Bradley’s face froze into a rictus smile as Oscar went to... someone else
WE wErE promised that the 96th Academy Awards ceremony was going to be different. Earlier. Shorter. Crisper. Less self-indulgent. More relevant.
And this year, for the first time ever, the entire ceremony is being livestreamed free into our living rooms courtesy of ITV, with viewers treated to ‘wrap-around’ hosting by veteran broadcaster Jonathan ross.
He’s 5,437 miles from the action, in a purple and gold studio in rainy London, accompanied by a panel of ‘expert’ guests – including actor richard Armitage, TV presenter Yinka Bokinni and Cold Feet actress Fay ripley – who collectively seem to know alarmingly little about film.
The premise is that ross hosts a 45-minute warm-up show. And then, during every loo break in the ceremony in LA, the action switches back to him and his supposedly chirpy, chatty crew.
Perhaps it’s kinder to fast-forward – past the Twitter frenzy of angry posts from viewers that include ‘ross is as funny as a fungal infection’ and calling it ‘a horror show’ – to the Dolby Theatre in Los Angeles and the real Oscars host, Jimmy Kimmel.
who is safe, confident and – perhaps not that hard – a lot funnier than Jonathan ross. Even when his ill-advised joke about robert Downey Jr’s drug habit falls flat on its face.
Of course, we all know that the Oscars isn’t everyone’s idea of a great night of telly – overly long, selfcongratulatory twaddle. But this year it does feel rather better than usual. It’s fairly rattling along. In fact, after barely an hour, we are four Oscars down with 19 to go, watching the amazing Billie Eilish perform her hit from Barbie and marvelling at Ariana Grande’s gigantic candyfloss dress and the fact that Emma Stone’s outfit seems to have been modelled on a Fox’s Glacier mint.
BUT, most of all, we are worrying how poor old Bradley Cooper will weather it if, on his fifth acting nomination (and twelfth in total), he doesn’t win anything for Maestro, his epic about the life of the composer and conductor Leonard Bernstein, which has been nominated in seven categories. No wonder he’s brought his mum Gloria Campano along to sit next to him.
But just as we’re admiring Gloria’s Barbie-pink lipstick and giant blue sunglasses, we’re back in London while Hollywood takes a comfort break. It’s all quite disconcerting. One minute we’re watching Da’Vine Joy randolph accept the Best Supporting Actress Oscar in a great silver swoosh of tears, emotions, feathers, sequins and thanks.
The next, we’re back in ross’s purple hell, listening to Fay ripley tell us she ‘hated’ Poor Things and liken Martin Scorsese’s Killers Of The Flower Moon to Emmerdale.
Another surprise is that, unlike ross and his posse, the Oscars – when we’re allowed back there by ITV – are rather funny in parts.
Particularly when wwE star-turnedactor John Cena pops up on stage appearing totally starkers, with just the crisp nomination envelope to cover his bobbing bits as he presents the Oscar for Best Costume.
And when Kimmel jokes about Bradley dating his own mum. And Emily Blunt and ryan Gosling bickering on stage about which of their rival films – Oppenheimer and Barbie – is doing better in the Oscar tally. ( Oppenheimer, by far. Though Gosling steals the night when he performs his Barbie ‘I’m Just Ken’ extravaganza, in a hot pink sequinned suit accompanied by 65 dancing ‘Kens’ and a whooping crowd).
OF course, there are low points, which include a po- faced Michael Keaton point-blank refusing to join in a silly joke about Batman with impossibly big Arnold Schwarzenegger and impossibly small Danny DeVito.
And Al Pacino failing to read out the nominations for Best Picture, instead blurting out: ‘ And my eyes see Oppenheimer!’
At just after two in the morning, we have reached the Best Actor award. Once again, it just isn’t poor Bradley’s day.
Cillian Murphy gets it for Oppenheimer (as we all knew he would) and gives a lovely little speech about being Irish and atom bombs while, down on the front row, Bradley freezes his face into a rictus smile and his mum gives him a reassuring squeeze.
when the whole thing winds up at 2.30am and the air is still fizzing with energy in the Dolby Theatre, we are forced to pan back one last time – away from the glitz and glamour – to London.
where ross looks knackered, richard Armitage is pale and Fay admits she has not been up so late in years.