“The Academy does not condone violence in any form.”
This is the response we heard from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, following Sunday’s inciting incident: Will Smith slapping Chris Rock in retaliation for a useless, heartless verbal jab at Smith’s wife and fellow performer, Jada Pinkett Smith.
Lest we forget, the Academy has a pretty solid record of condoning violence in many forms. The movie industry, the medium itself, remains an economic force, even now, largely because of violence. Fictional human brutality is money. Many of the most popular films in existence would be nothing without it.
Without it, you wouldn’t have seen Francis Ford Coppola, Al Pacino and Robert De Niro on stage last night for the 50th anniversary of “The Godfather.” You can draw distinctions between what’s real and what isn’t. But the threat and fact of violence, verbal and physical, tells the story of every day in America and our world, from confirmation hearings to playgrounds to Putin to Hollywood.
A lot of us went into the Oscars last night feeling wobbly for a variety of reasons. A lot of us were wondering if anything might effectively take our minds off the invasion of Ukraine or the latest U.S. Supreme Court confirmation hearing.
A little escapism would’ve been nice.
Well. Maybe next year.
When Will Smith rolled up on stage at the Dolby Theatre a little ahead of schedule and slapped Chris Rock, suddenly we were watching the most nerve-wracking Oscars ceremony in history. It felt like a dozen things at once: a violation, a vindication, a boiling point reached and a reminder that escapism is very, very hard to come by these days.
You could watch Smith’s thought processes in real time and in mere seconds. First, Rock took an egregious shot at the expense of Pinkett Smith’s bald head. The joke’s target was a famous woman, married to a famous man. Just another cheap insult for laughs. Was it a joke that would have come from any of the three official Oscars co-hosts, Amy Schumer, Regina Hall and Wanda Sykes? Doubtful. They wouldn’t have settled for a pathetic, late 20th century “G.I. Jane” gag, directed at a woman who went public several years ago with her struggles with the autoimmune condition known as alopecia areata.
You could see Smith responding to Rock’s jab in an approximation of goodwill through gritted teeth. Pinkett Smith, who had been stung by Rock’s barbs before, a few Oscars ago, was in no mood for going along to get along. And then Smith slapped Rock, and the temperature in the room changed and never changed back.
Not long after that, roughly halfway into the ceremony’s promised “exciting final hour,” Smith accepted the best actor Oscar for “King Richard.”
Through several highly suspenseful minutes, Smith in his acceptance speech attempted to explain, justify and partially apologize for smacking Rock, though without any apology to Rock himself. Smith’s actions, he said, through tears, were in the spirit of Richard Williams, whom he played in “King Richard,” and Williams’ “fierce” protection of his family.
“Love will make you do crazy things,” Smith said. He apologized to the Academy and his fellow nominees. And it worked; it “played.” As bits of what clearly was Smith’s prepared remarks emerged in and among his thoughts about contrition, God’s purpose and not putting up with anyone’s trash talk anymore, the Oscars became the most riveting improv session in recent memory.
As Twitter and the Monday morning shows filed their insta-reviews of Smith’s behavior, the results were as divided as everything else in the culture right now. Rock had it coming. Smith was out of line. Were both things true? Neither? Oh, well. Classic West Philly behavior, many said in reference to Smith’s hometown, including Quinta Brunson of “Abbott Elementary.”
“I know to do what we do,” Smith said, Oscar in hand, “you gotta be able to take abuse. You gotta be able to have people talk crazy about you. In this business, you gotta be able to have people disrespecting you and you gotta smile and pretend like that’s OK.” But in movie terms, the protagonist of Will Smith’s Oscar night, played by Will Smith, had had enough.
The real drama? Denzel Washington counseled Smith after the incident during a commercial break. In his acceptance speech, Smith relayed that “Denzel said to me a few minutes ago, ‘At your highest moment, be careful — that’s when the devil comes for you.’” It was a wrenching moment, impossible to reduce to a single response or thought or feeling.
What else happened Sunday? “CODA” won top prize. Ariana DeBose, supporting actress winner for “West Side Story,” gave a wonderful speech. Less wonderful: the “In Memoriam” tribute, led by Tyler Perry’s salute to the late Sidney Poitier, which soon turned into a risky folly of a gospel musical dance number. As Virgil Tibbs, the Philly detective in the 1967 film “In the Heat of the Night,” Poitier famously returned the slap delivered first by a white murder suspect. It was what many have called the slap heard around the world.
The 2022 Oscars answered that slap with another one.
As for all the “fan favorite” bits clogging up the telecast Sunday, well, I felt nothing, just like the song from “A Chorus Line” said. ABC’s strong-arm decision to add all the Marvel and DC Comics-friendly fan service, like ABC’s decision to kick eight of the Oscar categories to a pre-taped pre-show thingie edited into the live broadcast, had a clear motive: to get people who hate the Oscars to hate them a tiny bit less.
It’s decision-making designed for craven fan service, regarding theoretical movie fans who know what they like and that’s that and to hell with “The Power of the Dog” or “Drive My Car” or “The Worst Person in the World.” Well, “CODA” — people might take a chance on that one now. It’s historic and nonthreatening: a heartwarming American remake of a heartwarming French film about the teenage daughter of deaf parents, as well as the first best-picture prize awarded to a streaming service, Apple TV+.
But no one’s talking much about those films this morning, even if U.S. viewers last night saw only strange censored glitches and heard only bleeped-out silence once Will Smith took the stage, smacked a comedian and took care of things the way they do in the movies.
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(Michael Phillips is a Tribune critic.)
