Rachel: Because I'm black or because I'm a woman?

Raylen: Because you're an idiot.

Rachel: Excuse me?

Raylen: (smiling) I didn't shoulder my way to the front of the line.

Rachel: I didn't say that, you did.

Raylen: Look, I understand I'm the low man on the totem pole, I understand that. But Rowland and I have a long history and I should be walking point.

Rachel: This isn't just about this case. You did cut to the front of the line. I don't know if it's because you know the chief from Glencoe, but you walked in and you went right to the front.

Raylen: You ever consider I happen to be good at the job?

Rachel: And you being a tall, good-looking white man with a shitload of swagger, that has nothing to do with it? You get away with just about anything.

Raylen: What do I get away with?

Rachel: Look in the mirror. How do you think it'd go over if I came into work one day wearing a cowboy hat? You think I'd get away with that?

Raylen: Want to try it on?

Aside from the unpredictable turns this conversation takes, what's wonderful about this scene -- and so many scenes in "Justified" -- is that we can't decide whom we like more, our hero or the person with whom he's trading barbs. Leonard once said he's never written a bad guy he didn't like, and that shows on the screen -- not just in sketchy types like Boyd (Walton Goggins, see also: Shane from "The Shield"), the white supremacist whose racist beliefs Raylen suspects are merely a shabby cover for his deep-seated desire to blow shit up, but also in Roland Pike (Alan Ruck), the hangdog criminal on the run from the law and from his drug cartel enemies. In fact, no character appears on "Justified" without kicking up a little of our interest: Flirtatious but murderous wives have an empowered, unapologetic air about them, bosses have a world-weary ease to their words. (When someone reports that they can't find Harlan, Ky., on an online map, Chief Deputy Art Mullen [Nick Searchy] replies, "I guess some places haven't been entered into the system yet, like North Korea, and Raylen's hometown.") Even Raylen's ex-wife Winona (Natalie Zea) is sharp-tongued but sympathetic to him in a way that makes us hope for an eventual reunion.

On paper, FX's "Justified" might appear to be just another procedural with a little excess flair. The show is a western set in modern times starring our gun-toting hero Raylen, the sort of lawman who will politely ask for compliance, but won't hesitate to shoot a bad guy in the belly before he can even react. ("I want you to understand, I don't pull my side arm unless I'm going to shoot to kill. That's its purpose, to kill, so that's how I use it. I want you to think about that before you act and it's too late," Raylen tells one criminal who's considering his options.) Throw in the levity and appeal of USA's "In Plain Sight" or "Burn Notice," and it's easy to see why this is the sort of thoroughly modern drama that a channel like FX adores.

Based on the first three episodes, though, "Justified" is far richer and harder to ignore than other procedural dramedies of its ilk, thanks to the show's unusually seamless mix of sly humor, weighty moments and suspense. While the heaviness always feels a little out of place on the mostly wacky but always delightful "Burn Notice," for example, there's a heft to "Justified" that makes you root for Raylen the way you might root for the most compelling characters of the small screen, from Vic Mackey of "The Shield" to Jimmy McNulty of "The Wire." Now throw in imaginative storylines and characters whose motivations are never simple -- no one is evil, exactly, just stupid and deluded at worst, and we're offered at least a few reasons to side with even the most reprehensible bastards among them -- and you've got one of the best new shows of the season.

Yet somehow the complexity of "Justified" never leaves us in the same disheartening ethical mire we find ourselves in after watching other shows this dark. On "Justified," characters who do bad things sometimes pay for it, and sometimes they don't, and those who are "good" try to live up to their ideals, and often fail. Instead of concerning itself with malevolent forces or valiant heroes battling on an epic stage, "Justified" focuses on the trivial delusions and tragic screw-ups of everyday people. Jokes are told, mistakes are made, and no one can predict how it will all turn out in the end. Sound familiar?

Few TV dramas have done justice to the pleasures and pains of raising kids. "Six Feet Under" touched on the feeling of being out of touch with and disempowered by your children – first in the form of Ruth Fisher (Frances Conroy), a passive-aggressive controlling mom who struggled sweetly to find some way to connect with her smart, headstrong children, then, in Nate's (Peter Krause) attempts to battle his own avoidance and controlling urges with his daughter. ABC's "Brothers & Sisters" took these challenges and translated them into an idealized world of open, honest conversations ending in hugging, learning big important lessons and impromptu slow-dancing as a family. If this warm, fuzzy wonderland didn't feel like a fantasy to you, then please let me into your family immediately -- once I stop wretching, anyway.

