For the first time in years, the Oscars seemed to actually enjoy themselves. Sunday’s ceremony, hosted by first-timer Conan O’Brien and held at the Dolby Theater in Los Angeles, was a celebratory affair – a necessary lick of positivity for a city that had wethered destructive wildfires in recent weeks, and a shot in the arm for an awards show that seems more and more to have to justify its existence. A brilliant turn by O’Brien and a raft of genuinely very good winners made this the best Oscars in recent memory.
O’Brien, a red-haired court jester of a man, typically leans towards absurdity rather than zingers, so kicked off his appearance with a pre-recorded skit in which he hatched from Demi Moore’s back à la The Substance – then realised he left his shoe somewhere inside of her and dove back in for a scramble. Once he arrived on stage, jokes came thick and fast. “Wicked is the perfect movie for people who watched The Wizard of Oz and thought, ‘sure, but where did all the minor characters go to college?’”; “Conclave is nominated for Best Picture tonight. Its logline: a movie about the Catholic Church, but don’t worry.”
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