June 23, 2017
June 23, 2017
By Sam Wasson | January 13, 2017 | Culture
Winter means awards time. Who cares about Emma Stone and Ryan Gosling?
Once more, as we begin our descent into awards season, and I find myself looking forward to seeing this year’s slight variation on the tuxedo, and how funny it would be if Julianne Moore or someone was literally wearing Tom Ford—like, the actual person—I naturally reflect on my favorite part of the Oscars.
Along with the In Memoriam reel, which offers the rare and wonderful opportunity to see our favorite actors not talking, my favorite part of the show comes toward the shank of the evening, when most home viewers get restless and, as a kind of stalling technique, begin to feign casual interest in the people around them.
I am speaking, of course, of the presentation of Best Sound Editing and Best Sound Mixing, two categories I know absolutely nothing about. What I do know, however, is that these expert filmmakers are time and again the Oscars’ most exuberant bunch. Bounding down from their nosebleeds in the fourth mezzanine, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, these folks take their moment as if no one’s watching.
They aren’t auditioning. By virtue of their trade, they don’t make their speeches with obstreperous egos, or the tendency to emotionally over-share—only the fraternal good will of a nerdy combat unit on furlough and an obvious love for their industry. I hope the Academy never promotes these heroes to the front of the orchestra. Year after year, I have come to so cherish their long victory march to the stage.
PHOTOGRAPHY BY CHRISTOPHER POLK/GETTY IMAGES (STAGE); ROBYN BECK/GETTY IMAGES (STATUE)