NBC's "Parenthood" (10 p.m. Tuesdays) tries to offer a middle ground between these two extremes, demonstrating the frustrations of parenting, but leavening it with moments of awkward connection, goofiness, relief and joy. Unfortunately, getting this mix just right is never easy. Somehow, when it comes to parenting and family, shows that are outwardly dark ("Six Feet Under," "The Sopranos") or consistently light ("Modern Family," "The Middle") appeal to audiences much more than those that try to mix the two. Just as with real parenting, finding some balance in portrayals of parenting is nearly impossible. More often than not you fall into bleakness and pessimism, then pull yourself out of it with laughter, deep sighs and a strong drink as the sun sets.

Peter Krause is a good start as harried dad Adam Braverman. Krause has a knack for playing the overly intense control freak -- something in the way Adam clenches his jaw and bugs his eyes out in spite of his easygoing surface demeanor speaks volumes about his inability to control his emotional investment in every little aspect of his son Max's (Max Burkholder) behavior. His dad, Zeek (Craig T. Nelson), wears his more aggressive approach on his sleeve, openly coaching Max while Adam struggles to coach Zeek on how to coach Max.

Zeek: You weren't any different. You had to get over your fear, too.

Adam: We're not raising him the way that you raised us, all right?

Zeek: Oh, OK. What's that supposed to mean?

Adam: It means I don't want him to feel like everything in life is a war.

Zeek: (Sighs.) Oh, sonny. It is a war.

For a pilot to get straight to this clash between a parent's and a son's perspective over how a kid should be raised is impressive, with or without the smart, funny 1989 movie starring Steve Martin as its precursor. That the scene is handled with just enough contempt mixed with polite restraint is a testament to the director's and producers' hard work in finding the right emotional tone between too harsh and too idealized. (In the original pilot, this scene was a shouting match that came off as far less interesting and revealed less of their relationship.)

Although the dynamics between Zeek and Adam are more nuanced than they were in the original pilot, other aspects of "Parenthood" are kinder and gentler to the point of feeling forced. Where the pilot felt scrappy, slightly harsh and occasionally very dark, the series tries to maintain a lighthearted, wacky mood that doesn't always match the characters and stories involved. Yes, Sarah (Lauren Graham) has two angry teenage kids, a drunk ex and no job. But look how silly and self-deprecating she is at the interview for the job she doesn't get! Yes, Adam and his wife are worried that son Max has Asperger's, but look at kooky Adam, chasing a possum around in his backyard!

Real parents may have little interest in riding this roller coaster in the rare moments that they're allowed to relax, by themselves, without children around. At 10 p.m. on a Tuesday night, after a long day of dealing with your own crazy kids, do you really want to watch a married couple learn that their son has Asperger's? Even if the next scene features Dad's siblings cracking up and sharing a joint, that doesn't help -- in fact, it rings a little false, like those parents who repeat that their kids are a "true blessing" in the breaks between shouting harsh words at them.

The most disconcerting change, for those of us who saw the original pilot of this show last fall, is the replacement of Maura Tierney with Lauren Graham in the role of Sarah. I'd never taken much notice of Tierney before, but she brought a lot of warmth and vulnerability to Sarah, the 38-year-old single mom whose life has been a series of reckless choices and haunting regrets. Graham plays Sarah with much more humor and harried-mom shtick, and though Graham is of course fantastic and has great timing, it's really sad that Tierney's breast cancer robbed her of such a wonderful role. And Tierney vacating this role robs "Parenthood" of a lot of weight. More than any other actor on the show, Tierney had a way of balancing the gravity and levity of parenting in a way that felt organic, rather than manic.

Even as the TV landscape changes by the minute, you have to wonder why a network drama about domestic life can't quite touch the same darkness that it might on a cable or premium cable channel. The networks are obviously afraid of a harsh portrayal of parenting, but what they end up with -- sugarcoated heaviness -- isn't a solution, and it's destined to alienate viewers much more than the shadows and low moments of a show like "Six Feet Under" ever would.

So what does work, as far as network family shows go? Five years ago no one would think the answer would be "sitcoms," so tired and stale was the old formula of goofy dad, nagging mom and adorable, supernaturally clever kids gathered around the couch. But thanks to ABC's "Modern Family" (9 p.m. Wednesdays), somehow, some way, the domestic comedy has been revived from its half-dead state and transformed into a thing of true beauty.

