There are few television spectacles I love as much as the Academy Awards, but it is not for the reasons you are thinking. I do not care about the movie stars, per se, nor do I know one fashion designer from another, so what celebrities are wearing is irrelevant to me. What gets me is the spectacle that follows the moment after the announcers say “and the winner is …”
When the golden Oscar is handed to the recipient of the greatest honour in the film industry, for one brief second I forget that the whole event is a sham of political nepotism and big-money production houses run by a handful of men. I forget that independent films with lesser budgets deserve more attention. I forget the great performances I’ve seen on stage by actors who will never get to the big screen.
Instead, I take a deep breath and I snuggle in my bathrobe for the 45 seconds of delicious dialogue that bleed into two minutes or more of gushing prose. Anything that can go wrong surely will go wrong in that moment. From the goofy, star struck first-time nominees to the heartfelt long shots and even the dignified but greatly humbled repeat winners, it all comes down to the honesty expressed in those few moments (except they are actors, so, like really, they could be faking the whole thing).
Everything you need to know about that actor, director and costume designer spill out of their mouth in that itty-bitty time when the spotlight is on them. My favorite is the winner whose words are unscripted and are thus uninhibited, uncensored and ramble on in the giddy, emotional realization that they have just reached a career pinnacle. The raw energy of that single moment is addictive.
There are the duds too, the winners who were cocky enough to draft a speech and tuck into their Spanx dress, deep in their stuffed-up cleavage or neatly behind their flask in the suit pocket. When I see that flap of paper appear, the air is slowly sucked out the nominee’s acceptance speech before they even begin. But they’re not as bad as the few who say almost nothing except, “I am honoured. Thank you.” What? That’s the best you can do? Way to go, fool. Now we’re going to have to see Tom Cruise in another bad movie, or worse, Tom Hanks. Thanks for nothing. Go back to your seat. Cue the band.
I get a laugh when a big ensemble cast wins and one guy tries to hog the spotlight to thank his entire family while the other members of his team wait patiently for a turn they won’t get. Just once I’d like to see that guy get a hip check and there be an all-out brawl for the microphone. I wonder what the fallout is backstage. There is no “I” in team, super star. Hmph.
Or what about the actor who thanks everyone but his spouse, the person who has endured his public life and personality disorders for each film character. Imagine the awkward silence in the limo ride home. I would never forget the Carpenter in a speech (he’s not that lucky).
“Ahem … I would like to thank the academy, my parents, my friends, that weird guy in the coffee shop and lastly (big finish, mock tears), the Carpenter, who reminds me daily that our life together is award enough.”
Cue the band.