The Oscars 2014 / Grading the speeches

Lupita Nyong'o
Los Angeles, 2014

The Oscars 2014

GRADING THE SPEECHES

by Michael Schulman
New Yorker, March 3, 2014

Matthew McConaughey
Photograph: Kevin Winter/Getty

Movie stars—award-worthy ones—know how to play to the big screen, but last night’s Academy Awards were pitched to the four-inch variety, the kind that digests GIFs, retweets, and viral memes with the ravenousness of a Best Supporting Actress nominee chomping on a slice of pizza. Intentionally and not, the evening was full of three-second-or-less moments of pure WTF, starting with Jennifer Lawrence’s tumble on the red carpet. Yes, there was Ellen DeGeneres’s bid for Internet posterity, when she and every A-list actor in reach posed for history’s most retweeted selfie. But there were plenty of unplanned nuggets: Meryl Streep shimmying with Pharrell Williams. (GIF!) Kim Novak’s husky guffaw announcing Best Animated Feature. (Ringtone!) There was Liza Minnelli’s reluctant standing ovation for the “Wizard of Oz” tribute. (Note to Pink: there’s no breath between “some” and “where.”) And no sooner had John Travolta introduced Idina Menzel as “Adela Dazeem” than aparody account on Twitter had sprung up and responded, “THANK YOU, JORN TROMOLTO!”

The acceptance speeches, by contrast, were mostly classy and coherent. The best speeches are emotional but not maudlin (Gwyneth Paltrow), spontaneous but not spacey (Jacqueline Bisset), self-knowing but not self-indulgent (James “King of the World” Cameron). On top of that, several of this year’s speechifiers were navigating some tricky subtext. The “12 Years a Slave” crew had to acknowledge that they were riding to victory on the legacy of slavery (and generally did a gracious job of it), as did “Dallas Buyers Club” with the AIDS crisis (not so much). And Cate Blanchett had to find a way of thanking a director who’s not exactly Mr. Popular. How did everyone fare?

Jared Leto (Best Supporting Actor): At the Golden Globes, Leto used his perch to speak of Brazilian waxes and bubble butts. Had he gone through adolescence between then and Oscar night? Kind of. Looking like a stoned cater waiter, he began, “In 1971, Bossier City, Louisiana, there was a teen-age girl who was pregnant with her second child.” Was this the lede of a New Yorker Profile? In fact, it was an homage to his mother, who was tearing up in the audience. Then Leto thanked his brother (for “this insane and amazing adventure that is 30 Seconds to Mars”) and spoke to “all the dreamers out there around the world watching this tonight in places like Ukraine and Venezuela.” I’m not sure if the dreamers of the Crimean peninsula were watching the Oscars, since they’re busy getting invaded, but it was a nice thought. Finally, he dedicated the prize to “the thirty-six million people who have lost the battle to AIDS.” No mention of the bubble butt. B+

Darlene Love (Best Documentary Feature): Technically, this award went to the filmmakers of “20 Feet from Stardom,” about the lives of backup singers. But, to everyone’s benefit, they brought up their protagonist, the redoubtable Darlene Love, who stepped center stage—where she belongs—and belted out a gospel verse that was earth-shaking, unexpected, and a long time coming. A

Lupita Nyong’o (Best Supporting Actress): Nyong’o, besides having the best dress of the night, delivered far and away the best speech: humble, gracious, and principled without being grandiose. “It doesn’t escape me for one moment that so much joy in my life is thanks to so much pain in someone else’s,” she began. Then she thanked her director, her co-stars, the editor (“the invisible performer”), her family, and the Yale School of Drama (which Meryl Streep also attended, so I assume they offer training in perfect Oscar speeches). Finally, Nyong’o, who grew up in Kenya and Mexico, held up her statuette as a reminder “that no matter where you’re from, your dreams are valid.” It was a thoughtful, politically meaningful spin on that Oscar cliché that “your dreams can come true.” Extra points (as if she needed them) for hugging Liza Minnelli on her way up. A+

Bobby Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez (Best Original Song): This husband-and-wife team’s rhyming double act was so adorable that I was ready to book ’em on the Orpheum Circuit. Plus: Lopez (“The Book of Mormon,” “Avenue Q”) is now an E.G.O.T. B+

Spike Jonze (Best Original Screenplay): Jonze’s screenplay for “Her” was nothing if not original, but his speech was on the dry side. Still, his gratitude toward his collaborators felt individual and affectionate, and, unlike his characters, he got through the whole thing without checking his phone. Siri, what is a June Squibb? B