If you aren't watching this show yet, trust me, you should be. From the cool-dad foolishness of Phil Dunphy (Ty Burrell) to the eye-rolling spats between Cam (Eric Stonestreet) and Mitchell (Jesse Tyler Ferguson) to the gruffly lovable weirdness of Jay (Ed O'Neill), this show features wall-to-wall great moments and hilarious lines.

My favorite character of all, though, is weird little gentleman Manny (Rico Rodriguez). Somehow the interplay between the babying of his Colombian hottie mom Gloria (Sofia Vergara) and the tough love of grumpy older dad Jay works in each and every scene. How could you not love writing over-the-top scenes for these three? This week, Jay accidentally kills Manny's turtle, but lies and says that a raccoon jumped in the window and killed it (after making little, muddy stuffed-animal footprints down the wall and across the carpet).

Gloria: You lie. I'm Colombian, I know a fake crime scene when I see one.

Jay: I was hanging up the new poster, and it fell on top of him. It was an accident.

Gloria: You have to tell him.

Jay: No, I've been through this before. When Mitchell was 9, I was supposed to take care of his bird. It got out and flew into a fan. It was like a bloody pillow fight. To this day, Mitchell looks at me, I see him thinking, "That's the guy that killed Fly-za Minnelli."

Gloria: Fly-za Minnelli?

Jay: How did I not know that kid was gay?

The memorial for Manny's turtle is priceless ("Turtle, reptile, pet, Shel Turtlestein was many things," his homage begins), but then almost every single line of "Modern Family," every story, is pure genius. Why settle for a full hour of lukewarm drama about parenting, when you can savor a funny but still heartfelt half-hour instead?

What "Modern Family" really nails, though, is the way real parents experience the highs of parenting. It's not about chasing possums through the yard or making jokes with your siblings then clinking glasses of red wine. The real moments of sweetness and gratitude come when everything is going to hell around you. Even as the chaos unfolds before your eyes, even as you're flooded by the noise and the conflict and the little battles and the mess, the soundtrack changes for a minute. You take in the madness from a distance and think: This is what it's all about.

Then someone throws up on your pants.  

Finally we join our young, hopeful Marines aboard a big gray battleship, gliding toward Guadalcanal.

Marine No. 1: Can someone remind me why we're here again?

Marine No. 2: We're here to keep the Japs out of Australia!

(Arguing, then someone asks Pvt. Robert Leckie to speak up.)

Leckie: You want to know why we're here? "Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, and asks no omen but his country's cause."

Everyone is filled with awed respect for this thoughtful man who can quote Homer, but audiences at home may quickly long for Terrence Malick's "The Thin Red Line," in which every war cliché -- the brave hero who fights for his country, the fearless leader who calmly guides his men to victory, the beautiful wife who waits faithfully for her darling husband back home -- is blown out of the water with startling grace. Based on James Jones' novel about his experiences in Guadalcanal, "The Thin Red Line" is a brilliant intersection of art film and war film, pairing breathtaking footage of clouds and sunlight dancing across the grass with soldiers dropping dead from bullets zipping out of nowhere, or interspersing a thoughtful man's search for meaning among the native tribes of the South Pacific with his painfully visceral experiences of war.

Somehow Malick's soaring, melancholy portrayal of the Battle of Guadalcanal forces itself into the frame when watching "The Pacific," not just because the subject and source material are the same ("The Pacific" is also based, in part, on James Jones' novel) but also because Malick's $52 million film underscores the relative shortcomings of the $250 million HBO miniseries. Both works focus on the dramatic toll that this chapter of WWII history took on the souls of the men involved, but where Malick brought the immense sorrows of war to life with breathtaking lyricism, originality and imagination, executive producers Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks and writer Bruce C. McKenna offer us their signature brand of straightforward storytelling.

Sure, their style worked just fine in the 2001 HBO miniseries "Band of Brothers" (about WWII in Europe), and it does the job here. The battle scenes are suspenseful and riveting, the dialogue is reasonably sharp, and the story advances at the same pace as the war itself did: There are harrowing nights on the battlefield that will make you grit your teeth in fear, and then there are months where our Marines -- who, except for two main characters, are difficult to distinguish from each other until a few hours into the series -- meander along trying to sort out the reason and purpose for this fresh hell. All of which is well and good, but if you're hoping for that extra bit of dramatic flair, if you're expecting one or two unusual choices, a little innovation, some imaginative filmmaking? You won't find it here.

