Sharon's Muse.... Let's chat over coffee while I ponder some things
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Sharon's Muse.... Let's chat over coffee while I ponder some things |
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Tuesday, February 20, 2007 It's that time of year again...  ...as the impending Oscars ceremony looms upon us like a dark cloud blowing in from the west. To be honest, I really don't give a (bleep) about these overlavish, overlong, self-congratulatory ceremonies, but I came across this hilarious send-up about how NOT to give an Oscar speech by Jim Emerson writing for MSN Movies. His razor-cutting observations spare no one - not even the late, great Laurence Olivier. Here are some of the enumerated good-natured albeit blood-letting advice that had me cackling:1. Get a Grip Why is it that the only people who really appear to lose control when they accept their statuette are the actors? Why don't the art directors and sound editors sputter and wail as if they'd just been spared from lethal injection? If anything, you'd think the actors would be better able to control their emotions than most people. And you'd be right. You see, actors dig emotional meltdowns, on screen and off. They do it on purpose. It's almost a form of noblesse oblige -- a generous Acting Gratuity (more than 20 percent), if you will: "I will now treat you to an extraordinary demonstration of how deeply I am moved!" And, at the same time, it's a form of grandiose self-inflation and self-abasement: "I scrape and bow to acknowledge how much you have honored me!" Of course, Gwyneth Paltrow (Best Actress, "Shakespeare in Love," 1998) just stood there and squeaked like a broken drip-irrigation node, but at least she had the decency to be horrified and humiliated about it later, claiming she'd put her Oscar at the back of a bookcase because it brought back painful memories of her big, pink weep-down. One of the most divisive Oscar speeches of recent years (some were moved, some were appalled) was the tornado of tears Halle Berry whipped up around herself when she won Best Actress for "Monster's Ball" in 2001. Berry's Interminable Moment-of-Special-Pleading was a gale-force ego storm that threatened to suck up the entire universe. It was like the Big Bang in reverse: "Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I'm sorry. This moment is so much bigger than me," blubbered Berry, trying desperately to make the moment big enough for her. "This moment is for Dorothy Dandridge, Lena Horne, Diahann Carroll," she continued, in a name-dropping paroxysm that cried out, instead, for Lloyd Bentsen. "It's for the women that stand beside me, Jada Pinkett, Angela Bassett, Vivica Fox. And it's for every nameless, faceless woman of color that now has a chance because this door tonight has been opened." Yes, because now all nameless, faceless women of color could grow up to be Best Actress Oscar winners, just like their universal idol, Halle Berry! "Thank you. I'm so honored. I'm so honored," Berry further honored herself. "And I thank the Academy for choosing me to be the vessel for which His blessing might flow." Which brings us to our next piece of advice ... 2. Don't Assume That God Voted for You No incarnation of the Creator of All Things is registered as a member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, and nowhere on the Academy ballots is there a category for Best Vessel Through Whom God's Blessings Might Flow. (There remains some question, however, about whether Jesus Christ personally chooses the Grammy winners.) Winning an Oscar does not make you a special agent of God's will or the divine favorite over your fellow nominees -- or, for that matter, over the lepers in your category who must suffer the enduring shame of not even being nominated. (Didn't Jesus say that the un-nominated would inherit the earth?) Do not demean the concept of the Almighty by implying that either you, or the members of the Academy who voted for you, are somehow helping to implement God's Mysterious Plan so that you all can bring about the End Times. Even if it's true, don't. It's just bad form. 4. Prepare You're not fooling anyone. We all know you've been hoping, fantasizing, rehearsing. Winners who get up there and say they didn't prepare anything because they didn't expect to win should be yanked offstage and whisked by limo to the nearest Jamboree, where they should be forced to write the Boy and Girl Scout motto 1,000 times on 1,000 separate cue cards until they've memorized it: "Be prepared." (If you're a gay man, the Boy Scouts wouldn't allow you at their Jamboree but, if you're out, you already know that nobody would believe you hadn't prepared an Oscar speech, anyway.) Picking up the award for Best Director (for "A Beautiful Mind" in 2001), Ron Howard confessed: "I'm not a good enough actor anymore to be able to stand up here and make you believe that I haven't imagined this moment in my mind over the years and played it out over a thousand times." If Opie isn't a good enough actor anymore, then neither are you -- even if you win an Oscar. 5. Don't Overprepare (In Other Words: No Lists) All persons entering the Kodak Theatre should be frisked for 8 1/2-x-11-inch sheets of paper. Nothing larger than a 3-x-5 card should be allowed into the auditorium. If there's anything worse than a "spontaneous, unprepared" acceptance speech, it's a monologue delivered, head down, by someone (say, Jennifer Connelly?) who probably couldn't even read convincingly off a teleprompter. At most, your index card should have three items on it. For example: 1. One-liner joke 2. Suck up to X (director, studio exec, casting agent, soon-to-be-ex-spouse -- choose ONE) 3. Thank Academy 6. Enough With the Flowery Speechifying Too many actors think they can write. And too many of those who think that think "writing" involves grandiose rhetoric. One of the worst speeches ever was Laurence Olivier's 1979 honorary Oscar acceptance, which began: "In the great wealth, the great firmament of your nation's generosity, this particular choice may perhaps be found by future generations as a trifle eccentric, but the mere fact of it -- the prodigal, pure, human kindness of it -- must be seen as a beautiful star in that firmament which shines upon me at this moment, dazzling me a little, but filling me with warmth and the extraordinary elation, the euphoria that happens to so many of us at the first breath of the majestic glow of a new tomorrow." That's two firmaments in one sentence, which is at least two firmaments too many. Cut to 18 years later and the insufferably calculated ebullience of Roberto Benigni, who bounded over the seats and seemed to crib from Olivier's English-as-a-Second-Language soliloquy: "I feel like now, really, to dive in this ocean of generosity. ... I would like to be Jupiter in the firmament ... lying down and making love to everybody. This is something I cannot forget from the bottom of my heart." (that "making love to everybody" might be a bit hyperbolic). Just a personal note - on the infinitesimal, improbable chance that I'll ever find myself being called up to the Oscar's podium to accept an award for - let's say - best original screenplay, I'll be sure to take Mr. Emerson's advice and leave the speechifying to the cooler, more eloquent tongues. A brief, "Huh?" will be all I could manage, anyway. Labels: Potpourri
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