My favorite Oscar moment was watching Kathryn Bigelow on stage when The Hurt Locker won Best Picture. She held her two Oscar statuettes in her hands like a pair free weights and kept wandering away from the microphone and out of camera range to the point that screenwriter Mark Boal grabbed her arm and held her there. After Barbra Streisand announced the name of the winner in the Best Director category, Kathryn Bigelow climbed the stairs, made a gracious speech and walked off stage. In the dark wing, people who heard the announcement she hadn’t, turned her around and sent her back out into the spotlight. She was a woman in shock. I really enjoyed the opportunity watch the physical manifestations of a person in shock, when the woman in question was in shock for a happy reason.
Tag: Oscar
Award Statuette
My child–who will get another participation trophy for playing AYSO soccer tomorrow morning, was dancing around the room with a plastic Oscar–from when we visited my sister who lives in LaLa Land right before the Academy Award Ceremony, and we saw the mall with the plastic covered Red Carpet ready for the pre-show and we touched the real red carpet through the holes in the plastic and we took our pictures next to the giant Oscar statues, and we went to the temporary Academy Awards Museum and got to hold and get photographed holding a real Oscar, and did you know the Kodak theatre is in a mall and the Red Carpet runs right past a California Pizza Kitchen?
preparing to go into the studio to work on “a gory romantic tale told by clowns”
“Art finds her own perfection within, and not outside of, herself. She is not to be judged by any external standard of resemblance. She is a veil, rather than a mirror. She has flowers that no forests know of, birds that no woodland possesses. She makes and unmakes many worlds and can draw the moon from heaven with a scarlet thread. Hers are the “forms more real than living man”, and hers the greatest archetypes of which things that have existence are but unfinished copies. Nature has, in her eyes, no laws, no uniformity. she can work miracles at ther will, and when she calls monsters from the deep they come. She can bid the almond-tree blossom in winter, and send the snow upon the ripe cornfield. At her world the frost lays its silver finger on the burning mouth of June, and the winged lions creep out from the hollows of the Lydian hills. The dryads peer from the thicket as she passes by, and the brown fauns smile strangely at her when she comes near them. She has hawk-faced gods that worship her, and the centaurs gallop at her side,”
—Oscar Wilde (“The Decay of Lying”)