Yes, our heroes do take a terrible fall from the sweet, bow-tied, red-lipsticked beginning of our story. The jungles of Guadalcanal, by all accounts, left no man's sense of optimism and belief in the glory of battle intact. But even after that, the lead characters find more to hope for: a little R&R in Australia, some love from an Australian girl, idyllic scenes where our boys bask in the sunlight all the while dreading their next deployment. Slowly, though, the grueling years of war take a toll on these lives: We can see it in the expressions of Robert Leckie (James Badge Dale), who seems so confident and optimistic at the start, but grows grimmer with each passing trauma and disappointment. Then there's Eugene Sledge (Joe Mazzello), a privileged kid whose doctor father tries to keep him from enlisting for as long as he can. These and all of the other characters in "The Pacific" are sketchy and incomplete at best. Mostly, we see their romantic notions chipped away by the cruel realities of war.

But do we feel what they feel? When they're fighting, we do. The battle scenes of "The Pacific" vibrate at a higher frequency and pull us into the darkness, crouching behind our rattling guns, our hands shaking in fear.

But in the slow moments, "The Pacific" doesn't mesmerize us in quite the same way. Quiet, subtle scenes require much more from our storytellers. To pull viewers into such lulls in the action, to make us feel the longing and frustration and loneliness that these men felt when bullets weren't buzzing through the air, when the sound of a bird chirping or the sight of a young girl picking tomatoes in her parents' backyard could break their hearts? "The Pacific" fails at this task. We don't understand these men, and the lulls between battle scenes feel like just that: lulls. This makes the battles themselves, while impressive, far less visceral. The stakes aren't high for us, because we don't care enough about these men.

Back in 1999, Terrence Malick was a best director Oscar nominee for "The Thin Red Line," but Steven Spielberg won for "Saving Private Ryan," which, despite that first incredible, heart-stopping scene at Normandy, trudged slowly over the same old hero clichés and tear-jerky landscapes we've seen in every war movie ever made. Now, here are Spielberg and Hanks 11 years later, teamed up again to draw out a far less nuanced, far less riveting portrayal of the Pacific theater than Malick gave us back then. If you adored "Saving Private Ryan" and "Band of Brothers" (I enjoyed but didn't love both), then "The Pacific" is well worth your time. But if you're sometimes left cold by the epic films that others gush over, if you're often lukewarm on Spielberg and expect more from a war movie than just realistic battle scenes, then I would skip the 10 hours of viewing time and rent "The Thin Red Line" instead. Turn down the lights, sit close to your biggest, best TV set, and give the movie your full attention. It may be the best war film ever made, and it will break your heart in two.

As unfair as it may seem to compare "The Pacific," a TV miniseries, to "The Thin Red Line," a film by one of this country's most celebrated directors, considering the talent and the millions of dollars that went into both, the comparison feels not only fair but unavoidable. "The Pacific" is a well-made war series. But as Malick and Jones understood like no one else, war isn't just a story told in chronological order, with characters who struggle with right and wrong, good and bad. War is pure madness. Without a spirit of madness infused in it, a war story doesn't come close to touching war's dark glimpses into the human soul. 

But imagine if your notion of love was tied to the camera's gaze. Decades after that love is withdrawn, it returns in the form of a TV show. "The world loves me once again!" you'd think, even though your name itself has become something of a nostalgic punch line.

In this clip, Feldman and Haim decide, in the middle of an argument, to one-up each other about who did or didn't help the other during a period of sexual abuse that they suffered as kids. Are these two people strong enough or sound enough to manage the camera's gaze in a way that doesn't hurt them? Or do they equate attention with love, the way an addict equates drugs with escape or release? In retrospect, allowing these two to expose themselves all over again -- particularly Haim whom everyone on the show refers to as adrift and unmoored -- seems downright reckless.

The public can't take responsibility for the bad decisions of grown adults. But the machine that turns little kids into demigods then recycles them as freaks decades later undeniably messes with the lives of vulnerable individuals for the world's idle consumption.

From "Celebrity Rehab" to "The Bachelor," we clearly love watching other people make bad decisions, even if their primary bad decision was agreeing to appear on camera in the first place. We want to see these mistakes up close, to make our own mistakes feel relatively harmless.

But how much human carnage can we tolerate for the sake of fulfilling our rubbernecking needs, for the sake of something tragic or pathetic to ponder over coffee at work? Haim may have been headed for a fall regardless. Even so, it's impossible to watch him playing with fire here, and not think about our culpability, as a culture. If Haim and Feldman were regular guys, would there be a show here? Money could be made off keeping these "Lost Boys" lost forever. 

