FILM ME IN

I still have far too many questions concerning the televised Best Picture mishap at the 89^th Academy Awards, the answers of which refuse to present themselves in the form of ’genuine mistake’. The two culprits have been named and the powers that be have assured us that the Hollywood Two will never work in this town again. The blunder itself isn’t necessarily important – how the evenings most prestigious envelope was misread, duplicated, mishandled or whatever the mix up, seems insignificant compared to fact that it actually happened before our very eyes. The winner, as it currently stands is Moonlight… and the ultimate knife in guts goes to La La Land but I’ll be damned if this whole thing wasn’t a calculated stunt to ensure ratings success at next years ceremony.

When hosting the Oscars the first time around, Chris Rock revealed something very apparent in a skit that aired during the ceremony in which Rock candidly vox-popped cinema goers in Compton to prove that no one actually paid any attention to the best picture nominees, but were considerably acquainted with overlooked blockbusters. When Rock prompted a response for the then current Martin Lawrence picture White Knight, the reviews were predictably swift, cheerfully positive and prompted helpless fits of laughter. With White Knight as the people’s champion, the skit ended with Rock presenting Martin Lawrence with his own Oscar to which his acceptance speech was something to the effect of ‘The Academy can kiss my black ass’. The skit was revised in 2016 by Rock once more to highlight Oscar’s lack of diversity and once again, locals proved they knew little of the pictures nominated that year.

This whole segment has since compelled me to watch the Oscars with a completely different perspective. As a movie lover I’m usually pretty well versed on the noms in most categories and I pride myself on being armed and ready to go come the main event. But thanks to Chris Rock I now can’t help but wonder what appeal the Oscars might have for the casual cinema goer or a strict blockbuster enthusiast, the type of punter that far outweighs the likes of my movie-obsessed existence.

As the ceremonies dragged along year after year I distinctly remember Oscar ratings diminishing and the finger was eventually pointed at the Academy for not showcasing the movies or the actors that were pied-pipering the masses, but rather focusing on the rarely-seen heavy dramas that require emotional investment, are most likely box office poison, and yet are unquestionably the finest of that year. Oscar neglect pained me as the ceremony almost always played at the same time as some Cricket or Australian Rules Football award program and it became harder to defend my night of nights as being the dominant or more worthwhile as I faithfully perceived that it was. The reality was that The Oscars were growing tired, long-winded, overly self-congratulating and positively archaic. This was not helped by a downfall in poorly chosen hosts and the appalling accompanying jokes -Franco and Hathaway admitted the error of their ways and Neil Patrick Harris’ immediate response after hosting was that he will never do that again.

Here in Australia the awards are televised live which is usually the middle of a Monday making the most challenging task at work one of avoiding the internet for spoilers. I usually race home, hide from the six o’clock news and desperately find a copy of the awards to illegally download, which sometimes won’t appear until days later which can understandably border on excruciating. Or in desperate times I have retreated to compiling what clips I could from YouTube to help paint the overall picture, which in a nutshell, sucked.

I now pay attention to how Oscar might be making amends to rectify this larger White Knight issue and he seems to be redeeming himself. Despite a lack of recognisable movies, A-listers like Leo are nominated each year (regardless of the role) and you can be sure that the Martin Lawrence’s of the world are at least presenting an award. Fortunately due to the abundance of additional channels on free-to-air TV, the Oscars re-ran at night this year and the world made sense once more. I persisted in sharing a thought for the blockbuster enthusiast and with the exception of Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson and a holistic career award for Jackie Chan, the young, fast and furious generation had little incentive to tune in. Jimmy Kimmel announced The Rock as a former wrestler who’s currently one of the highest paid actors in the world before he quipped ‘it really puts this into perspective doesn’t it?’ My wincing turned to outcry for we need more The Rocks at this ceremony if it’s ever going to pick up adequate steam, and couldn’t the clever wisecracks be better spent on the likes of say Mel Gibson who nervously and half-expectantly sat beside Kimmel during this exact moment? The Rock may after all become Oscar’s benefactor and saviour.

So how would one keep the Oscars relevant in the age of reality TV? And what live drama could Oscar create to breathe new life into this slipping ceremony? A heart-stopping blunder of course. Not that I’m necessarily complaining, for I’m essentially Oscars unintentional target audience – the likes of me and my starry-eyed view of Hollywood nostalgia were not ignored. We saw recent stars glorifying their favourite actors and movies in pre-taped segments, only to have said star present the next award with their hero. But the real treat for the serious buff came in the form of Warren Beatty and sister Shirley MacLaine. I turned into an obnoxious, if polarised screeching spectator when MacLaine waved to Beatty from the front row as he graced the platform to announce the Best Picture Award, for this confirmed that despite being siblings they are also friends or at least amicable at a glance.

Was it a rumour that they didn’t get along? Was it true that in the 70s Beatty, with his take no shit approach to Hollywood managed to fuck over a majority of key players both figuratively and literally? And wasn’t MacLaine a bit dotty convinced there were aliens among us? The details escape me but it was always clear that they moved in separate circles. That’s certainly the story their pictures tell – she, the studio darling landing a picture during Billy Wilder’s finest hour not to mention an honorary member of the Hitchcock cattle, and he, the maverick that helped bring down the studio system, who graced us with edgy numbers whilst cleaning up at award time, all the while collaborating with genius/ vagrants of the era such as Hal Ashby and Robert Altman. Needless to say, when Bonnie and Clyde reunited for this presentation complete with Terms of Endearment from the front row, I was pretty damn elated.

If you were ever going to stir things up in Hollywood and stage an elaborate, or confusing hoax by reading out the wrong winner via an envelope balls-up, then confess the error mid-acceptance speech by pleading innocent, who would be the ideal candidate to pull it off?  Warren Beatty of course! It’s an absolute no brainer, in fact the shameful debacle almost warrants forgiveness – an instant stream of water over a bygone. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to restore or continue Beatty’s bad boy image that has been so beautifully nurtured throughout his history, particularly on the fortieth anniversary of his Bonnie And Clyde win.

By all accounts Beatty hasn’t taken the fall – the blunder hasn’t adopted the pet name BeattyGate-y much to the dismay of a hopeful Academy, nor has it been recognised as the conspiracy I earnestly believe that it is. But if this reality-TV-esque moment before the eyes of the world is newsworthy enough, then maybe just maybe, the blockbusting-Dwayne-loving large-popcorn-combo consuming elite might just saddle up for the 90^th Academy Awards in 2018.