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Oscar: Class of 2001 Ignore that morning-after sniping: with its 2001:
A Space Odyssey theme, generally short speeches and distinct lack of cheesy
musical numbers, this is one Oscar ceremony that was first-class all the way.
More than three-quarters of an hour shy of last year’s record-setting length
of four hours and eight minutes, Michael Douglas broke the three-way tie among Crouching
Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Gladiator and Traffic to announce that
Ridley Scott’s Roman epic was the Best Picture of the Year (had Traffic
won, Douglas’ presence would have seemed tacky). Final tally: Five Academy
Awards for Gladiator and four each for the Chinese-language martial arts
epic (the most successful foreign film ever released in the United States) and
Steven Soderbergh’s multifaceted look at the tangled war on drugs. Acting graceful and even a little sheepish at
the sporadic raciness of his one-liners, Steve Martin proved to be a smooth and
affable host. Supplemented by rightfully dazzling satellite feeds from the
International Space Station (the introduction), Sydney (Bob Dylan’s jarringly
sinister performance of "Things Have Changed" from Wonder Boys)
and Sri Lanka (2001 author Sir Arthur C. Clarke’s reading of the
adapted and original screenplay awards), Martin kept the show moving without
dwelling too long on the self-deprecating humor that has become de rigeur
for recent Oscar hosts. In fact, things were progressing so well that by the
time he followed the special Oscar to the elderly but influential screenwriter
Ernest Lehman with the quip "it’s interesting to note that at the
beginning of the evening Mr. Lehman was twenty-four," the show scarcely
needed that kind of needling (producer Dino De Laurentiis and legendary
cinematographer Jack Cardiff also picked up special Academy Awards). Certainly
Martin’s no Billy Crystal, but to be fair he’s not David Letterman, either
-- and his running gag of giving a television to whoever had the shortest
acceptance speech, combined with his impromptu sprint to Erin Brockovich
producer Danny De Vito with a cup of dip for the vegetables he was caught
munching on, gave the evening just the hint of improv it needed. Much is being made of Marcia Gay Harden’s
Best Supporting Actress "upset" for her role in Pollock. Truth
to tell, her category was a wide open field to begin with, and the previously
unheralded vet deserved the statue. Far more unexpected was Steven Soderbergh,
nominated for helming both Erin Brockovich and Traffic, besting
Ang Lee for the Best Director Oscar -- only the fifth time the award has
differed from Best Picture (and he mustered true class by thanking "anybody
who spends part of their day creating"). Not to mention Cameron Crowe’s
win for the screenplay of Almost Famous, which most people expected to go
to either Kenneth Lonergan for You Can Count on Me or Susannah Grant for Erin
Brockovich (Crowe did have the grace to thank the God of screenwriters,
"master" Billy Wilder). The emotional temperature of the Best Actress
and Actor winners were poles apart, with Julia Roberts’ part-gushy, part-bossy
acceptance monolo -- ur, speech for her Erin Brockovich nod offset by
chief Gladiator Russell Crowe’s eloquent but needlessly stern
admonition to struggling young actors that "for anybody who’s on the
downside of advantage, and relying purely on courage, it’s possible." Only a few misjudgments marred the event:
putting the technology recap, De Laurentiis prize and the annual "in
memoriam" parade of departed icons together brought the show as close as it
ever came to a dead halt, while the cheese factor reared its ugly head during
the Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon interpretive dance. Less than twelve
hours after the event at least one critic has already weighed in lamenting the
lack of bloated production numbers, proving that over the years many viewers
have become so accustomed to such legendary excesses as Rob Lowe and Cinderella
doing a rock’n’roll medley (it really happened, folks) that the backlash has
already begun. The correct reading of this trend is: good riddance to profoundly
bad rubbish, and kudos to returning producer Gilbert Cates for having the
courage to break out of the rut in which the event had embedded itself. For the evening’s big loser was Miramax’s Chocolat, which never seemed to be taken seriously in any of the five disciplines (including Best Picture) for which it was nominated. Viewers who stuck around for the closing credits were treated to a downright swingin’ vamp on Deodato’s funked-up interpretation of that 2001 theme music, "Also Sprach Zarathustra." It was a fitting outro to one classy show.
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