Perhaps it's this historical depiction of females as unable to confront each other without jumping into the nearest swimming pool and ripping each other's blouses off that makes the growing love/hate chess match between Ellen and Patty on FX's "Damages" so compelling. Having indoctrinated Ellen (Rose Byrne) into the cutthroat world of high-priced lawyers by baptizing her in her fiancé's blood, Patty (Glenn Close) still refuses to acknowledge any animosity between the two of them. Instead, she gives Ellen expensive gifts, sends Ellen's "replacement," Alex (Tara Summers), to Ellen for advice, or calls Ellen at 4 a.m. to invite her over for dinner, purposefully telling her the wrong night so that she'll show up and find Alex and Patty working closely together over a bottle of red wine.

At first, Ellen is straightforward. She tells Patty, "If you want to talk to me, don't play games. Just pick up the phone and call." She believes that working for the assistant district attorney is her true calling and will deliver her from the evil of Patty's ways. But as the Bernie-Madoff-alike Tobin case unfolds, Ellen realizes that Patty gets results in ways that her naive and politically motivated overlords never will. She's also romanced by Patty's odd mix of flattery and ulterior motives; she's transfixed by this woman's manipulations, her deviance, all hidden by her "Who me? Don't be silly!" mask, which Close brings to life with some deliciously malignant undertones.

This subdued standoff was the highlight of Monday night's episode, which left us guessing about what the hell Patty is up to, what Ellen is trying to pull, and whose side anyone is on in the end. What's brilliant about "Damages," though, is that the exact alignment of these women, what their aims with the Tobin case are, or whether they love or despise each other underneath it all, hardly matters. They're locked in some twisted battle or dance or duel or sophisticated game of one-upmanship, and they're both being fed by it. The best moment of "You Haven't Replaced Me"? When Ellen, in bed with her new do-gooder boyfriend who's obviously a pawn and not a real partner, puts down the phone after Patty's rude, aggressive 4 a.m. call, and smiles. She matters to Patty -- either as a pawn herself, or as an ally, or as a foe. Somehow, this gives Ellen a charge. Whoever wins or gets the last word or falls the hardest for the other's charms/trip wires, one thing is for certain: In Ellen, we're seeing a young Patty, drawn in by the lures of intimidation, power and victory at any cost.

Here are a few of the highs and lows of the night:

Best new twists on old features: 1) James Taylor's sweet, wavering voice singing live during the "In Memoriam" portion added a touching and personal dimension to this segment; 2) Remember when the dancing on the Oscars was limited to lackluster, paint-by-numbers choreography by hammy, foolishly costumed Broadway wannabes? The Legion of Extraordinary Dancers blew that tradition out of the water in bringing the best original score nominees to life. The dances for "The Hurt Locker" and "Avatar," in particular, were evocative and breathtaking.

Worst new twists on old features: 1) Neil Patrick Harris is very talented, but after last year's hilariously funny Hugh Jackman showstopper, this song and dance was only OK. 2) Bringing the best actor and actress nominees onstage in the first moments of the awards? Awkward and pointless. 3) The John Hughes montage was wonderful, but the tribute wandered astray with the big group of actors standing and honoring him with one or two sentences. "He gave us the gift of laughter," one of them says, thereby giving us the gift of queasiness and John Hughes the gift of turning in his grave.

Best joke of the night: Alec Baldwin explains, "In 'Precious,' Gabourey Sidibe is told she's worthless, nobody likes her, that she has no future. Hey, I'm with CAA too!"

Off-color joke of the night: Robin Williams: "Later this evening, the governor's ball will be held, just one of many balls being held all over Hollywood tonight."

Worst dressed: Miley Cyrus appears wearing what looks like one of those 24-hour girdles Jane Seymour used to hawk on TV.

Best exchange of the night: Between Robert Downey Jr. and Tina Fey, in a prelude to the best original screenplay.

Fey: Great movies begin with great writing.

Downey: What does an actor look for in a script? Specificity. Emotional honesty. Catharsis.

Fey: And what does a writer look for in an actor? Memorizing. Not paraphrasing. Fear of ad-libbing.

Downey: Actors want scripts with social relevance, warm weather locations, phone call scenes that can be shot separately from that insane actress that I hate, and long dense columns of uninterrupted monologue, turning the page, and for instance seeing the phrase, "Tony Stark, continued."

Fey: And we writers dream of a future where actors are mostly computer-generated and their performances can be adjusted by us, on a laptop, alone.

