but not before his hideous cyborg skeleton was revealed.

"Sorry I had to lie to you, Mr. Brody," explained Ron Howard, "But I knew Russell would come back to us if he heard he had a chance of getting his Oscar back. I wanted to come along. however I also knew our chances would be better if we had the surprise advantage on our side." "It's ok, sir," said the shaken detective, "I'm just glad things turned out okay."

Russell was quiet as he climbed the steps of the throne to retrieve his Oscar statue. "Thanks, mate. I would do the same for you in a second," said the grateful actor, "That is. if you ever decided to enter the film business and fell victim to a nefarious plot to steal an award you rightfully deserved. Good job. uh, mate."

The three shared in a hearty laugh, but soon parted ways. Jackson Brody, who had his fill of the West Coast, again departed for destinations unknown. Russell Crowe and Ron Howard, having achieved all the fame and recognition they could ever hoped for, rode off into the sunset together never to be seen again.

We hope you liked this Oscar wrap-up. The adventures of Jackson Brody are many and well-known, and we'll bring them to you on a periodic basis. So stay tuned, won't you? Thank you.