Oscars folly

In a program with no center and not much heart, the young and unshaved looked to old Hollywood for glamour and class.

By David Thomson

Mar 26, 2001 | Were there moments in these 73rd Academy Awards? Of course there were. Not even American television, with three-and-a-half hours and 800 million viewers, can entirely suppress the life force. So there was a lovely shot of Danny DeVito, somewhere early in the third hour, bopping away in his seat, chewing on a raw carrot, as Bob Dylan sang his song from "Wonder Boys" live (or as close to live as the ever more weird Dylan can get) from Sydney, Australia. But then, the next time host Steve Martin came on, he rushed into the seats with a bowl of dip for DeVito. Thirty years ago that would have passed as inspired improvisation. But now it makes us feel the carrot was a setup, that DeVito was part of the script and the show.

It was easier to believe in Tom Hanks' contrite face when Martin made some rather long-winded joke about his having been involved in the plot to kidnap Russell Crowe. Hanks could have guessed he was on camera, and in close-up, but the furtive, whispered "Sorry" in Crowe's direction was so well done it let you feel the natural humor in the man. Equally, Crowe's own rather churlish response to Martin's early joke about how the actor had been ready to hit on Ellen Burstyn, made up to look older than her actual age, seemed consistent with the Australian actor's entire demeanor.

And there was an instant when Julia Roberts' calm shattered and she let out with "It feels so great up here," and made efforts to make sure that her dress -- one of the best of the evening (Jennifer Lopez and Sigourney Weaver were runners-up; and Angelina Jolie was a sensation in a white suit) -- was arranged to look good on camera. Like Hanks, Roberts has a direct path into her own emotional energy that accounts for so many people liking her. It shows -- like Judi Dench's unforced laughter when Kevin Spacey thanked her for carrying his mislaid tuxedo across country for the night.

And talking of naked personality, it's not easy to forget the grief and then the very Roman matter-of-factness with which Ridley Scott smothered his feelings at not winning best director. Scott is 63; Steven Soderbergh, who won for "Traffic," is 38. Soderbergh may go on to make better films than Scott, though I don't really think he's done it yet. On the other hand, Scott is at an age when he may wonder how much energy he has left for the immense physical and emotional strain of something like "Gladiator." He looked like a man who felt he had his best chance this year, and even the whooping of the team that produced "Gladiator" (which won best picture and best actor) seemed a touch subdued by its thoughts of Scott.

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