Preserving a rite of the people

You may have noticed that it’s Oscar time. That once meant a nationwide sense of anticipation. The show was an American ritual that mattered. People around the world were interested too. It’s still a big event in the life of the country, but because of the show’s success we’re now all but choking on awards programs. Advertisers will buy time for even the most pathetic of these ventures.

Oscar still rules, though keeping it that way is something of a challenge. There’s loose talk at the academy about appealing more to youth in order to stay popular. Of course the academy wants to appeal to youth, though not at the risk of losing older people who are surely the core audience.

A complicating factor is the success of DVDs. Those little discs are floating the movie business at present. They’ve helped create more movie fans -- young and old -- which in turn means more viewers of the Oscar show. Older people like watching DVDs because it means they don’t have to go to a dreary multiplex and put up with the difficulties of parking and the price of popcorn. Younger people want to get out of the house and be free of their parents and their stodgy taste in movies. Few adults care about being the first on their block to see a movie. If it’s good, they’ll hear and eventually get around to seeing it.

The host of the Oscars this year, Chris Rock, is a nod to the young. He’ll probably go easy on his trademark ribaldry. If he does, will he go over the cliff? For Rock, this is a chance to expand his audience. Even toned down, Mom and Dad will go for him. The viewing numbers are off from what they once were, but they’ll be up again if Rock can manage to be irreverent without upsetting the network censors. Count on him to milk the situation for laughs: threatening to say something lewd, backing down and then going a little bit further, all punctuated by his trademark grin.

A second challenge for the academy is putting a mix of young stars and older ones on the stage. I like it when the presenters include, say, Paul Newman or Sidney Poitier. They’re elders of the church. Newman’s 80, and Poitier only a little younger. I don’t think the kids know who they are. Does that mean they should have Britney Spears? Well, maybe, but generally the academy looks for a little less popularity in the young. Scarlett Johansson or Tobey Maguire would strike the right note. Among the honorary awards this year is one for Sidney Lumet, a contemporary of Newman and Poitier. If it were up to me, I’d give these geezers the Nobel Prize for coolness. I doubt there are many 21-year-olds who feel that way.

Then there’s the matter of acceptance speeches. It’s here that Oscar runs the risk of becoming indistinguishable from the pretenders who are nipping at his golden heels. No matter how many times I try to watch an awards show, I drift when a happy winner suggests that God has a special interest in his career. Possible prizewinners proliferate. The Golden Globes, for one, have so many categories that it’s like a children’s party where everyone is assured a prize.

And what’s more tedious than some character hurrying through a thank-you list of names? The winner usually has a look of fear lest some job-giving studio executive be forgotten. This wasn’t always so. When Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond won a screenplay Oscar for “The Apartment,” they marched up to the podium and Billy said, “Thank you, Mr. Diamond.” Izzy said, “Thank you, Mr. Wilder.” Then they marched down again. Nothing else needed to be said.

A joke hits home

As I’ve been doing for years, I turn up most mornings at the Farmers Market and have coffee with my friends and yak about the business, politics and the world. On a recent morning, during the rains, attendance was sparse. I was there with Paul Mazursky and Charlie Bragg. Paul and I talked about the progress of a script of ours and traded opinions about the Oscars. Charlie tried to look interested. We were at a table by the doughnut stall, protected from the weather.

One of the pleasures of hanging out with Mazursky is that I get to hear a lot of stories and jokes. Here’s one from that rainy morning: Milton Berle found himself playing the Miami Beach circuit -- nursing homes and condos. He just couldn’t stay away, so he took the gig. (Warning: this story is about old Jews. They don’t sound like Jeremy Irons.) Anyway, Milton was doing his act. An old lady was heckling him: “Vhat’s so funny about dat? I heard that one already. You stink.”

Milton knew how to ignore hecklers, but this woman annoyed him. He was feeling bad enough about playing a nursing home. “Lady,” he snapped, “do you know who I am?” “No,” she said. “But if you ask at the front desk, they’ll tell you.”

I laughed, and the rain started up again. In its sudden intensity it seemed as if a curtain had descended. The display of nature’s unstoppable force brought on thoughts of the inevitability of growing old and confused. The joke no longer seemed quite so funny. Thoughts of Oscars and other people’s prizes and ventures were replaced by a sense of mortality -- though not for long. The hum of the rain helped lift my sadness even as I knew the water was washing away the days.

David Freeman is a screenwriter and the author most recently of “It’s All True.” This page from his diary is one of an occasional series.