Flak Magazine: Live from the 2004 Oscars Red Carpet, 03.02.04

HOLLYWOOD — At 10:55 a.m. PST, a Fox News field reporter relayed that the Oscar bleacher fans — those volunteers and avid movie/celeb hounds who unabashedly provide the screams for starlets at every red carpet ceremony — started lining up as early as six to get a shot at claiming a treasured stretch of aluminum. That wasn't accurate; the 400-plus fans lining the rug had already won a lottery and passed background checks. It was assigned seating … and I had my assignment. The red carpet was cancelled in 2003 over security concerns due to the pending Iraq war, and so fans who beat the odds and scored a seat saw their — our — claim roll over to last Sunday's session, the 76th Academy Awards.

Standard event rules apply: no glass, no alcohol, bring your own grub and dress for the weather. Interestingly, no telephoto lenses, either, although some of the gear photophiles snuck in were easily longer than Billy Boyd is tall. Regardless, this writer, armed with duelling digital cameras (Canon PowerShot A70 and Fujifilm CoolPix 3100) and not quite sure what to look forward to, gained his proper admission to the Oscar compound at 9:30 behind four middle-aged women wearing matching polo shirts identifying them as the "Movie Mavens."

In fact, about three out of every five "bleacher creatures" was a middle-aged, overweight woman. At 9:45, it was discovered that everyone within arm's reach came from the Midwest (one from Ohio, two from Illinois and me from Wisconsin), but such familiarity did little to stop the cackling and cooing at the first mention of Sting. The only tonic seemed to be a Chicagoland JUCO male one row back that talked sports. Promising, but he would later drop the following gems:

"Yeah. Is Ashley Kutcher coming?"
"I had a good idea that Frodo wouldn't die and Spiegel would come in."
"Is Cleveland in Ohio?"

Film Comment, no. These were denizens of People, Entertainment Weekly and US Weekly, and their support of Johnny Depp was unequivocal. Beyond being a crowd gathered 'round the table for a pop culture feast, it had the feel of a community — assigned seating takes away the acid that accompanies general admission cattle calls. The help-thy-neighborness kicked into high gear when Wolfgang Puck, the first non-press celeb to show up, started hurling gold-dusted chocolate statuettes into the crowd at 11:45, and the bounty was passed around for all to examine.

Joan Rivers and her tributary, Melissa Rivers, surfaced at 2:25, officially kicking off the pre-proceedings. The first legitimate celebrity to arrive came, strangely, 10 minutes later, when Old School's Blue hobbled in. (No one could remember his name, but that didn't stop anyone from shouting "You're my boy!") Almost a full hour later, the steady stream began with Jamie Lee Curtis (sporting short, silver hair) and surprise Best Actress candidate Keisha Castle-Hughes.

At this point, the vanity of the bleachergoers was revealed and stepped on by Mother Nature herself. The sun was low to the carpet, and the El Capitan Theater, magnificent as it may be, was two stories too short to provide any relief. No matter the gear, early snaps were bleached and fuzzy, and the sun didn't duck past Hollywood and Orange until well after 5. Regardless, the hit parade ensued:

Best Supporting Actor nominee Ken Watanabe — easily the night's most difficult accent to mitigate — landed third, but whither co-star Tom Cruise? Much to the gadfly's chagrin, Cruise was nowhere to be found — surprising, because he didn't even have the honor of being the biggest (Nicole Kidman) or second-biggest (Russell Crowe) acting snub.

Alison Krauss finally gets her due. Co-auteur on two Best Song nominees, the queen of bluegrass donated the gorgeous "Down in the River to Pray" to O Brother, Where Art Thou? and put two Cold Mountain pieces (one with Sting, one with Elvis Costello) into this year's spread.

Best Actor nominee Ben Kingsley was in House of Sand and Fog with Jennifer Connelly (snubbed), who is married to Master and Commander's Paul Bettany (snubbed), who landed his break as Chaucer in A Knight's Tale, which starred …

Heath Ledger, here accompanying his squeeze Naomi Watts. If she keeps her current pace, Best Actress nominee Watts has the potential to fall into Julianne Moore's always-a-bridesmaid niche.

Scarlet Johansson Scarlett Johansson, mostly tongue-tied on this stage, was anything but for Girl with the Pearl Earring and Lost in Translation. Corny, yes, but such a one-two punch is usually reserved for heavy hitters such as Sean Penn or Billy Bob Thornton, not an upcoming It Girl like her. She gives the Chloe Sevignys and Zooey Deschanels of the acting world hope for a quick about-face.

