Oscars 2005

[Viktoria]

thank you! and oh my god Pierce sounds horrible in your clip. what the hell had he done? and nevertheless he went to the miramax party and the vanity fair party?

[Ace]

He probably strained his voice corraling a bunch of 4 year olds all day the day before at Paris' birthday party or he caught something from one of the kids. But commitments were made and the show must go on.

Ace

[Guest Viktoria]

I thought Paris' Birthday is 27th?

[Ace]

Yes. But it makes sense they'd have the party on a Saturday even if the Oscars weren't Sunday (where no doubt many parents had to be that day). A party that big is always easier to throw on a Saturday than a Sunday and more convenient for kids and parents.

Ace

[Ace]

Some backstage photos on Digital Hit

[sparklingblue]

I enjoyed Pierce's presentation; he looked so handsome, as always. Loved his reactions to the bossy Edna. But I really felt for him because of his voice. How convenient that Edna did most of the talking; that way he could spare his voice.

As for the red carpet: I saw him and Keely walking along the red carpet smiling and looking practically radiant, but I don't think anyone got to interview them. Pierce was certainly not too keen on talking.

[Ace]

From the USA Today Oscar Blog:

Accepting on his behalf ...: Pierce Brosnan did red-carpet interviews despite having a bad case of laryngitis. So who spoke for him? Wife Keely Shaye Smith. —W.M. Posted 8:08 p.m. ET

Wish I had seen one of them.

[Ace]

Times: What our man inside the Oscars saw

Theo Karan

March 01, 2005

T2’s man inside the Kodak Theatre

AFTER SITTING up in the gods of the Kodak Theatre for the first two segments of the Oscars, I realised that I was seeing nothing different from those watching on TV. The new tactic of collecting nominees on stage or presenting the awards in the audience was being looked on with derision. It was all a little disappointing and lacklustre. I wanted to see what happened behind the scenes, see the stars acting normally rather than reading from an autocue.

On the red carpet the stars and the rest are separated by a velvet rope. The stars slowly make their way down, stopping for interviews and photos along the way. The people on the other side walk just as slowly, savouring the opportunity to be close to Warren and Annette, and see Gwyneth up close. Inside the theatre, though, there was no dividing rope, and after leaving my seat I set out to explore freely.

My first stop was the smoking area, which Johnny Depp and Sean Penn had made their hangout in previous years. The smoking area belonged more to a high school than it did to the most glamorous event of the year, with smokers banished to the crummy lobby of the Mall that the Kodak is part of. There I saw Sophie Okonedo, who was disappointingly overlooked in the Best Supporting Actress, having a welcome nicotine fix. I offered my sympathy but she seemed unsurprised and unbothered.

The ground foyer was where the A-list stars could be seen. And you could tell from the way people reverently touched Oprah Winfrey — and the fact that she was the only person with her own bodyguard — that she was undoubtedly the head girl. I saw Clint Eastwood walking towards me with Paul Giamatti and Thomas Haden Church from Sideways. In the bar, I overheard Orlando Bloom and Jake Gyllenhaal discussing what films they’d seen recently, and saw Mickey Rooney (“I thought he was dead!”, someone near me said) bustling to keep up with his wife (his eighth, I believe).

While the carefully planned and pre-scripted show went on inside, I was confident that the show behind the show would be more intriguing. The people who got closest to the stars were the seat-fillers, people who made it appear that there were no gaps in the audience, by taking the place of the stars throughout the show whenever they left their seats. They told me which stars were too snobbish to acknowledge their presence (Charlize Theron, Jeremy Irons), but were equally keen to coo over those who had treated them well, such as Pierce Brosnan, who, despite having lost his voice, charmed the filler next to him with his conversation.

I began to see more people walking around with golden statuettes clutched in their hands. Despite the huge importance of winning an Oscar, many of them looked underwhelmed and disappointed that though they had won, say, best documentary, there was not the mass adulation and congratulations that should logically accompany it. It looked almost as if the runners-up, who were getting hugs of consolation and words of optimistic encouragement, were doing better out of the two.

As the ceremony neared its close, we came to the presentation of the Best Actress and Actor awards, and as each was about to be read out there was a sudden and spontaneous hush in the foyer. These were the first awards that mattered. At the announcement of Jamie Foxx’s win, there was a huge cheer from the foyer and bar crowd. He was clearly the people’s choice, and had been the one real shoo-in of the night.

