THE AWARDS EDITION 2011-2012

When it’s Mom With the Nom, There’sNo Way to Stay Calm – But There’sAlways Room for HopeBy Carrie FisherHaving come from a show business family, I was aware of the Academy Awards®from a very early age. What age I happened to be is outside the grasp of myunenviable, limited powers of recollection.42 The Awards Edition 2011-2012 Issue 07That having been said, if age can, in part, be determinedby someone’s height, I was very, very short, so in alllikelihood I was about six or seven years old when Ilearned about this coveted, golden, (nude?!!!!) man. Aman even shorter than I was, but unlike me, he had theability to make someone in nice clothes unimaginablyconspicuous, frequently giddy, surprised, tongue tied, andin a very short time, able to disconcert!But perhaps unlike other short people, the Oscars ®snuck into my awareness because my mother had beennominated!, for best actress for her performance in the 1964film, The Unsinkable Molly Brown. It was her first – and only– nomination. Of course, at the time, all she knew wasthat it was her first nomination.So, the night came. She got all dressed up – and when Isay dressed up, I mean way dressed up. You know, jewelrysurrounding and dangling from every imaginable place.And make-up – big make up. And on top of the makeup–literally on top – hair. Blonde hair even! More thanblonde, it was vertical! It had the quality of attempting tokeep company with the ceiling! And if that wasn’t enough– like an invisible escort – she was lovingly encased insomething I came to call a gown, which is a dress to thepower of lots and lots of powers of some number thathardly matters. What mattered was that she shimmered. Iassume that something in the nature of fur was drapeddevotedly over one shoulder and shyly in the crook of theother, bare shouldered arm.Also, teetering on high heels – heels designed to helpher hair scale its nose-bleed high trek to the top ofher dressing room, and in an invisible cloud of secretcelebrity perfume, she nervously clutched her teeny,totally impractical “purse,” able to contain a bit ofKleenex, a bright tube of lipstick, a tip for the woman inthe crowded washroom, and, yes, a secret little cache of… don’t tell … please … hope.Of course, she assured everyone – like most everyone doeswho possesses an ounce of apparent humility – of course,she knew she wouldn’t win. That’s when you shake yourhead and smile shyly and say something like, “It’s anhonor just to have been nominated. That’s more than I evercould’ve dreamed of expecting. Just to be named in the samelittle list of lucky honorees was more than enough.”Which was true, in a way.More than that, she – and in all likelihood most of herco-considered companions – told this to anyone who’dlisten. And, c’mon! Lots of people listened to you whileyou waited to see if it would be you who clutched thegolden, nude man holding his sword greedily, grinningas the cameras flashed and the people – both strangersand known, even strangely known – called out your name:“Over here! Look at me! See me!” Because if you – one ofthe most seen persons on the scene saw and even smiledat them, it made them part of the winners’ lucky charm.Would it be you? Please! Don’t tell anyone, but please let mebe the one who the most people agreed was the best atwhat she had done and would – with any on-going luck –continue to do. But also, please let me seem fine if I don’twin. The choices seem to come down to being lauded asthe best at what a few really good people did, or if I failon the lauded front, please let me be the finest of the mostgallant of sports. Good sport or great star.There she was, on that night of nights, waving bye-bye toher short, nervous offspring who wondered, “Would shecome back? Would she be different? Would the love thatwas offered be of a higher quality than the littler love thather two little shimmers were able to give her to take withher?” And come on, how much love would she be able tocram into that bejeweled excuse for a purse?????!!!!!Off she went, seated stiffly in the back of that longlimousine. Steering down palm tree-lined streets, thereshe glides – or goes – you can’t really do both. Streamsof long cars flow to the big building. Rivers of the wellknownare invisibly drawn to where the prizes are linedup on some undeserving table, waiting to be distributed tothe soon-to-be even-more-visible-than-before stars. Carshauling the super human to the place where the popularconvene in their expensive clothing and Cinderella-esqueborrowed jewelry – jewelry that will magically turn intopublicists and commentators and fans, oh my!But it’s not midnight yet. There are still hours remaining– stretches of time left to hope, to wave gaily, to not falloff your tall shoes on the red carpet, or make your wayto the green room – “Wait! Check it out! Red and green!The colors of Christmas! Of stars sparkling from everysparkable spot that can be shined from! Will there besomething under the tree for me on this flashbulb-fillednight disguised as a kind of Christmas morning?” Thewondering is done as they wander through this waterhole, this hot spot, this birthplace of the conspicuous.There she is – see her?My mother makes her way: her way; for now it’s hers andno one else’s. Eventually she survives the throng – thisgaggle of the thrilled and the thrilling. See? That’s her onthe aisle in case she wins. She’s right next to three othernames over the title and five and a half seat fillers. Finally,the evening so many have waited for. Not knowing whatto expect. Hoping against hope – or is it hope againsthoping? Anyway, hope is a factor.And now it’s time; the telecast is beginning. The lightscarrie fisherdim, the music swells, it’s just a matter of time until thelittle gold men will begin to be distributed. It will be manyhours until we arrive at the best actress category. Allnominees will have to call upon every last ounce of stoic,straight-backed patience available to them. But we’re notconcerned with them right now, are we? Right now, it’smy mother who we’re rooting for. Well, I am anyway.The names are read, the clips are shown, hearts arepounding, breath held …“And the winner is … Julie Andrews!”What??????? That couldn’t have been for herperformance as Mary Poppins, could it? It could.Wearing an expression of shocked and thrilled, thrilledexcitement, Ms. Andrews kisses a husband-type personand bounds up the stage to the podium to collect hercoveted statue and express her gratitude and humility.And my mom? Sure, she’s happy for Julie, whoshould’ve won for The Sound of Music – or was it sheshould’ve gotten the role in My Fair Lady? – so she gotthis instead. My mother is happy-ish, she applauds,