The 93rd Academy Awards, aired live from the Los Angeles Union Station this past Sunday, evening fell inarguably flat. The doubly engineered show yielded an unremarkable half-measured production far less than either the movie celebrations of the past or the virtual programs over the last year. The sparsely populated cocktail lounge set presented hollow and antisocial. The absent host was all the more essential during a show that needed more continuity and energy. There was no one thing that didn’t work at the Oscars, it was more that nothing did.
Regina King’s walking entrance built an exhilarating anticipation that fully evaporated by the end of her introductory remarks – two of which rang utterly contrary to the events over the subsequent three plus hours. First, she stated, “we are here to celebrate”. I could have been behind a …we are here to “commend, award, to provide distraction, to make a call to action” but celebratory the show was most certainly not. The lack of vitality, jokes, and music made way for energy sapping dialogue and clumsily executed Wikipedia lifted nominee digressions. The grinding work pervading this year’s show (only one comedic interlude withstanding) was difficult to digest and more than filled the vast mostly empty space of Los Angeles’ Union Station. Even small items like a “pink” red carpet and daytime light shining through the windows siphoned out gravity on Hollywood’s greatest night.
The second nonsensical remark came when King, in reference to unmasked participants congregated indoors, mused “you are probably asking, how are they able to do it”. No, fifteen months into a pandemic we are not wondering how you managed to quarantine, test and vaccinate a handful of stars prior to the show. We are wondering; however, how this subdued and confused show – more akin to future alien inhabitants attempting reenactment from recovered artifacts discovered in the Academy Museum – made it past story boarding. No level of inoculation provided protection from this production with even the most prodigious stars falling ill. Enter Quest Love filling the role of disk jockey as the abridged Oscars traded in the orchestra in the same manner as a trimmed down wedding reception opts out of the live band. The likes of Joaquin Phoenix presenting best actress tied not this awards with past shows but further served to juxtapose how short it measured up.
The rare exceptions came, unsurprisingly, at unscripted moments peaking briefly with Best Supporting Actress Yuh-Jung Young’s (Minari) intoxicating overtures directed to presenter Brad Pitt. These rousing scenes came too few and far between to tip the scales in such a long and plodding night.
An awards show meant to display the best of cinema inextricably cut the illuminating clips of acting and musical performances that drive the audience’s emotional connection to the art and, consequently, the show itself. These detached and unapproachable Academy Awards crystallized before our eyes in the intimate (at best) seating arrangement of the venue. In a moment when the planet is reaching for connection, sick with isolation (in addition to disease), witnessing this attempt at normalcy was nothing more than a window to everyone’s already isolated experience. There may not have been a right way to do the awards this year, but we certainly saw a wrong way.
Sanford Moxley 