Once More Into the Breach on the Bard and Barred

Before I move on to what’s happening elsewhere in the world, from Kosovo to Kokomo, forgive me if I discuss for around the 71st time what happened at the 71st Academy Awards.

I know this show is now old news. Hollywood is already bored with William Shakespeare and blacklist victims--or, as Variety might headline them, the Bard and the Barred.

But people I talk to are still talking about the Oscars. They are talking about Roberto Benigni, the Italian rapscallion. They are talking about Elia Kazan and whether he is god or monster. They’re even talking about Miramax, even though a lot of mixed-up movie fans don’t know the difference between Miramax and Cinemax.

One of the lingering allegations since Oscar night is that “Shakespeare in Love” was voted best picture because of the money Miramax spent to promote the picture, particularly in the trade papers, Variety and the Hollywood Reporter.

This is a tale told by idiots.

Oh, sure--a voter took one look at an advertisement in Variety and said, “You know what? This makes me want to vote for ‘Shakespeare!’ I really liked ‘Saving Private Ryan’ better, but this is a GREAT ad!”

What are Miramax’s studio rivals trying to say, that academy members are so gullible and easily influenced, a saturation campaign of publicity can make them pick the wrong picture? How naive do they think academy voters are? Sub-PG-13?

Call me when some film half as good as “Shakespeare in Love” wins for best picture; then we’ll talk.

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Having said that, I’d also like to say this:

It occurs to me that “Saving Private Ryan,” “L.A. Confidential” and “Fargo” might well be the best pictures of the ‘90s, and none of them won best picture.

They are in good company. “Raging Bull” has often been called the best film of the ‘80s, and it didn’t win, either.

I would love to see the judges’ scorecards of this year’s voting. I know the final tabulations are never revealed to the public, but I’m dying to know if “Saving Private Ryan” lost by a single vote. Or if the firm that counts the Oscar ballots accidentally dropped a pile of them behind a file cabinet.

This was the first time in many years--maybe ever--that I was surprised by the announcement of the best picture. The acting honors continually confound me, but I would usually bet the ranch on which film wins as best picture . . . if not before the show, then definitely during it.

This time, I’d have lost the deed.

It wasn’t a surreal moment, as if Harrison Ford had stood there with that card in his hand and said, “Uh . . . ‘Thin Red Line?’ ”

But I wasn’t expecting a World War II defeat.

Until then, it had been a pretty good night for the war vets. Benigni won a pair of awards and accepted them in his usual quiet, dignified, Laurence Olivier-like way. Sophia Loren had already shouted out “Roberto!” in a way that, in my youth, I fantasized that some night Sophia would shout out “Mike!”

And then when Steven Spielberg won for best director, I figured it was all over but the valet parking. He would also win best picture, then go out to a party, where Benigni would be walking on the table.

Alas, Shakespeare won instead.

I remember receiving a copy of a “Shakespeare in Love” script seven or eight years ago, from a film exec who thought I would enjoy it. It was one of the best-written scripts I’d ever read, and Tom Stoppard hadn’t even written any of it then.

Julia Roberts was supposed to co-star with Daniel Day-Lewis. Then it fell off the radar screen. I wonder if Roberts would have won best actress for the part, as Gwyneth Paltrow did. (You’ll excuse me if I doubt it.)

I enjoyed Paltrow’s speech, by the way. Anybody who thanks a grandpa named Buster is OK by me.

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As for the rest of the evening, Whoopi Goldberg was wonderful. I do wish she and Robin Williams could on special occasions keep their humor above the belt, but they sure are funny.

Thanks for the Gene Siskel thumbs-up, Whoop.

As for the dresses, I’ve heard enough. What I would like to hear a little more about is why so many of the men wore neckties. What, no tuxedo bow ties on Sunday? Is it a religious thing?

Now, one last thing:

I want to thank everyone for comments on Elia Kazan’s honorary Oscar. Over the weekend, I received 147 e-mails on that subject alone . . . 81 pro-Kazan, 66 con. Interesting topic, artists blacklisted. Good thing Shakespeare wasn’t.

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Mike Downey’s column appears Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Write to him at Times Mirror Square, Los Angeles 90053. E-mail: mike.downey@latimes.com