Reaching for the stars in Hollywood
Celebrity culture proves elusive in L.A.
“People feel connected to that celebrity or that movie or that era — it’s a big deal,” Arngrim says. “I’ve seen people crying and weeping.”
Oscar moment
After our TMZ tour, Nishimura and I end up at Pink’s, famous for its hot dogs — but also for being the site of an episode of “Jackass” in which Brad Pitt is kidnapped from the line and thrown into a van to the horror of onlookers. (It was all a setup.)
Pink’s was never in “La La Land,” but it does sell a “La La Land” hot dog — smothered in a mountain of guacamole, sour cream and bacon. It costs $8.95.
Certainly, the pinnacle of celebrity access is the Academy Awards. But its access can also be illusory.
On television, the red-carpet arrivals event appears to resemble the cinematic premieres of yore: Fans cheer as the famous stride up the red carpet to the theater. But the fans in the stands — about 700 of them — are chosen by lottery well in advance of the show.
Only the famous get to walk the main red carpet. Everyone else is sent along a side lane where a battalion of security guards prod you to keep moving. If you’re not a celebrity, accessing the Oscars is like going through the world’s most glamorous airport security line — complete with metal detectors.
From there, flashbulbs go off as you walk up the steps to the
Dolby Theatre. Except they’re not flashbulbs — they’re strobe lights timed to mimic camera flashes.
Behind the velvet rope
During the awards, when “Black Panther” star Chadwick Boseman goes on stage to present, he says, “Some people build fences to keep people out. Other people build fences to keep people in” — a reference to President Donald Trump’s anti-immigrant polices.
It’s an ironic reference given that the Academy Awards takes place inside a blocks-wide security cordon that would make the average U.s.-mexico border crossing blush: There are cement barriers and policemen with mirrors. Casual gawkers are kept at a distance — in narrow sidewalk pens surrounded by chain link.
Even inside the awards, there are limits. My ticket admits me to the mezzanines — where I sit with other reporters and industry professionals. The celebrity zone below is protected by a guard and a velvet rope.
After the awards, as the celebrities move on to their parties, I slip out of the theater and walk east along Hollywood Boulevard, where a few dozen fans hope to see a star from their pen, to little success.
At North Cherokee Avenue, I finally make it past the yards of chain link and amble up to Christy Hilario’s hot dog cart. On the menu: a bacon dog with all the fixings.
A man in a sweatsuit comes by and offers to sell us a pair of Nike Air Max sneakers for $30. “It’s a bargain,” he says, offering up a grocery bag with a pair of shoes.
Hilario declines and says business has been slow because of the Oscars. Has she seen any celebrities?
“No,” she says with a laugh. “Here, all you get is Zorro and old SpiderMan.”