The saddest moment was seeing Martin Scorsese once again passed over for Best Director on the night it seemed impossible he could be allowed to lose. When Clint Eastwood instead got the call, someone said “I told you so”.

I hope Scorsese shares something of Imelda Staunton’s spirit. My most enjoyable moment was chatting with her at the bar. I told her how much her acting in Vera Drake had affected me and that I felt she deserved to win. “I won’t, of course,” she said, adding perkily, “I’ve got enough awards on the mantelpiece already.”

[IcyCalm]

"The people who got closest to the stars were the seat-fillers, people who made it appear that there were no gaps in the audience, by taking the place of the stars throughout the show whenever they left their seats. They told me which stars were too snobbish to acknowledge their presence (Charlize Theron, Jeremy Irons), but were equally keen to coo over those who had treated them well, such as Pierce Brosnan, who, despite having lost his voice, charmed the filler next to him with his conversation."

In addition to being the Sexiest Man Alive, our Pierce also happens to be the Most Decent Man Alive. The two concepts, in their equal mixture and measure, are precisely why he's held my attention and devotion.

-IcyCalm

[guest]

Viktoria said:

thank you! and oh my god Pierce sounds horrible in your clip. what the hell had he done? and nevertheless he went to the miramax party and the vanity fair party?

www.nydailynews.com/front/story/285499p-244502c.html

Meanwhile, Eastwood celebrated at the home of Dani Janssen, whose party is one of Hollywood's most coveted invitations. "Million Dollar" babies Hilary Swank and Morgan Freeman were there, as were Jack Nicholson, Robin Williams, Quincy Jones, Al Pacino, Sean Penn, Pierce Brosnan, Mariah Carey, Shirley MacLaine and Tim Robbins, among others. Word is the biggest cutups were those good-time gals Barbra Streisand and Oprah Winfrey.

[Yuliya]

Ace said:

The people who got closest to the stars were the seat-fillers, people who made it appear that there were no gaps in the audience, by taking the place of the stars throughout the show whenever they left their seats.

I'm speechless. And naive, I guess.

Interesting article, thank you. And a great clip, too. I didn't see the Oscars.

Does anyone know how these things are made? Edna (sp?) was digitized, right? I mean, not a puppet. So those in the audience didn't see anything, just heard the voice and she was added later? Or was she projected on stage live somehow?

[Ace]

Yuliya said:

I'm speechless. And naive, I guess.

Interesting article, thank you. And a great clip, too. I didn't see the Oscars.

Does anyone know how these things are made? Edna (sp?) was digitized, right? I mean, not a puppet. So those in the audience didn't see anything, just heard the voice and she was added later? Or was she projected on stage live somehow?

You didn't know about the seat fillers? They're there for every televised big awards event. It's actually a paying job!

Edna is digitized beforehand and then laid in over Pierce over the air. So no one in the audience sees anything "live" unless they're looking at the monitors they had up all over the celing of the event. Pierce is acting against thin air. (not new for him considering some of his leading ladies of the past. )

Ace

[Yuliya]

Ace said:

You didn't know about the seat fillers? They're there for every televised big awards event. It's actually a paying job!

But of course; why would they do it for free? Surely there's a "no photographs, no autographs, no soliciting" clause in their contract.

Edna is digitized beforehand and then laid in over Pierce over the air. So no one in the audience sees anything "live" unless they're looking at the monitors they had up all over the celing of the event. Pierce is acting against thin air. (not new for him considering some of his leading ladies of the past. )

;D Yes, I thought that's the only way it could be done these days. PB must've had time to rehearse, though, since Edna had to be done entirely in advance - Oscars still air live, don't they? One can never be sure these days.

[Ace]

Yes seat fillers aren't there to shmooze with the celebs, let alone ask for photos or autographs, especially since they're suppossed to be an unobtrusive seat filling audience member when celebs are off at the bar or bathroom.

Oscars were on a 7 sec delay but that because all networks are afraid of being sued if someone curses on live tv, or shows a nipple.

All presenters come in the day before to rehearse, though one wouldn't think so from the way some of them present.

Ace

[Yuliya]

Ace said:

Yes seat fillers aren't there to shmooze with the celebs, let alone ask for photos or autographs, especially since they're suppossed to be an unobtrusive seat filling audience member when celebs are off at the bar or bathroom.

