I’d like to thank you all
It’s the middle of awards season, which means we can take a break from the frivolity of politics and global catastrophe to focus on what really matters: show business.
As a young kid I used to love watching award shows, but none more so than the Oscars.
I loved everything about it: the flubs, the snubs, the moment when a presenter would realise the autocue wasn’t up and had to stand there in silence for a few seconds, smiling through the discomfort. I loved when actors would try to tell jokes but deliver them as if English were their second language.
I’d stay up late and watch the replay on Prime (because my parents wouldn’t subscribe to Sky), staying glued for a glimpse of my favourite celebrities. I used to imagine that I’d be there one day, probably working security.
But amid all this gold, there was nothing I loved more that the acceptance speeches. They are, in my opinion, a special gift that God (science) has given the world – a perfect mix of earnestness and performative humility.
Over years of watching and observing these shows, I believe I have developed the perfect acceptance speech. While the only prize I’ve ever won was a sporting award for making a team I had that day been dropped from, I believe that I am ready should I ever win an Oscar, or even just a daytime Emmy. However, in the spirit of giving, I’m not keeping my speech to myself.
Should someone out there win one of these awards before me, I’m publishing my speech here. You have my permission to use it:
‘‘Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, (1) oh my God, OK, wow, thank you, oh my god.’’ Look at the award, then to the audience.
‘‘Oh my God. Hi, Oprah! (2) Wow. Ugh, this is heavy. (3)’’ Laugh and then get earnest.
‘‘Um, I’d first thank the other nominees in this category. (4) To be nominated among such a group of talent is an unbelievable honour. (5) To my director [insert the name of, let’s be realistic, a man here], your vision astonishes me; I share this with you.
‘‘To my co-stars [insert the names], I love you. You are my family. (6)
‘‘To my other family at home, mum, dad, (7) thank you for giving me the strength to follow my dreams. You taught me that a girl/boy from [insert small town] could be on this stage. And you believed it even when I didn’t. (8)
‘‘To my team, (9) I love you. ‘‘And to my [husband/wife]. You are my everything (10) and this would mean nothing without you.
‘‘To my kids, [name and name], if you’re watching this, go to bed! (12) Finally, I want thank God for making this all possible. (13) Thank you, I love you.’’
Footnotes:
It’s important to show shock. You have to show that you never thought you’d actually win. Stay humble.
Oprah will likely be sitting in the front row, so this will get a huge laugh. It’ll make you seem really down to earth, like you’re just a small-town kid
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who can’t believe their luck that they made it this far. If Oprah’s not there, Meryl Streep is a good back-up option. Leonardo DiCaprio could work at a pinch. Relatable down to earth joke. Have their names written on a piece of paper, forgetting their names is a huge faux pas.
This works two ways, it shows everyone that you’re humble and thinking about others, while simultaneously reminding everyone that you are, in fact, the best of the best.
Our cast is closer than your cast. A nuclear family is ideal. Even if you’re not from a small town, just pick the name of an unknown suburb. It will sound impressive and achieve the same effect.
I’m unclear on who the ‘‘team’’ is, but everyone thanks them, so just cover your bases.
Ideally, you’ll be tearing up here. This is a lie; the award would still be great.
This is a fun joke.
This is my favourite one, because I love the idea that some actors think God is taking a special interest in their acting careers. Like God is sitting at a casting desk somewhere making decisions about who’ll star in The Avengers.
I loved when actors would try to tell jokes but deliver them as if English were their second language.
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