RUTHFULLY YOURS

Two whole years without a black nom? Omigosh.

How many Hispanic nominees are there? How many Asians? How many Baha’i? How many disabled?

What is evident, dependably endorsed by the loud wailing of the captain of charlatanry, Al Sharpton, is that in the face of campus protests over “microaggressions” making students “feel unsafe,” and in view of efforts to remove iconic statuary or flags from various southern venues and universities owing to rediscovered historical factoids of inconvenient realities, actors are picking up on the victimhood cavalcade. Recalling their pampered childhoods, or not, these role-model icons, so beloved in the crybaby era, are joining the fray.

Spike Lee, a director of middling specialty films that do not break the bank in audience appeal, along with Will Smith’s spiky wife, Jada Pinkett, have now been amalgamated with other complaint-mongers to post a scary warning: They will boycott the Oscars.

Shudder, gasp.

First, who cares? If they did not perform up to standard, they did not merit inclusion in the Oscar-nom club, which is a fiercely fought battle annually.

Judges, who are primarily veterans in the acting, writing, movie-making or –critiquing arena, are largely middle-aged and older Caucasian men and women. They try their best to see all the movies in contention. They also try their best to ascertain who has done the most laudable work in the best-attended and/or praised lensers. In time, these judges will be superseded by a broader spectrum of people, and look at performances, or actors, differently. Maybe.

Outstanding will still be outstanding.

More salient, if the vehicles to star ethnic or minority actors are not forthcoming — which is often the case when there are few potential entrants into this field of wanna-haves — then the pickings will be few. The vast majority of screenwriters and playwrights are, by demographic obviousness, Caucasian, as they have the majority numbers in the country, and they have the leisure or wherewithal to  write, when the rabble rest of the population must scramble in the 9-to-5 to just make ends meet. Many more scripts are generated by Whites, often featuring stories that star Whites. Not a plot: Just obvious in the normal course of events.

Want more roles of prominence for minorities?  Minorities should write scripts for stars with themes lending themselves to strong perfs by ethnic and minority talenteds. No writer has a duty to manufacture content for any particular cultural or ethnic niche.

But look at the mewlers from another point of view: They make millions for sitting in their luxury trailers and learning lines, getting gourmet catering on tap, and avoiding contact with Earth while they perform in megahit movies. Last year, I was privileged to view Will Smith’s giganzo mobile dressing room when his multi-million-dollar top-of-the-line trailer was parked on the block I happened to be working on, in NYC’s Chinatown. It had more square-foot space than most apartments in Manhattan. And a Jacuzzi, gym and elite appliances.

So these actors don’t suffer the pangs of destitution or starvation wages.

In fact, nobody will miss these bassinet babies with short fuses complaining about not snagging the golden nomination ring. Thousands attend the event, get goody bags easily worth a year’s salary to most readers of this column, and they won’t be missed. Not attending means not getting the free press, the red carpet interviews, the glitz and glam of the exotic prizes in the goody bags given to every attendee. Who loses? The public, or the diversity-pimp waah waah’s?

There is always next year, and the year after that.

Truth is, most Americans are not that big on the Academy Awards, anyway. One Rasmussen survey asked what prize they would most like to win. The answers are telling: Only 9% of those asked would want an Oscar.  That compares ill with the 21% who would love a Pulitzer (the scriveners among us) — or the 45% who would knock down for a Nobel. Among Black Americans, Oscar also runs an unimpressive third.

So take your $20 million salaries, your fabulous homes in Malibu, and your Lamborghinis, and leave the rest of us to drink our Amstel and wonder why Gwyneth isn’t wearing a more flattering designer glitter.