When I was a kid, March was that bridge too far, that interminable month of 31 days that never ended between a spring that struggled to dawn and a winter that wouldn't give up its throne.
January was a bit like that too, but it started later thanks to the end of the Christmas holidays.
Now, I can't see this month go by. March passes over me like a nuclear-powered bullet train.
So here we are at the end of a month of March that's been a bit crazy, a bit anxiety-inducing, but with the promise, always in an optimistic mood, that everything's going to work out in the end. No, sorry, that everything will get better in the end. And in this spirit of relentless, but not foolish, positivism, it's my duty to put some gems in front of your eyes to boost your faith in humanity.
Other than that, I wanted to end this newsletter on the sad fate Will Smith brought upon himself on a night that should have been his. And it was. Unquestionably.
Although he was never to be pitied, Smith was no longer the box-office star he was in the 90s and 2000s. Since then, he had been chasing dwindling success. This nomination, and then this victory, were his chance for a new rebound, a new chapter in a career that had been floundering.
Obviously he had every right to feel hurt, but why on earth had he allowed himself to be overcome by this feeling of violence in front of everyone? Why choose this sabotage when he was finally recognised by his peers? Too much Red Bull? A toxic relationship? Too much pressure on his frail Fresh Prince shoulders?
Even if Chris Rock's nasal voice coupled with his weak joke were irritating, Smith could have waited to explain himself backstage rather than let himself be filmed opening the gates of hell. Aside from this pointless suicide, Smith managed to overshadow an important fact of the evening.
Jane Campion won the Oscar for Best Director for a very elegant film, Power of The Dog. An important fact, since she is only the third woman to win the trophy in this category. It was richly deserved. Jane, if you're reading this, you'll soon have a model to your name, sister.
In memory of a good time spent at the Hotel Amour :