Alfonso Cuarón (Best Directing): The man who made “Gravity” at first sounded strangely Valley Girl-esque and forced. (“What really sucks is that, well, for a lot of these people that transformation was wisdom. For me, it was just the color of my hair.”) But the speech picked up as he thanked his son (and co-writer), Sandra Bullock (“Sandy, you are ‘Gravity’ ”), and, mixing up his idioms, the “wise guys of Warner Brothers.” Finally, he reverted to his native Spanish, ending with a sweet “te amo” for his date, the astoundingly named Sheherazade Goldsmith. B+

Cate Blanchett (Best Actress): Winning her second Oscar, Blanchett presented herself as a shrewd old-timer, beginning: “As random and as subjective as this award is, it means a great deal in a year of extraordinary—yet again—extraordinary performances by women.” Her shout-outs to her fellow-nominees seemed genuine, including “Julia hashtag ‘Suck it,’ you know what I mean?” Well, no one else does, but I’m onboard regardless. When it came to Shmoody Shmallen, she held briefly for applause, of which there was an uncertain smattering. Then she dispelled the notion that “female films with women at the center are niche experiences. They are not. Audiences want to see them, and, in fact, they earn money. The world is round, people!” Needless to say, making money got more applause than her director. A-

Matthew McConaughey (Best Actor): Cater Waiter No. 2 told his fellow-nominees that “I didn’t see a false note anywhere,” but I could point out a few in this self-indulgent lemon of a speech. Matthew McConaughey, we learned, needs three things each day: something to look up to, something to look forward to, and someone to chase. What he looks up to is God, who has shown him that “it’s a scientific fact that gratitude reciprocates.” Scientific fact, eh? What he looks forward to is his family, including his father, who’s relaxing in his underwear with a “big pot of gumbo” in Man Cave heaven. His hero? Surprise! It’s him ten years in the future. This was an Oscar telecast with two montages of movie heroes, though shockingly neither included Phyllis Nefler, the Shelley Long character from “Troop Beverly Hills.” Ten-years-in-the-future Matthew McConaughey wasn’t there, either, perhaps because he still hasn’t learned to say something about AIDS when winning an award for an AIDS movie, and is still hawking his grating catchphrase, “All right, all right, all right.” It’s time for the preening McConaissance to come to a close. All right? C

Steve McQueen (Best Picture): By the time McQueen accepted the big prize, for “12 Years a Slave,” the ceremony had gone half an hour over schedule. So it was forgivable that his speech felt a little rushed and rambling. Most of it was a list of names, but they included Sue Eakin, the “amazing historian” from Louisiana who called attention to Solomon Northup’s book and died in 2009. Who can fault a guy for name-dropping a historian? I have a hero to nominate next year.B+

Photograph: Kevin Winter/Getty

THE NEW YORKER

Oscars 2014 / The night I got hugged by Bill Murray at the Vanity Fair party

Matthew McConaughey, Cate Blanchett, Lupita Nyong'o and Jared Leto
Oscars 2014

Oscars 2014: the night I got hugged 
by Bill Murray at the Vanity Fair party

How I beat the dress code, took selfies on the red carpet and watched Jane Fonda dance to Chic

by Harley Freeman
The Guardian, Monday 3 March 2014

Amy Adams and Spike Jonze at the Vanity Fair party. Photograph: WireImage

'Will I be arrested if I take this photo?" the journalist asked me as we stood in the rain on the red carpet, wet, miserable and yet desperate to record the moment. On the surface, this seemed a ridiculous question: to our right, photographers were snapping away with such ferocity that they sounded like deranged crickets. In front of us, and in front of the cameras, celebrities were taking selfies so as to tweet and Instagram images of themselves, capturing a tenth of a second of their lives that might otherwise have gone unrecorded.

And yet, the journalist's anxiety was understandable. Only four days earlier, we had gone on guided tours of the venue during which we informed in the strongest of terms that any photos taken without the Academy's express permission would result in us being thrown out of the event (nightmare) and having our phones confiscated (UNTHINKABLE). We had also been strictly informed that all women would have to wear full-length gowns.

"But I only brought a knee-length dress," I told the woman with the clipboard.

"Well, you'll have to get a new dress," she replied.

"I am not buying a new dress," I said.

"Fine," she replied with an exaggerated sigh. "Just wear tights. We don't want to see any knees on TV."

"How about if I get a burqa?" I asked. This question was described as "unhelpful".