They must generate quite a traffic when one persome leaves and another rushes in to take their seat. And then the rightful owner comes back a few minutes later and, "Pardon, madame, are you in my seat?"

Oscars were on a 7 sec delay but that because all networks are afraid of being sued if someone curses on live tv, or shows a nipple.

Drats, they did it! Well, there's no way around it - must keep late-night shows safe for kiddies.

I must say, from Ace's brief clip (brief in the sense that it didn't dwell on things irrelevant) it looked like the best costume award did go to the right person - her green dress looked a lot more intersting and original than the others'.

[sparklingblue]

To answer Yuliya's question:



Pierce rehearsing for his and Edna's presentation

[Yuliya]

"Just about that tall...?"

Thanks.

[Ace]

Saw this, thought it was a fun bird's eye view of an Oscar nominee. It's written by Director Mike Leigh.

The Observer
Sunday March 6, 2005


And not even the goody bag goes to ...

With three nominations for Vera Drake, the acclaimed director Mike Leigh took a deep breath and set off, again, for the Oscars. Here is his brilliant account of a week in which he partied with Clive Owen, Dustin Hoffman and Warren Beatty alongside the rest of Hollywood's A-list
=========

Thursday

The car for Heathrow is due at 12. At 11.40 a package suddenly arrives. It's a DVD: 'Tips For Academy Nominees: What To Do If You Win', introduced by Tom Hanks. My partner, Charlotte, and I sit down and watch it, secure in the knowledge I won't have to do anything. It's hilarious - everybody getting it horribly wrong, including Gwyneth Paltrow's legendary breakdown, which is a scream. There's only one tip, really - make it snappy.

Clive Owen is on the plane. He's nominated for Best Supporting Actor (for Closer). He hasn't received the DVD. He grins: 'That means you've won!' Nice guy, very funny. We discuss the rumour that this year the nominees will have to sit on stage in a line for the opening of the envelope. Dreadful prospect. On the flight I reflect on the impending madness. This is my third time at the Oscars. The first was with Secrets & Lies in 1996. We had five nominations - and walked away empty-handed. It was devastating - we'd bought into the hype, and believed we'd do well. Then came Topsy-Turvy in 1999 (four nominations. That was easier. We won two, and I'd been through it before. I'm quite sure we'll 'lose' all three this time, yet I'm quietly optimistic for Imelda.

Our hotel's on Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood - the Chateau Marmont, a 1929 folly in the French style. They've all stayed here, from Howard Hughes to Billy Wilder and Monroe herself. Something traumatic has happened in every room. John Belushi topped himself in one, and a bedknob fell on to my ex-wife, Alison Steadman, when we stayed here in 1991, during our Life is Sweet publicity tour. They've done it up since then, but it's still pre-war in style. It's usually blissfully quiet, but not this weekend ...

Friday

Breakfast in the room and I phone my friend, the veteran director Ken Annakin (The Longest Day, The Battle of the Bulge etc). He's 90, and lives here. He says, 'You won't win any Oscars. Swank'll get it.' He's a Yorkshireman.

We potter along Sunset then back for a meeting in the hotel garden with producer Joe Roth, who seems uncannily relaxed about the notion of financial involvement in my next film. He produced the Oscar show last year. He's found out that the rumour about nominees on stage is only partly true.

When he leaves, we all hang about waiting for Dennis Hopper, who eventually shows up to take my photo for a tsunami fund-raising book. He is accompanied by a smart young team. It's suddenly very surreal. Lots of pauses and long brooding moments. He gazes bleakly across the grass at the hotel. He mutters: 'I once lived here for two-and-a-half years ...' Then he takes a few tight close-ups, very slowly and ponderously. It actually feels quite good. I sense a warmth. We shake hands. Then he hugs me suddenly, and they all leave.

Supper with Imelda and her gang. Matteo's Restaurant was recommended to me. Nancy Reagan's and Frank Sinatra's favourite, apparently, and in deference to our status, they've put us on the Frank Sinatra Good Luck Table. Service ludicrous. Food inedible. Had they served Ol' Blue Eyes my osso bucco, the chef would have wound up with a horse's head in his bed, if not up his arse.

