No nits to pick

Another Oscar night has come and gone, and I guess I can't really complain about any of the results.

I didn't really have a horse in most of the races, which is kind of strange. I thought most of the nominees worthy, but none had me cheering very hard for them. I seem to require a movie to root against, oddly enough, to get very passionate about the proceedings, and this year -- and last year, for that matter -- I didn't have any major complaints about the nominees in the major categories.

I did want Peter O'Toole to win -- eight nominations with no wins is tough to take -- but I figured Forest Whitaker would take the Best Actor prize.

And I was glad to see Martin Scorsese finally win it, but as so often happens, it was for a picture that was not his best work, in my opinion.

It wasn't nearly as egregious a misstep as Al Pacino winning for what might well have been his worst performance, in The Scent of a Hoo-ah!, some years ago, but to think that The Departed took the prize when classics like Raging Bull and Goodfellas didn't ... well, it leaves one shaking one's head.

I think I'd have picked Babel for Best Picture, had it been up to me (and why in the world wasn't it, for pete's sake?), as it's the one film that's stayed with me the longest, but I won't squawk very long or very loudly about it.