Ultimately, though, my knees proved to be of less concern to the officials than the celebrities and it took only about five minutes for all of the journalists to decide that taking selfies, with the red carpet, giant golden Oscars and selfie-snapping celebrities in the background, was worth risking livelihoods and phones for. When the rain cleared, the entire press bank was filled with journalists grinning inanely into their own phones, like some deranged sequel to the film Her. Even leaving Ellen DeGeneres's sponsored selfie-ing aside, Oscars 2014 was truly the Oscars of the Selfie.

Lupita Nyong'o
Los Angeles, 2014

I'm not quite sure what I expected the Oscars red carpet to be like, but I know I didn't expect what it was like. For a start, the red carpet itself is tiny (the camera does indeed make everything look bigger), and the journalists on it, far from being cynical hacks, were more hysterical than the fans. When the celebrities turned up after three hours of waiting, the press pen was less like a professional venue and more like an evangelical church during a revival meeting.

"Brad! BRAD! Please look this way! Brad!"

"Meryl! You look amazing! Smile at me! MERYL!"

I was the only one who seemed to find this behaviour odd (Leonardo DiCaprio didn't even seem to notice the keening that greeted his arrival) and I swore that I would never be like this. What must it be like to spend your life being begged to turn around and acknowledge someone else's existence? No wonder celebrities all take selfies of themselves all day long, admiring and capturing their specialness for themselves.

Actor Bill Murray "photobombs" singer Selena Gomez as they arrive for the 2014 Vanity Fair Oscars Party Photograph: Danny Moloshok/Reuters

Once Brangelina had gone past, there was a rush from the press pen to the press room inside as it was generally decided that there would be no one else worth seeing outside (actually, Matthew McConaughey and Julia Roberts had yet to come, but did either of them break Jennifer Aniston's heart? Ergo, not interested). So we headed up through the prosaic environs of a strip mall around the back of the theatre and into the press room, which was filled with hacks all desperately trying to find the Wi-Fi while at the same time eating enormous quantities of the free buffet food.

"Have you got Wi-Fi?"

"Where's the cheeseboard?"

"Is there any more shrimp?"

"Where's the Wi-Fi?"

All around the room giant screens showed the ceremony, but we hardly got to watch any of it because winners kept being ushered backstage to stand on a podium in front of us, like cattle up for auction, and endure that grand Oscars tradition of torture-by-inane-journalist-question. Each journalist wanted a special message to their country ("Will you ever work with a Chinese crew?" "Do you have a message to the Hispanic people?") and it was the rare question that didn't begin with the suggestion that the winner should somehow remember them ("Hi Cate, we met seven years ago at the Telluride festival …"). Invariably, all the winners were delightful – not least Jared Leto, who passed his Oscar round for all of us to hold – whereas the journalists all came across as faintly unhinged. Less surprisingly, Lupita Nyong'o stole the evening.

Give us a kiss … Steve Tyler. Photograph: Danny Moloshok

"How much of your triumph belongs to Mexico?" a Mexican journalist asked the Mexican-born actor.

"Er, I think it belongs to me!" Nyong'o replied.

After the Governor's Ball, it was time for the Vanity Fair party, which is, on the one hand, possibly the greatest branding achievement ever pulled off by a magazine, and, on the other, the only genuinely fun celebrity party I have ever attended. This year it doubled in size from the years before and as a result felt far more raucous. As I walked in, Jane Fonda (looking amazing) was dancing on her own to Chic's Le Freak, while, on my other side, a slew of celebrities who shall go unnamed were standing in packs beneath a heavy fog of marijuana smoke. Dazed from the fumes, I walked smack into an older gentleman only to realise it was, in fact, Bill Murray.

"Oh! Mr Murray – I'm sorry. I'm Hadley from the Guardian and – " I stammered pathetically.

"Oh, there, there. Nobody's perfect," he said, giving me a bear hug for a good (very good) 30 seconds.

Released from Peter Venkman's embrace, I headed towards the bar where I encountered possibly my favourite interviewee of all time, Steven Tyler.

"Um, Mr Tyler, I interviewed you last year –" I began, sounding just like all those journalists trying to remind Brad Pitt of that meaningful moment they had at Sundance.

"Of course you did," he croaked, leaning in to give me a massive kiss.

At this point I felt for my own well-being it was time to go home, only to trip over something on the floor. Turned out to be a bunch of Oscars for The Great Gatsby. Did I selfie myself with an Oscar? You bet your ass I did.

THE GUARDIAN