Saturday

Lunch Downtown with Jeff Hill, wizard New York publicist. Dry, funny, very camp and deeply wise about movie people and politics. He's cautiously optimistic about Imelda and Best Original Screenplay. Oh no, I'm starting to believe these drumbeats ...

On to the British Consul's cocktail party in honour of us 24 Brit nominees - the highest number in a decade. The usual suspects from the British press materialise, and here begin the weekend's endless daft questions: 'How do you feel ?', 'Are you expecting to win?' etc. Ken Annakin is still healthily pessimistic, and Ronald Neame (94, directed The Card, Tunes of Glory, The Poseidon Adventure etc) is effusive about Vera Drake. He loves its restraint. I'm very touched. Lots of people hugely complimentary. There's a photo-call by the pool. Imelda and I are astonished to be placed on chairs, centre, with the Consul behind us, flanked by everybody else.

The annual 'Night Before' party at the Beverly Hills Hotel. As instructed, we take our passports. There are six stages of security. The place heaves with Hollywood types, a Hirschfeld cartoon brought to life. Spike Lee shakes my hand while dancing with a large lady. Dustin Hoffman procrastinates (not to me, but in my face) as to whether to go for the white or the black silk freebie pyjamas. We eat lots of sushi with Sophie Okonedo, who's having a ball. An English actor and his soap star wife rave about Vera Drake, though the conversation changes in tone when she reveals herself to be a fundamentalist pro-lifer. And Imelda introduces me to Annette Bening and Warren Beatty, who spends some time telling me not only that I should make a film with him, but that I should shoot it in the Middle East, and that he wants to play an evil American. He keeps denying he's a communist, though I hadn't actually got him down as one. Lots of loud people being loud, and nice people being very nice about Vera Drake. As we leave, Charlotte reflects that the richest people in LA have to be the plastic surgeons.

Sunday

Why these ridiculous collywobbles? Charlotte says I'm worrying about the speech I won't have to make. She puts on a borrowed original 1930s blue sequinned evening dress, and looks gorgeous. Into the stretch limo - the absurdest mode of transport ever invented. Massive security on arrival at the Kodak theatre - passports again.

[Ace]

Then ... the red carpet. As always, the photographers bark and bray at you and you grin inanely. I'm always amused by the ones who ostentatiously don't want your picture because you're not newsworthy enough. Celebs of all kinds are pouring in, so I quickly develop the feeling that there's always a proper famous person behind me. Indeed, at one point Ziyi Zhang catches up, and my TV interviewer stops in mid-sentence, switches his attention to her, interviews her, then turns back to me, without batting an eyelid.

The collywobbles have gone, and I start enjoying the crack. 'What d'you like about all this?' 'Well, I love the grotesqueness of it all.' 'What d'you mean, grotesque?' 'What d'you mean, what do I mean, grotesque? Just look at it all ...'

Finally, I'm overtaken by Leonardo DiCaprio and his entourage. Huge cheers from all sides, and Charlotte and I go inside for champagne and canapes. Received wisdom is to get plenty of these down you, as supper is hours away. Various well-wishers, including Sam Goldwyn Jnr, who loves the film. Long chat with Josh Marston (Maria Full of Grace). I like him. We met at last summer's Sarajevo Film Festival. He's very sharp - one of tomorrow's greats.

And so to the Oscars, all four hours of them. A guy with a clipboard warns me when I have to be in my seat for my two nominations, as the roving camera will be on me. I'm in E1 and Imelda's in A1. Both on the edge of the auditorium. Does this mean we've definitely lost? Or are we just being paranoid?

An oddly detached feeling comes over me. Chris Rock is being very funny, but I don't feel like laughing. Deja vu kicks in ... the grisly spectre of Vera Drake sinking without trace by the end of the evening, like Secrets & Lies. As for the famous rumour, only some groups of nominees have to stand on stage like lemons - designers, documentarists, special effects guys etc. The glorious winner is thus upstaged by a retreating chain-gang, right in the middle of the most important moment in his or her life.

After every few awards, there's a short pee break, involving a mass exodus and teams of official Seat Fillers jumping into place in case peoplehaven't returned after the commercials. The awards go by. The Aviator clocks up five, including one for British costume designer Sandy Powell. Morgan Freeman gets his, to much adulation. Sideways scores the Best Adapted Screenplay, and Andrea Arnold wins for her brilliant British short, Wasp. 'As we say in English,' she chortles, 'this is the dog's bollocks!'

