And the award goes to....don't tell me!!

It's finally hit me. I miss my home. Not for the food, friends or family, no this thing runs deeper than that: the Academy Awards. I've missed them and I'm mad as hell. I've been promised that they'll run them tonight, but I can't be sure. I know for a fact, though that they have already happened and that the results are sitting here inside the internet, and it's killing me.

It shouldn't, though, because none of my favorite films are being represented as well as they should be, like Sideways, Eternal Sunshine, or the great classic, Fat Albert. At least that puts me in company with my Indian counterparts, none of their favorites are being represented at the Oscars either.

I just read an article in the Bombay Times where a filmmaker tried to dissect why Indian films aren't accepted by the Oscars, and it was really sad. These people make more movies in a year than Sweden does in a decade and yet nobody respects them. It's got to be the singing and dancing that's holding them back. Which is a shame, because they're damn good at it.

For the uninitiated, Bollywood films--as Indian films are called--are pretty much required to have singing and dancing. Regardless of genre. A murder mystery? A Thriller? A family drama? singing singing and more singing. And dancing, too. For an easy Anglo friendly entre into the world, check out Monsoon Wedding or Bride and Prejudice. I would probably stay away from Heather Graham's The Guru. Not because I've seen it, but give me a break. There's no way it could possibly be anything but a 90 minute regurgitant.

American audiences have such a hard time with musicals, which really makes no sense. We find nothing wrong with watching hours of music videos, but try to string a story along, and suddenly the filmmakers seem foolish. Many Indians I've spoken to refer to Moulin Rouge as a good meeting point between westerners and Indians, but the film only enjoyed marginal appeal compared to the wholehearted love Indians have for musicals.

From talking to Indian film makers, there's an interesting pull that Hollywood (and the non-musical world) holds on the Indian world, but it's a tenuous one at best. In interviews, the great Amitabh Bachchan has said that he'd love to be in an American film, but he knows that he would be relegated to cameos or bit parts. It would be like sending Michael Jordan to play 6th man for The Clippers. It makes no sense. There's a billion people and counting in India, and as far as I know they all love Amitabh. You can't beat that.

One director I spoke to, a guy named Marlin who has a film coming out soon called "See you at 8" (or 9, I can't remember), a Japanese influenced "nightmare film" as he describes it. Interestingly, there's no singing. Just "a lot of sex and violence. It's like a hit of cocaine!", he says. He told me that he has plans to come to America, but fears the fierce competition.

And why should he come? There's a thriving infrastructure for films in India. The only problem is the binding tradition of songs and dances. Can you imagine if young Indian filmmakers decided to shed the musical requirements and make personal films with more univeral appeal? Remember the boom in Austin, Texas? Forget about it.

That's my prediciton. An onslaught of indie filmmakers dazzling the world with individual visions sharpened by years of perfecting their craft in a land where film is more precious than gold.

Only time will tell if that will translate into an Oscar.