Somewhere toward the end of the marathon 74th annual Academy
Awards fest, someone screamed orgasmically from an upper balcony of
the Kodak Theater, the lavish new venue that brought Oscar back to
Hollywood. “Just wipe yourself off when you’re through,” responded
the quick ceremonial mistress Whoopi Goldberg.
A perfect Oscarnight moment, perhaps: The telecast’s designated
comedian (or comedienne, though Whoopi’d reject that one) pushes
raciness a smidgen, then tries to recover decorum by apologizing
for her lapse. But since the sitcoms have been pushing and pushing
for years now, who much cared?
And as the ceremonies came to their own climax, the usual forced
highmindedness and self-congratulations now spent, viewers might
have been inclined to take Whoopi’s advice. Wiping themselves off,
the television audience probably wondered why they endured the
record four hours and twenty-three minutes in the first place.
Escape, of course. Escape from politics, war and all the other
anxieties that beset us. If it’s not exactly the spiritual
fulfillment of high culture, then trivia will do. The post-Sept. 11
cliché is that trivia (along with irony and whatever else)
is dead. But of course it’s not. Trivia matters, even when gussied
up as seriousness.
Naturally the headline is that black actors and actresses
finally were vindicated. Conspiracy theorists will hold that the
message went out to Academy voters that this had to happen, what
with mounting pressure to quota-ize motion picture casts. Best
Actor: Denzel Washington; Best Actress Halle Berry. And that
honorary Oscar (why now, why in 2002?) to the iconic Sidney
Poitier.
I, for one, don’t mind. They amply deserved the awards.
Washington’s maniacally corrupted L.A. narc in “Training Day” took
his finely crafted talent to new depths. (I do hope his newest
movie, if not his role, can be stuffed down the memory hole. “John
Q” is the most morally irresponsible movie of the last year, which
isn’t saying much.) The always scrumptious Halle Berry proved
herself as well, though it’s disquieting to think her wild sex
scene with Billy Bob Thornton — surely new territory for a Best
Actress — was all in a day’s work. If that was only acting, I
might even pay for it… And “Monster’s Ball” is an exquisitely
redemptive movie.
One could even empathize with Berry’s emotional acceptance
speech, especially the tribute to Dorothy Dandridge, Lena Horne,
Angela Bassett, et al. The moment really was packed with meaning
for “women of color”; there’s no denying it. Whether
African-American Night at the Oscars really does knock down doors
remains to be seen. Doubtless the first through the door will be
Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton, invigorated and emboldened to demand
more from film producers.
Still, I’m glad it happened, if only to get on with
post-racialist movie-making, a sensibility that hit real life
before it hit the Silver Screen. Rather like lancing a boil.
And who couldn’t be awed by Sidney Poitier, whose eloquence on
the Kodak stage called to mind American liberalism at its best,
before its descent into madness? So why can’t we make movies like
“Lillies of the Field” anymore? That’s when nuns’ habits concealed
nothing but grace and Godliness. Poitier’s amazing presence also
prompted the thought that too many stars — e.g., the luminescent
Jennifer Connelly, in her Best Supporting Actress acceptance, and
Tom Cruise, in his weird effort to open the show by solemnizing
Sept. 11 — cannot deliver a decent public speech.
Speaking of madness, this was the night for “A Beautiful Mind.”
Never mind that “Mind” got John Nash’s mathematical contributions
wrong, even trying inappositely to correct Adam Smith. And never
mind all the mud-slinging about Nash’s delusionary anti-Semitism
and pederasty, which only illustrates the coincidence of such
tendencies with insanity. The Academy, apparently desperate to show
it didn’t need its own version of campaign finance reform, voted
against transparent efforts to sink the film. The Best Picture nod
could even be seen as a vote against Matt Drudge, who brought up
all the Nash sleaze in the first place.
The best picture, really, was the masterful “Lord of the Rings:
The Fellowship of the Rings,” the Tolkein adaptation that deserved
far more than its handful of statuettes for technical merit. This,
truly, is a work that calls us to courage at an hour when we need
it most.
But Ron Howard, everyone’s nominee for Nicest Guy in Hollywood,
took away the Best Director prize. An acclamation vote, this. I
can’t help thinking it’s really for “Apollo 13,” “Cocoon,” “Long
Ago and Far Away,” and any number of other overlooked
Howard-directed treasures.
Somehow Russell Crowe, engagingly trying to work the Brandovian
Baddest Guy in Hollywood mojo, came up short. A gifted actor who
throws his heart into his work, and doubtless more likable than he
lets on, Crowe apparently figured that a mumbled Aussie accent
would sound West Virginian, and that walking without swinging his
arms made him look, well, mentally off. Didn’t work. Nor did his
T-shirted hunkiness, which doesn’t quite work in either a Princeton
or an MIT classroom.
When Princess Julia Roberts and Prince Mel Gibson threw their
support to Denzel Washington, the conspiracy fires were fanned. It
was over for poor Russell. We wait for Gibson’s splendid “We Were
Soldiers” to be eligible next year — Gibson, of course, whose
pursuit of gravitas competes with the sneaking suspicion, as he
grows older, that he was separated at birth from Soupy Sales. (OK,
have you ever seen them in the same room together?)
Almost forgot another Whoopi moment: when she draped a scarf
around Oscar’s (already invisible) privates. Attorney General John
Ashcroft, she joshed, advised her to do that. Ya know what?
Ashcroft deserved that one. For once, Whoopi was right.
All in all, the Oscarcast projected a welcome post-Sept. 11
sobriety. Woody Allen’s tribute to New York City made us forgive
all. Likewise Kevin Spacey’s call for a moment of silence for the
fallen American heroes. Merry Prankster Wavy Gravy ridiculously
showing up in a documentary to inform us that 1975’s abominable
“Hearts and Minds” actually stopped the Vietnam war reminded us of
how bad it once was, and how far we’ve come. And Best Screenwriter
Julian Fellowes, a Brit winning for “Gosford Park, ” actually
invoked God’s blessing on America, thereby helping to alleviate the
pain caused by the idiotic anti-Americanism tossed around by
director Robert Altman.
We can all go wipe ourselves off now.
