My Thoughts About Oscar

I have made it a point to watch the Academy Awards every year since I was in junior high. (I remember my mother telling me I could stay up if I wanted, always with the stern warning that I had school the next day and that I’d better not oversleep.)

I have fond memories of this, traditionally the most-watched show of the year. I recall one year in the late Sixties or early Seventies when Elizabeth Taylor presented the Best Picture award wearing a beautiful yellow dress that was particularly flattering to her tanned skin and black hair. I can still hear my father, who watched with me, saying with approval, “She knows what colors to wear.” Then there was that infamous streaker at the 1974 ceremonies, at the height of the craze. Barbra Streisand’s horrible sequined pajamas with the Peter Pan collar the year after she won Best Actress for Funny Girl. (I must say her taste in clothing, which of late runs toward elegant Donna Karan outfits, has improved drastically as she got older.)

Last night’s show was the first that made me consider going to bed. The show seemed to drag on eternally. Yes, I felt Ellen DeGeneres did a fine job as host, but the show was bogged down with montages for this and that and, curiously, with reaction shots of Jack Nicholson’s face. The show was on for nearly an hour before they presented the award for Supporting Performance, which I recall used to be the first award given out (and it was for a male performer, making me wonder if they’ve ever heard of the expression, “Ladies first.”) For the most part it was one long snooze. I actually felt sorry for the folks trapped in the audience. At least I had on my bathrobe and scuffies.

I was thrilled when Martin Scorcese finally won a Best Director trophy. It would have been difficult if the award, presented by three of Scorcese's directing colleagues rather than the usual actors, went to anyone else.

Someone early in the telecast said that "Anyone can win. It's much harder to lose." I have to agree with that observation. I must say that Eddie Murphy visibly handled the loss of Best Supporting Actor quite well, much better than Peter O’Toole, who looked truly stunned for several seconds after Forest Whitaker’s name was called as Best Actor. Naturally, the first thing I heard regarding the gala evening on the news this morning was how badly Eddie Murphy behaved after his loss, storming out of the venue shortly afterward. (Of course, this same TV station included in their website Oscar coverage that Singin’ in the Rain lost the Best Picture of 1953 Oscar to From Here to Eternity. There’s just two things wrong with that statement: Singin’ in the Rain – which happens to be one of my favorite movies – was released in 1952, not 1953. And it wasn’t even nominated, so it couldn’t have lost. So I take anything they report with a proverbial grain of salt.) But I do hope he behaved as graciously as he appeared when the camera panned in for a close-up reaction shot.

Regarding the hubbub about how the silly comedy Norbit destroyed Eddie Murphy’s chances to win an Oscar, that’s the type of thinking that cheapens the Oscars, making it more of a personal issue and less about the performance they gave in a particular role – which is supposed to be the sole reason for the vote. I haven’t seen Alan Arkin’s performance in Little Miss Sunshine, but I did see Eddie in Dreamgirls, and personally, I didn’t think he was all that hot. (Nor is a Golden Globe anything to turn up one's nose at, even if it is less prestigious than the Oscar.) As for Jennifer Hudson, I predict she will go on to a major music career and that Grammys are in her future but not necessarily a lot of films, since singing is her strong point and musicals aren’t in vogue. But she will hardly be the first Oscar winner whose movie career didn’t amount to much; there’s a long list. And I'm glad that she didn't fall out of her dress as she performed; her right boob seemed a little precarious as she sang.

So the best of 2006 has been decided, and now it’s on toward the best of 2007. Maybe next year’s telecast will be livelier. If not, I'll go on to bed, and it will mark the end of a tradition in my life that’s gone on for nearly forty years.