With Deepest Attitude

I know I’m supposed to keep it short, but this is my moment and I’ve got a lot to say. There have been so many people who haven’t helped me over the years. Please forgive me if I fail to mention some of your names in this important public forum when it really counts, as you have failed to mention mine so many times over the years.

First of all, I would not like to thank my family. They were never there when I needed them, and of course, they’re all here now. Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, you were always the first to say, “You’re right. You can’t do it. Why don’t you make us all feel comfortable and give up?”

Then there’s my industry family. I’ll start with my agent. He once dislocated both shoulders describing the fish he caught. Jeremy, what can I say? You didn’t get me this part and you almost blew the deal. You’re fired. Not that it was such a great part anyway. As we all know, the person it was written for has the acting range of a doorbell. When she turned it down, I got the part because my agent said that I’d work for food. Sorry, is that too bitter? It’s just that I’m dying. Really. Why so quiet? Everyone knows that I’ve got six weeks. Isn’t that why I’m getting this award?

Well, I see that Elizabeth Taylor’s face has just dropped, and I have many more people I do not wish to thank. So with your unkind permission . . . where was I? Oh, yes, my so-called director. Please hold your applause. This man never once helped me with a performance. He was too busy worrying about his own . . . [imitating director] That’s a wr-aaaap! And cuh-ut! Holy Christ, that was good for me! Stef-ahhhhn? Good for you? . . . [as herself] Well, you know what, ladies and gentlemen of the academy? It was never very good for me. Except with Cheryl, the producer of this film. You know, Cheryl and I go way back. In fact, we had an affair during her second marriage. Actually, it’s still going on. But you know, in all the years I’ve known this woman, she never once invited me to screenings. The only time I see free movies is on “Siskel & Ebert.”

But I digress. I’m supposed to be telling you about all the people I don’t have to thank. So another big no-thank-you goes to my manager, Larry, the first man in this business to tell me that I could never replace Ellen Barkin.

And let’s not forget my acting coach, always consistent in his belief that I should find another career, not to mention my accountant who’s so crooked he has to screw his socks on, or my many foul-weather friends in my Adult Children of Alcoholics program who secretly want me to fail so I can phone them and talk about low self-esteem.

I could go on, but I see that it’s time for somebody else to come up here and have their name mangled by some has-been actor who is too vain to wear reading glasses.

Let me just quickly tip my hat to my gaffer. Really, Frank, I was so poorly lit in this film that even my ex-husband who left me for a piece of jailbait called to say that I’m much prettier in person. And how could I honestly accept your acclaim without mentioning my co-star? . . . What was her name again?

And now I find myself reaching the end of my list. It’s time to mention the one person who I can honestly say was there for me whenever it really counted--my dry-cleaner. Jimmy, you overcharge and you ruin anything that says “handle with care.” But even during the lean years, you kept my picture on your wall, and I remember.

So what can I say other than if I’ve neglected to mention anybody, the omission was purely intentional. Those of you who have slammed a door in my face--you know who you are. So why don’t you turn your backs to your neighbor and all give yourselves a great big, sloppy bear snub from yours truly?

In closing, I’d like to tell all of you that I’ll treasure this little guy forever [fondling the award], but frankly, he’s too little too late. What do you expect from a guy named Oscar? No thank you and good night.