Will Ferrell and Jack Black loomed in the press stretch for nearly a half-hour, and who can blame them? The dynamic duo are SNL Studios' dream pair, and Ferrell — who stands close to 6'5" — was a monument, a full head taller than everyone since Will Smith.

Johnny Depp ditched his Golden Globes hat-and-glasses ensemble, but he also ditched the entire red carpet circus, motoring past the photo pit, the reporters and the aluminum-seat adorers. A simple case of nerves before a Best Actor win? The women among my bleacher compatriots can only hope so — and did, aloud, with much redundancy.

Kristen, Jim and Naomi Sheridan Writer/director Jim Sheridan, flanked by his co-writer/daughters Kristen (left) and Naomi, provides what's easily one of the most touching storylines of this year's ceremony. Their original In America script had a legitimate shot at the trophy. Amazing, though, that they can combine for such a magnum opus and yet only have a half-dozen broken words for this on-the-spot interview.

Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones were introduced as film's First Family a half-hour after Smith and Jada Pinkett-Smith were tabbed film's Finest Family … or something like that. The women around me reeled when one paraphrased Z-J as saying, "A million dollars is a lot to some people, but it's not a lot to us."

On their heels, a shorn Bill Murray, another pillar among smurfs, was amicable and smiling … and sped through the floor. Were his Groundhog Day and Rushmore turns better or more deserving? It may not matter. His Spackler days are well behind him, and after Garfield, it's nothing but gravy from here forward.

Then again, maybe Murray just looked tall next to Peter Jackson, the original hobbit. You can never blame him for being sentimental — it's not a twisted ribbon or a national flag on his lapel. It's a pin from the online Lord of the Rings fan club for good luck in the Best Picture race.

Jackson and Sofia Coppola might make the strangest couple of Oscar darlings yet — both have screenwriting, directing and Best Picture Oscars on the line for work filmed on South Pacific islands. That, and they're both dud interviews.

Ah, Clint Eastwood. Old, funny and can still kick your ass. If only we could take one Return of the King ending and slap it onto Mystic River. Anything — Kevin Bacon gets crowned Man King of Boston, Marcia Gay Harden sails off into the Grey Havens, anything. Eagles swooping into Southie and taking Laura Linney away. Wouldn't that have been better than the guilty-but-not-arrested buddy shtick?

The talk of Ian McKellen's mini-interview was his fashionable red armbands. No Gandalf, no knighthood, no world affairs, just the flair.

Alec Baldwin. At this point, the end of the line is clearly drawn behind the Miramax limo that just unloaded, and so Alec quickly comes to represent every actor, guest or surprise every bleacher fan was hoping to see.

Renee Zellweger Renée Zellweger and a dawdling Charlize Theron brought up the rear, scurrying along the carpet as ushers closed in and began to shut down. Two blond beauties hoisting twin statuettes? The evening had yet to reveal ….

The journey ends at the El Capitan. Directly across the street from the Kodak Theater, its ABC Oscar viewing party stands as the closest civilians can get to the big gig. According to the random banter as we headed in, Colin Farrell won the award for latest-arriving attendee. Some (Benicio Del Toro, John Cusack, Tom Hanks, John Travolta) slipped by unnoticed, but the diminutive Farrell resurrected the question my mind had laid to rest: Are all celebrities shorter than we thought? The red carpet ceremony would seem to be the best event (outside of a table at Spago) for answering that, and yet we left it no closer to the luminaries than we were on entry. The carpet was split down the middle by a matching cordon, and a steady flow of technical and production attendees kept our precious from us, at a distance of about 25 yards. From there, what did the patricians do? What could they do? Wave, smile and yelp back our way when they weren't taken by the press armada. The Oscars, at root, are simply an industry promoting its product, but while we entirely love and are slave to its product, some of us might not be satisfied with sitting idly by while Elijah Wood makes monkeyshines and Sean Connery squints into the masses unlovingly. The bleachers at the red carpet are a great break to catch if pointing, squealing, waving and screaming at those idols we endorse as our standardbearers of the beauty myth fills your dreams. For this bleacher creature, tapping on the TV screen seems exactly the same.

E-mail Andy Stilp at info at andystilp dot com.