Oscar recap: Was James Franco high?

So complete was Franco’s desistance from the co-hosting project that there was speculation around the Web as to whether he might have been partaking of a little of the Pineapple Express backstage. (You know, that strain of weed so rare that “smoking it is like killing a unicorn.”) All I know is that at some point during what must have been a long, tedious and stressful night, Franco clearly decided, “I’m never doing this again, so it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks.” Unfortunately instead of loosening him up, this realization, herb-assisted or no, shut him down. He was like a one-term president dedicated to governing on the platform of Who Gives A Crap.

And irked as we might be at the hosting duo’s lack of old-fashioned showbiz skills (made all the more evident by the spectral presence of Bob Hope, cracking jokes sharper than any line uttered last night), can you blame Franco for being bored? This was an Oscars that barely even gave lip service to the attempt to keep things short. The telecast ran over by nearly 40 minutes, and only a couple of speeches—by short-subject filmmakers, documentarians, and other non-Hollywood-bigwig schmoes—got played offstage by music.