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This
ain't my Party… Yet Another Rant About The Academy Awards
By Kyle DuVall
It's easy
to bitch about the Oscars. In fact, it's gotten to the point
where all the moaning and righteous indignation about who
won what on Oscar night is about as tiresome as the show itself.
Like many
others, I firmly believe that the worst thing anyone who holds
movies in reverence can do is watch the annual Academy Awards
broadcast. But my Beef with Oscar Night goes beyond the obligatory
railing against the bonehead nominations and inexplicably
allocated awards that pop up every year. No, I am not writing
another over-obvious protest of the completely subjective
and extremely political process that picks out the winners
and losers on Oscar night. Instead, I am writing because I
believe the greatest tragedy of Oscar night lies not in the
flawed nomination process, but in the execution of the Oscar
ceremony itself and how the Academy, hungry for advertising
money and ratings shares, has turned what should be a prestigious,
night of honor and celebration for lovers of American film,
into a shallow spectacle of celebrity, populism and ego that
most true film lovers are too embarrassed to watch.
For those
of us who love movies there is no doubt that Film is art,
the quintessential American art. Movies can change our emotional
landscape. They can alter our perceptions forever, or they
can simply make us feel really good. The effect a movie can
have on an audience, or, even the world as a whole, is awesome.
Film, when it realizes its highest aspirations, is not a trivial
diversion. It is something of immeasurable cultural power,
a thing of depth and emotion. A thing of substance. The Academy
Awards were created to celebrate movies that come closest
to fulfilling these aspirations. The Oscar Ceremony itself
is the literal realization and expression of this celebration.
So film
lovers, I ask you this: If the Oscars truly do seek to celebrate
these vaunted ambitions, then why is the Oscar show, from
the torrent of gossip-column inanities of the pre-show red-carpet
walk, all the way through the 4-plus hours of tele-prompted
pap and scripted "moments" that comprise the ceremony itself,
nothing but a pageant of Hollywood at it basest? If the Oscars
themselves celebrate substance, why does the ceremony that
distributes them highlight and exemplify the hype, celebrity
and ego that are the antithesis of what the Academy ostensibly
seeks to honor?
The answer
to this semi rhetorical question isn't too hard to answer
if you are thinking in purely pragmatic terms. The Academy
is pretty much bankrolled by the profits from the TV rights
of the Academy Awards broadcasts. There probably wouldn't
even be Oscars anymore if the Academy hadn't sold out and
started televising the awards back in the 50's. Basically
the show has to make money. Lots of money. Still, purely financial
answers are a cop out when you are talking about art and even
in light of these fiduciary facts, one still has to ask: does
populism have to be this shameless. Isn't there room at all
for a little dignity, even at the lowest common denominator?
If you
watched this year's Oscar broadcast then you already know
that, for the time being, the answer to that blockbuster-budget
question is: "No." There was much to dishearten and demean
film lovers in the proceedings this year, with truly inspiring
moments showing up only furtively.
Like always,
the night's festivities began with the frenetic pre-show arrivals.
In years past the arrivals of the stars was simply a glitzy
footnote to the ceremonies, a photo-op for the celebrity press
and a peep-show for well-meaning onlookers. But, over the
past few decades, the simple entrance of the stars to the
presentation has crystallized into an orchestrated, formal
"event" complete with bleachers, press kiosks and multi-network
live television coverage.
Here the
aims of Oscar have been twisted the most. The pre-show hype
is star-worship at its worst; the belief that merely catching
a glimpse of a star is something urgent and that who has on
what designer ensemble is worthy of exhaustive media analysis.
This year,
as its has been in the past decade or so, celebrities were
forced to navigate a labyrinth of cameras and media bimbos
just to get to the front doors of the Shrine Auditorium. To
make the situation worse, the red carpet parasites doing the
pre-show coverage are, inevitably, the detritus of celebrity
"journalism", and the minefield of appallingly idiotic questions
these boobs lay in the stars paths demean both artists and
the audience
This form
of glitzy harassment always puts celebrities in a no-win situation.
