A lot of people will tell you that Driving Miss Daisy was the worst mistake the oscar judges ever made. Few can recall that Crash is, in fact, also a best picture winner. Many have forgotten or were never aware that Elliott Smith was denied the Best Original Song award in 1998 for Miss Misery, the accolade instead going to My Heart Will Go On from some minor film of not much importance about the sinking of a boat.

If you’ve ever read anything by me about Elliott Smith you’ll probably know about it, because it seems to be a constant when I talk about the doomed genius that he was. I could talk about the music, from Roman Candle, to Figure 8, but I prefer to let that speak for itself; it does so eloquently.

Not, one suspects, that Smith’s life would have been any different had he won. Not that anyone else’s life would have been any different either. Not that many can name any or more than a handful of Best Original Song winners from memory. Not that the Oscars are about appreciating the true talent of the maverick outsider, the indie protagonist, the shy introvert with magic in mind.