The Oscars — yawn — are about to begin.

I’ve watched the Oscar broadcast since I was a child, which dates  back too far to remember. The first image I do remember is Gregory Peck accepting the Best Actor Oscar for “To Kill a Mockingbird,” which happened on April 8, 1963.

Before that, I mostly remember Bob Hope cracking one joke after the next.

In recent years, though, the Oscars have grown … boring. Maybe it’s the return to 10 Best Picture nominations. Maybe it’s the curious lack of suspense. Maybe it’s just that the films have gotten worse instead of better. Maybe it’s the growing sense of self-importance that Hollywood exudes. Maybe it’s all the above.

So, I’ll be watching tonight. But unlike past years, when I still believed in Santa Claus — and not “The Santa Clause” — and the inherent goodwill of humanity, I won’t be investing a whole lot of emotion in the proceedings.

I wish Ricky Gervais were playing host.