The Academy Awards telecast tonight surpassed itself in terms of sheer tastelessness. The opening number was appalling, and Martin and Baldwin fell utterly flat. The best moments were the camera panning to George Clooney looking bored and annoyed. We laughed out loud at his expression. I suppose it could have been staged; he is quite the actor.
I don't always watch the Oscars. Having worked in the industry for a number of years, I'm usually interested in the smaller awards, the behind-the-scenes stuff, unless I've seen a lot of the nominated films. This year, we'd all seen a number of the films, and there are some we're anxious to see but simply haven't had the time to, so there was more interest in the household than usual. And as the daughter has become increasingly interested in the craft of film making, she wanted to watch.
While the show's production was dreadful (and about 1-1/2 hours too long), many of the winners shone. I watched the daughter, and saw her really take note of the Up composer's speech, and I saw her follow the words of everyone who said, "I was told to practice." "My family supported me." "My mom made sure I did the right things."
"See?" I said softly. She put her head on my shoulder.
"Some day, I want to be up there," she said quietly.
"I believe that you can be," I told her.
She made a small humming noise, whether of doubt or affirmation I'm not sure.
"But," I continued, "The first time you go, I get to go as your guest."
"Hey!" said the son.
"You can go the third time she's nominated," I told him. "Your father will go the second."
"I'm not sure I can get nominated that many times," the daughter said nervously.
"You will," I replied airily. "And make sure you ask for the seats next to George Clooney."
Go listen to some music: "There's No Business Like Show Business" from the musical Annie Get Your Gun, lyrics and music by Irving Berlin and book by Herbert Fields and Dorothy Fields.