Our gang - Imelda, her husband, Jim Carter, and 11-year-old daughter, Bessie, Sue, her agent, Charlotte and I - keep up our spirits as we get closer and closer to the three dread moments ... We nod and joke and wink and grimace and gurn, and additional humorous contributions are made by Jeremy Irons and Pierce Brosnan from adjacent seats.

And then those moments come. 'And the Oscar goes to ... Hilary Swank!' Rapturous applause. Fuck!!! I look at Imelda. She's smiling and clapping, a camera right on her. But I know how she's feeling ... How ridiculous! It's just as we expected, yet, oh, how disappointing! It would have been so great ... And Hilary is paying tribute to Imelda and her other fellow nominees, which is always a lovely thing.

Best Original Screenplay. 'The Oscar goes to ... Charlie Kaufman!' Loud cheers. Oh, God! How we suffer! My camera's on me, and I clap away cheerfully, affecting great enthusiasm, although this is made much easier by my being a Charlie Kaufman fan. I know him a bit, and I like him.

Charlotte gives me a loving, supportive squeeze. [v]We both know the game's up. Sure enough, ' ... and the Oscar for Best Director goes to ... Clint Eastwood!' This one isn't really so painful. I was never going to get this one, and my camera performance is really quite easy. Not that anybody's remotely interested in my reactions at this moment. My immediate disappointment is for Scorsese, in truth. No disrespect to Clint, but Marty is, as the lady says, 'the dog's bollocks'. When Million Dollar Baby gets the Oscar for Best Picture, all hell breaks loose, and the entire assembly surges manically upstairs for the Governor's Ball - plenty of bubbly and a steak dinner.[/b]

Our lot are guests of our distributor, Michael Line, and his wife. The mood is cheerful, philosophical, relieved. Michael says they somehow expected the film's reception to be more controversial. But everyone is calm and contented. And people come up to us, as they will for the rest of the evening, to tell us how they voted for us, how Vera should have been Best Film, and all those things that are music to the ears.

Imelda thanks me for the 18-month ride. Actually it's just two years since rehearsals began. But tonight is the end, pretty much. There have been lots of ends on Vera Drake, but this is the real one. Sad, but joyous too.

We've eaten, and it's too late to catch Elton John singing at his bash, so we all hit the legendary Vanity Fair party. This is another Hirschfeld - cartoon, but bigger, bolder, brasher, louder and sexier than last night's laidback affair. People are letting off steam. Clive Owen, another loser, goes around saying chirpily. 'Everyone loves a winner'.

A kaleidoscope of shouted conversations and pratfalls over long frocks later, we go outside, and join the car queue. Victoria Tennant's husband is delighted that I'm to direct the next Harry Potter. I put him right, and we leave. More post-Oscar junketing in the Chateau bar, so we raid our minibar, and wind down quietly.

Monday

A final stroll along Sunset - Virgin and Tower Records. We run into Harvey Weinstein at the hotel. I commiserate about Scorsese. We discuss this briefly. No mention of our misfortunes. On the way to the airport, Bob, our driver, calls his 18-year-old film director son to tell him he's got us on board. The boy's a Vera Drake fan. I send him my regards. Bob describes Governor Schwarzenegger's conspicuous absence from public life. Nothing is real in this part of the world.

Tuesday

At Heathrow, Sophie O retrieves tons of luggage. We joke about her travelling light. 'It's all the gifts I've received,' she says.

On the North Circular, our driver Paul asks about my goody bag. He's read that every nominee has received one, and that they're worth a fortune. I've never heard of any goody bag. Later, my sister mentions this. So do two friends.

Wednesday

My assistant, Abbie, calls LA about the goody bag. They look into it ... Only the presenters get one! I dunno, problems of the Third World ....

Screwed once again

[Ace]

Entertainment Weekly: The 10 most memorable Oscar moments



Most Surprising Chemistry: Pierce Brosnan and Edna Mode
The Academy Awards don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to making live actors frolic with fictional characters. (Anyone remember poor Rob Lowe serenading Snow White with ''Proud Mary'' back in 1989?) So a big huzzah to Pierce Brosnan and The Incredibles' Edna Mode (voiced by the film's director, Brad Bird) for scoring genuine laughs — Edna referred to actors as ''models'' — while doling out the trophy for Best Costume Design.