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They thrill, move and amaze us, and they get bigger every year. Victoria Coren says it’s time we gave Oscars to the Oscars
The Oscar show gets bigger every year. This time around it was a marathon five hours between the start of coverage and the closing credits. At the Oscar-watching party in my house, enough mealtimes came and went to consume four frozen pizzas, 12 packets of Pringles, six bags of doughnuts, three boxes of Milk Tray, a 12-pack of Pepsi and 10 pots of tea -and I was watching it alone.
Between the actual awards we got Geena Davis’s Oscar documentary, tributes to old- timers, comedy routines from Whoopi Goldberg, several film montages and musical interludes. Surely, then, it’s time for the Oscar Oscars. The ceremony itself deserves awards. It seems fair to use the same categories as the Academy itself, though with one minor adjustment …
Worst Actress: Gwyneth Paltrow, for her “tearful” acceptance speech. Winning a Best Actress award for a competent performance in Shakespeare In Love, Paltrow ruined it with a hammy display of false emotion. Much though her face contorted and trembled, much though her shoulders bent downwards and shook, her eyes remained visibly bone-dry throughout. Even when she talked about her dead cousin Keith.
Worst Actress in a Supporting Role: Keiko Ibi, who took home an award for Documentary Short Subject, had the same problem as Paltrow. Gamely, Ibi fulfilled the `cademy’s requirements by shouting a paean to America in a quavery voice, but not a single droplet of liquid was visible on her face. Next year, I suggest the ladies carry syringes of glycerine in their handbags.
Worst Actor: Jointly to Nick Nolte and Ed Harris, for very poor attempts at the traditional “never mind” face when they lost out as Best Actor. They couldn’t have grimaced with more evil intent if they’d been auditioning for a thriller in which the entire academy gets murdered by two disgruntled thespians.
Worst Actor in a Supporting Role: “Leftwing star” Warren Beatty, standing to applaud Elia Kazan as the old McCarthyite shuffled on to be congratulated. How nice for Kazan to have your support, Warren. If this were 1952, you wouldn’t have his.
Worst Visual Effect: Five dancers “interpreting” the music from nominated films. One female dancer exposed a buttock during her representation of Elizabeth: was this a satirical comment on the supposedly Virgin Queen? The least appropriate was undoubtedly Joaquin Cortes tapdancing his Saving Private Ryan routine. Were his feet meant to sound like rattling machine guns? Or perhaps it was morse code: one tap for no, two taps for yes, no taps for “Damn, my legs have been blown off in an explosion.”
Worst Costume: Sandy Powell, winner of Best Costume Design for Shakespeare In Love. She fell into that trap of thinking you can’t turn up, as a professional costumier, in something normal. Hence she was welded into a cardboard-stiff burgundy frock that forced her into a taut shape resembling the Red Queen in Alice Through The Looking Glass. She might have remained safely unnoticed in this category, were it not for the unfortunate fact that Cher wasn’t there this year.
Worst Editing: The jump-cut from the clip of Life Is Beautiful to the sight of its protagonist and director at the Oscar ceremony. Ah, here’s Roberto Benigni and family incarcerated in a concentration camp. Now here’s Benigni barely able to contain his delight: cheering, jigging in the aisle and attempting to kiss Sophia Loren. Hurray for myself in the camps! It was a worthy equal to James Cameron last year, asking for a minute’s silence for those who went down with the Titanic, then breaking it himself by yelling “I’m the king of the world!”
Worst Sound: Anne Heche’s microphone, which cut out just as she was presenting a package of awards for Best Technical Effects. Perhaps all the sound technicians in Hollywood had started celebrating just a little early.
Worst Sound Effects: Editing Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston attempting to edit each other as they duetted on the Oscar-winning theme song from The Prince of Egypt. Both famous for never using one note when 15 will do, the warbling divas competed in interminable vibrato to make the last sound. The song, it seemed, might never end. It was a case of “Anything you can sing, I can sing extra.” Carey would do a concluding trill; Houston would do an extra “whoa-whoa”; Carey would finalise proceedings with a “yeah-eah-eah”; Houston would mumble a quick “mmmm”. It was the girls’ equivalent of the opening battle in Saving Private Ryan. Houston finally edited her rival into second place with a terminal “oooh” so low that Maria simply couldn’t better it, and they marched off to scratch each others’ faces in the wings.