Downey: It's a collaboration, a collaboration between handsome, gifted people and sickly little mole people.

Strangest moment: Elinor Burkett interrupts Roger Ross Williams while he's accepting the best doc short award. "Let the woman talk," she says. At first it looks like she's some random crazy person who jumped up onto the stage. It doesn't help that Roger Ross Williams doesn't really move over and let her stand in front of the microphone. Salon's Kerry Lauerman spoke to both Williams and Burkett post-Oscars, and the whole crazy clash is explained here.

Best impromptu joke: When screenwriter Geoffrey Fletcher wins best adapted screenplay for "Precious," he gives a heartfelt but stunned speech and ends it all with, "Sorry, I'm drawing a blank here. Thank you, everyone." Martin appears and brags to the audience, "I wrote that speech for him."

Worst incidence of playing with fire: Several people give James Cameron credit for their Oscar and one calls him a genius. Is it really in our best interest to make James Cameron feel more powerful than he already does?

Least gracious remarks of the night: 1) Mo'Nique, "I would like to thank the Academy for showing that it can be about the performance and not the politics." She's referring to the criticism surrounding her refusal to campaign for an Oscar, but it ends up sounding like a slapdown of her fellow nominees -- that if, say, Maggie Gyllenhal won the Oscar, it wouldn't have been about the performance.

2) Best costume design winner Sandy Powell (of "The Young Victoria") starts off her speech with, "Well, I already have two of these, so I'm feeling greedy. I'd like to dedicate this one to ..." It's not a handbag, woman. Guess this is just another ho-hum Oscar-winning day in her sparkly-hat life.

3) Joe Letteri accepting best visual effects for "Avatar": "Just remember the world that we live in is just as amazing as the one we created for you." Thanks for that little reminder. Also, remember that the real Lord and Savior and Creator of the Heavens and the Earth is just as all-powerful as James Cameron.

Most accurate mistake of the night: Keanu Reeves, who has become a parody of himself, comes out and speaks in his signature monotone. "Isn't he paralyzed?" asks my 12-year-old stepson. "Pretty much," I answer. "Oh, I was thinking of Christopher Reeves," he says.

Best introductions: Both by Steve Martin. 1) On Sandra Bullock: "You loved her in 'The Blind Side,' adored her in 'The Proposal,' and thought she was just OK in 'Miss Congeniality II.'" 2) On "Precious": "The one film that really lived up to the video game." 

Best gags: 1) Ben Stiller with a blue face and scary yellow eyes, speaking Na'vi. 2) Cutting to Martin and Baldwin backstage wearing Snuggies. 3) Martin and Baldwin's parody of "Paranormal Activity," in which they sleep fitfully all night in the same bed.

Best recovery: Just when the tributes to the best actor nominees is getting a little bit over-the-top with talk of the "enormous talent" of "the magnificent Colin Firth" and so on, Tim Robbins saves the day in his tribute to costar Morgan Freeman: "I'll never forget what you said to me about friendship on the last day of shooting. You said, 'Being a friend is getting the other a cup of coffee. Can you do that for me, Ted? It is Ted, isn't it?'"

Best reaction shot: When Stanley Tucci says of Meryl Streep, "The two movies we did together were the highlight of my career," Streep giggles at the audacity of this, which she clearly believes is an exaggeration.

Strangest trend of the night: Jokes about being gay. Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin have numerous "we're a couple" gags, Colin Farrell brags about spooning with Jeremy Renner, and Sandra Bullock refers to "my lover Meryl Streep." It's official: Pretending you're gay is the new pretending you're not gay.

Most abrupt transition: In the wake of Kathryn Bigelow's best director win, Tom Hanks appears and announces that "The Hurt Locker" has won best picture without reminding us of all the nominees. There are 10 of them, after all, and even if they were introduced throughout the night, that doesn't mean we couldn't use a little suspense building, along with a glimpse at all of the honored filmmakers.

Best way to one-up your ex: By snatching two Oscars out of his hands in one night. "Avatar" is certainly an inspired film, not to mention the highest-grossing movie of all time. Maybe that's why it's particularly satisfying to see Kathryn Bigelow win best director -- the first woman to do so, by the way -- and best picture for her relatively humble film "The Hurt Locker." Suddenly her ex-husband (and our Lord and Savior and Creator of the Heavens and the Earth) Cameron seems not nearly as all-powerful as he did a few hours ago. Hurray for Bigelow! One small slap upside the head to the King of the World, and one giant step for womankind!