There was once an Oscars so bad, so haunting, so mortifyingly dark-sided, that it made people question whether the annual ceremony should be put out of its misery. It was 1989, and the Academy were keen for a shake-up. Chevy Chase had just come off a second consecutive year as host to a rash of negative reviews, with the LA Times branding the whole affair “parched, drab, and leaden”. For the 1988 ceremony, there were no real shocks or upsets to speak of. Bernardo Bertolucci’s sweeping historical epic The Last Emperor had been predicted to win – and it did, in all nine of the categories it was nominated in.
So, when Allan Carr – a Hollywood producer known for his wardrobe full of caftans, his work on 1978’s Grease, and his taste for outrageously kitsch house parties – claimed he could deliver “the most elegant production ever on television”, the Academy jumped at the opportunity. What would actually take place, on the night of 29 March 1989, would unleash a moment of such infamy that it would lead the New York Times’s Janet Maslin to remark: “The 61st Academy Awards ceremony began by creating the impression that there would never be a 62nd.”