If they ignore the "press", they look like complete Hollywood
assholes. On the other hand, when they do answer the bonehead
queries of the plastic people, they have to struggle to form
some sort of stimulating response to a question that, inevitably,
has befuddled them with its sheer idiocy.
A visionary
like Ang Lee shouldn't have to be blindside by some media-bimbo
asking him, completely sincerely, why he didn't over dub Crouching
Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Former nominees shouldn't have to respond
to a question like: "Is it easier watching the Oscars when
you're not nominated?" A question which is not only astoundingly
vacuous in its obviousness, but also slightly offensive.
Then again,
what should we expect. These are the people who, when confronted
by Anthony Hopkins, one of the greatest and most varied actors
of our time, can only crack Hannibal Lecter jokes. "Hey, he'll
have trouble finding companions at the banquet table afer
the show…heh, heh…chuckle chuckle…" Jackasses.
Of course,
if you think the pre-show is about "insightful" questions
regarding the nature of cinema, then you haven't watched very
many Oscars. The red carpet walk is about the exact antithesis
of art: Fashion.
In the
old days, the starsucking fashion jackals at least had the
decency to wait until the morning after the Oscars to take
their little nitpicking potshots at the stars' wardrobes.
Now, with all the coverage, the media whores get instant gratification.
One network even had a frazzle-haired, anorexic couture jackass
on hand to serve as a sort of color commentator.
The pre-show
fashion fawning is the first cancer that needs to be excised
from the Oscars show's ailing body if there is any hope of
injecting a little dignity in the proceedings. With notable
exceptions, the Oscar night attendees are dreamers, creators
and artists. They fashion visions and sweat and toil to manifest
them into reality. What right do reptilian nonentities like
Joan Rivers have to pass judgement on people with actual talent
based merely on their hemlines, accessories and designer labels.
Why must these people the Oscar ceremony wishes to honor be
demeaned by a flock of network subsidized, infotainment buzzards
gawking and waiting behind the velvet ropes to swoop in and
feed on any fashion faux-pas they see with their soulless,
vindictive eyes.
After
the arrivals, the theme of celebrity over substance continued
well into the night.
This year's
show began with a little computer-animated vignette showing
radiowaves of Oscars past travelling into space. We start
at the edge of the solar system, with images of the earliest
televised Oscar moments and, as the camera moves closer to
the earth the little Oscar snippets become more recent, until
we arrive at the big night, Oscar 2002. The point of this
little intro seemed to be to show that Oscar night was an
event that would echo forever through the cosmos.
Well,
we can all breathe easy folks, now that we know, someday,
the advanced cultures of the Andromeda galaxy will get to
hear Marisa Tomei's Oscar acceptance speech.
A live
broadcast from the international space station followed. In
an awkward segment, 3 space station astronauts chatted up
the Oscars via satellite. The bit drug on, but, when you think
about it, the Oscars and the international space station are
well matched. After all, they're both just expensive publicity
stunts.
The space
station telecast ended with a gag where a cardboard cutout
of Oscar host Steve Martin is sucked out of an airlock as
if he is being "beamed down" the Shrine Auditorium stage.
The bit fell flat, but Martin quickly recovered with a stand-up
style monologue that was infinitely less cloying than the
indulgent, splashy musical shtick Billy Crystal usually uses
to kick off the show.
Martin's
monologue was peppered with "biting", "satirical" jokes that
benignly poked fun at all the expected Hollywood excesses.
Self-deprecating humor is as ubiquitous at the Oscars as false
humility, but, as always, Martin made sure he kept within
the boundaries, pushing a little bit, but always playing it
safe. In the end, these jokes about Tinseltown's excesses
of greed and mediocrity just seem shameless in the context
of the evening, where Hollywood's elite can laugh at themselves
with impunity while awaiting their awards, press coverage
and gourmet post-show meal.
When the
furtive laughter subsided, it was time for the inevitable:
the handing out of the awards. The academy has developed some
new strategies over the past few years to help streamline
the show. One very effective ploy is the more even distribution
of the presentations for the high profile categories. This
means all the highly-anticipated awards aren't crammed into
the shows last hour anymore. Another, more controversial new
policy involves time limits on Oscar acceptance speeches.
