The Awards Ceremony

Arriving too late for the synthetic canapés, or even a beer, I grab a seat towards the back of the Fairfax. The ceremony starts fifteen minutes late. At 6.15 the hosts, a muscular black man called Tony and a diminutive white woman whose name I never catch, begin their introduction from the on-stage podium. On stage there are 34 mini-Oscars lined up. This is an ur-Oscars: the film ceremony for films which have not been shot on film. The third award up is for sound. The Boat People has been nominated. Only now does it dawn on me that if we win, I’ll have to go up and say something on Fabrice’s behalf. We don’t win. My relief is palpable. Several dozen awards later, it’s the director’s award, for which Rob is nominated. If he wins I’ll dedicate it to the writer, and to Russell. He doesn’t win. My relief remains palpable. Another six dozen awards later The Boat People is nominated for best dramatic feature. Every film in the festival has been nominated for best film in it’s category (Zombie; Chainsaw; Squirrel; Action; Aviation Stunt; Macabre; Romantic Comedy etc) so this is no great shakes. All the same my relief is still palpable, if dulled, at being pipped by a feature based on an American Football Game. (And should surely have been in the Best American Football category?) At 8 I sneak out, award-free, and wait forty five minutes for a bus. This is the beginning of an epic Sunday night bus-metro-automobile journey to North Hollywood, for which I should certainly have been at least nominated.