Oscars gaffe and our own blunders
Unfortunate incident a reminder that we all make mistakes and it’s best to admit them, move on
Oscars, what have you done?
Thanks to the flub of the century, where for a few seconds at this year’s Academy Awards ceremony the wrong movie was handed the Best Picture award, every award ceremony in every profession in every non-Hollywood setting will reference the moment with a huge hardy har har: “Are we completely sure this is the winner of the Most Cladwear Sales of the Year award?” Kill me now. Like everyone else watching the Oscars to its wild and wacky end, a multitude of startling thoughts ran through my sleepy head during their big, fat best picture mistake where, because of a faulty envelope, La La Land was announced the winner until seconds later, it turned out that Moonlight had actually won:
“I’m so tired, why did I eat those Greek honeyballs, La La Land wins best picture, predictable. Wish it could have been . . . wait, why does that producer look so . . . what the WHAT? You mean the real winner is Moonlight? Wow, that’s amazing! Am I dreaming? And who is going to take the fall for this embarrassing mess?
We all know by now that the poor tuxedo-clad tweeting accountant (and his gowned partner) from pricewaterhousebloopers are no longer wearing Armani, just the mistake. Pacing and tweeting a photo of Emma Stone backstage, the guy apparently gave the wrong envelope to presenter Warren Beatty. And according to a story in the Washington Post, both accountants “froze” instead of taking immediate action when the wrong movie was announced. Not cool.
Now the Academy has solemnly announced that neither accountant will ever walk its red carpet again.
But I blame Beatty, too. The famed actor clearly suspected the card was messed up and still let Faye Dunaway, his presenting partner, blurt out the wrong title.
Beatty should have cleared his throat and said: “Sorry folks, I know time is tight, but could a producer verify this card because it doesn’t look right.”
But no. To quote former prime minister Brian Mulroney’s famous words to former prime minister John Turner, “Sir, you had a choice.”
The choice Beatty made humiliated La La Land (whose producer showed impeccable grace) and robbed the Moonlight team of its pinnacle Hollywood moment: that hush of suspense, hearing your movie called, the roar of the crowd, rushing to the stage, thanking through tears.
But let’s move on, shall we, to our own monumental screw-ups? Because after we got over the Oscar mix-up, weren’t we also guiltily remembering our own major flubs?
In other words, mistakes I’ve made a few, but then again, a few too many to mention.
For example: When I was 20, I was interning at an Ontario paper. The editor sent me out to interview people about the fact that a home, as I recall, for the mentally disabled was going onto their block. (We were terribly unenlightened then.) He expected a NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) piece and boy did he get one. Those neighbours were furious, not about who their neighbours would be, but because not a single one of them had even been consulted.
There was only one problem: unfamiliar with the city, I had gone to the wrong neighbourhood, blocks away from the real one, and startled household after household with what is now known as fake news.
“Oh dear Jesus God” wailed the editor, or words to that effect, when we discovered my error minutes before deadline. I was forced to redo the story. For a while I was in intern purgatory. But what a great time in my life to make that mistake, because for the rest of my long career, it guided me.
Like every journalist I know, I remain completely paranoid about getting things wrong in little or big ways. Dropping the “l” from “public” is a perennial nightmare, misspelling names another one. Bigger mistakes are allegations or wrong facts that ruin careers or reputations, including your own. Thankfully that hasn’t happened to me.
However, I have misspelled my share of names, including Gandhi. That “h” is tricky. I had to deal with a snarky note from an editor inquiring if I meant “THE Gandhi.” My family still makes fun of me for that.
The Oscars gaffe wasn’t life threatening, nor were my mistakes. But we all stake our reputations in whatever field we’re in on getting it right.
When I think of life-threatening mistakes, I think of airline pilots, air traffic controllers, surgeons, anesthesiologists, army generals, transit operators, food and water inspectors.
We can, and do, die from their mistakes. Once, to forestall this probability when I was going into minor surgery, I whis- pered to two capped and gowned anesthetists: “You are my two best friends in all the world.” I woke up fine, so it worked like a charm.
We are the sum not only of our triumphs but also our mistakes. It’s best to admit them, apologize, make reparations to whom we harmed, learn and move on.
I’m glad I stayed up long enough to see that Oscars debacle. Not because I enjoy watching people squirm with regret. (Well alright, it was more entertaining than some of the movies.)
But it also reminded me, in a world of distraction, to concentrate. To check and check again. To never assume anything. To speak up fast if something doesn’t seem right.
And of course, to tweet after the job is done and not during it.
As any accountant might put it, that’s your bottom line. Judith Timson writes weekly about cultural, social and political issues. You can reach her at judith.timson@sympatico.ca and follow her on Twitter @judithtimson.