This is a real mixed blessing.
The time
limits as they stand now, only leave enough time for recipients
to rattle off a few names. Categories where a large group
of individuals receive an award are even worse, because, inevitably,
one person ends up hogging the mic and thanking everyone they
know and relegating their deserving colleagues to silence.
The jackbooted thugs the Miramax corporation keeps offstage
to keep incoherent, unorganized stars from blathering on seem
to be very effective, but one has to ask the question: If
the audience can't see their favorite stars and artists react
honestly and fully to their respective awards, what the hell
are they watching for? What's the payoff for sitting through
the intros and technical awards and flat musical numbers?
I am all
for giving the gong to primadonnas who rattle on and on and
on meaninglessly, but why do artists who are eloquent, organized
and insightful have to suffer. If an awards recipient is on
a roll and really has something good and sincere and enlightening
to say, let him or her say it without fear of being drowned
out by a canned orchestra blaring through the sound system.
The time
limits are even more insidious when one figures out their
real purpose: to free up more time for advertising. Personally,
I'd rather watch 5 minutes of rambling discourse from some
obscure art director than watch 5 minutes of Britney Spears
gyrating to the latest synthesized Pepsi anthem.
So, as
would be expected most of the big speeches this year were
just frantic recitations of hastily memorized names. One notable
exception was Russel Crowe's "Aw, shucks lets hear it for
the underdog…" speech. This heaping helping of false humility
was especially irksome because it was embarrassingly evident
to everyone watching the show that there was more acting,
more skill and more range in the 30 second clips of Javier
Barden and Ed Harris shown before announcing the winner than
in the entire 2 and a half deadpan hours of Gladiator. It
also didn't help that Crowe acted like a complete humorless
prick during Steve Martin's opening monologue.
Crowe
still made out better than Oscar winners Marcia Gay Harden
and Julia Roberts, who both won awards for portraying real
people and then, inexcusably, forget to thank those individuals
in their acceptance speeches. Harden Played Lee Krasner, the
wife of artist Jackson Pollock in the film Pollock. When Harden
won the award for best supporting actress, she proceeded to
thank Ed Harris, her husband, her agent, her lawyer, the guy
at the snack bar…basically everybody but Krasner or Pollock,
without whom there would have been no character to play, no
story for her to act out, and no career-bolstering statuette.
America's
sweetheart Julia Roberts did the same thing when she won the
best actress Oscar for playing Erin Brockovich in the movie
Erin Brockovich. In her flustered speech, Roberts forgot to
thank, you guessed it, Erin Brockovich. Roberts did apologize
during a post-show press conference and many have come rushing
to her defense by saying that receiving the Oscar was such
an emotional moment that anyone might have made the same mistake.
Personally,
I think this is horseshit.
Yes, it was an overwhelming moment for America's prom queen,
and yes, most media sycophants feel Roberts can do no wrong,
but lets break this down. Thirty seconds before receiving
the award, a clip was shown from Erin Brockovich. At the bottom
of the giant monitor showing the clip was the title: Erin
Brockovich. When Roberts was announced the winner, the presenter
also mentioned, over the PA, that she won for Erin Brockovich.
Several times previous in the show, clips from Erin Brockovich
had been shown in conjunction with other awards, and the name
Erin Brockovich was mentioned over that same PA system. For
christ's sake, the title of the movie, the film that has brought
Julia Roberts the greatest acclaim of her career, the film
whose title was plastered in giant cardboard-cutouts in every
video store in America, was called: Erin Brockovich.
If you
were Julia Roberts how, exactly, could you forge those two
words: Erin Brockovich? The first words that should have passed
through those famously ample lips after Roberts hit the podium
should have been: "I would like to thank Erin Brockovich…"
No excuses. No bullshit.
This gaffe
was especially telling for The Film Erin Brockovich's harshest
critics. The omission of Brockovich's name by Roberts seemed
to confirm what they had been saying all along: That the presence
of Roberts in the film completely overwhelmed the sort of
social and environmental concerns Erin Brockovich was trying
to make.
If there
was any noteworthy acceptance speech at all on Oscar night,
it was the one given by legendary screenwriter Ernest Lehman
after he received an honorary Oscar for his work as a writer.
Lehman, a giant in the history of Hollywood, wrote such classics
as North By Northwest, Sabrina and The Sound Of Music. In
his speech, Lehman repeatedly expressed his sincere disbelief
that he was finally being honored with an Oscar after all
his years of writing. Lehman then gave an impassioned plea
for critics, executives and audiences to pay more attention
to the often-unsung labors of screenwriters. The wizened old
writer's speech was by far the most emotional and heartfelt
speech of the evening. Unfortunately, since it wasn't given
by a 26 year old with a perfect body and a $5000 evening gown,
nobody gave a shit.
This one
moment of drama still couldn't do much for the show as a whole.
My vote for the absolute worst , most nauseating moment if
the evening came courtesy of award presenter and former Oscar
recipient Hilary Swank. Before rattling off her teleprompted
presentation "intro" Swank deviated from the script and took
it upon herself to announce that she was going to thank a
few people she had forget to mention in her Oscar acceptance
speech last year. Swank, who had no nominations this year,
then took a moment allotted to honor and respect a group of
current nominees and selfishly commandeered it so she could
bask in the spotlight for a few more moments. Perhaps Swank's
sentiments were sincere and not what they seemed to be: the
limelight snatching stunt of a primadonna, but either way,
the belated thank-yous were, at the least, a tacky breach
of etiquette unbecoming of a former Oscar winner. Here's some
free advice Hillary: You're not on 90210 anymore, so stop
acting like Shannen Doherty.
The criteria
used to choose presenters like Swank is baffling and wholly
indicative of Oscar night's ethos of celebrity over substance
anyway. Having former nominees and winners give out the Oscars
is a no-brainer. These are people who have earned a right
to honor their peers, people who, theoretically, have an intimate
connection to the achievements being honored.
This said,
what credentials make a flash-in-the-pan pseudodiva like Jennifer
Lopez and her nipples eligible to give out an award that embodies
the highest honor Hollywood can bestow upon an individual.
What has Ashley Judd done to qualify her as a presenter. Maybe
if every presentation wasn't so meticulously scripted and
devoid of any sort of insight, the Academy might have to appoint
presenters who actually know something about what they were
presenting. Perhaps we might actually here something worth
listening to.
Many people
who read these arguments and criticisms will ultimately respond
with a defeatist attitude. The Oscars are a Hollywood soap-opera,
a circus thrown for ratings shares. It's a marketing tool
for studios wishing to inject some revenue into the otherwise
sluggish late-winter movie season. Perhaps all these thing
as are true, but its still doesn't answer the real question:
why do we settle for this and keep tuning in. Because, ultimately
that's what keeps the Oscar show going.
Personally,
I like the concept of the Oscars. I like the fact that, on
Oscar night, small independent pictures can go toe-to-toe
with multimillion-dollar studio epics and, sometimes, beat
them out purely on artistic merit. I like the fact that Oscar
recognition can often push moviegoers whose cinematic diet
consists of mostly of CGI explosions and Jim Carrey into seeing
something with substance. I like the idea that an Oscar can
boost promising talent into the mainstream and I especially
like the idea that one night a year is set aside to celebrate
the magic of movies and the efforts of the dreamers who create
them.
Unfortunately,
the celebration we've been forced to settle for isn't worthy
of these aspirations. The Academy Awards presentation show
should reaffirm our beliefs that Film is art, and an interest
in film is a thing of substance and character. But, as it
stands now, the Oscar ceremony is a celebration lost in its
own hype and neutered by its fascination with glitz, marketing
and Nielsen ratings, an entity more likely to make us call
those beliefs into question for a few hours, and, at times,
make us all believe that loving the movies is not a thing
of taste and culture, but a diversion of the shallow, vain
and superficial.
That's
not how it should be. We need a new ceremony, a new party.
One that's about the art and achievement, not the fame and
fortune. Until we get it, do yourself a favor: tune out on
Oscar night, or, better yet, go see a good movie instead.
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