We've got the best seat in the house

By STEVE PERSALL

© St. Petersburg Times, published March 23, 2001

Count me among the overestimated 1-billion people worldwide who'll be watching Sunday night's Academy Awards telecast from Los Angeles.

Having been there in person, I'm happy to be staying home.

Tell someone that you've attended an Academy Awards show, and they'll automatically assume you were sitting beside Mel Gibson or Meryl Streep. Not if you're a reporter. We wind up in a press room or tent, watching the show on television just like every other movie fan.

The differences are that you're in formalwear rather than pajamas, the TV is farther away and you're crammed alongside a few hundred strangers just as overdressed and distracted as you are.

Backstage at the Oscars isn't the most comfortable place to be. Take it from someone who made that mistake four times.

Behind L.A.'s Shrine Auditorium are large tents to house nearly 800 print, radio and television reporters and technicians. The mandatory tuxedos and evening gowns lend class in the line for portable toilets.

Media headquarters are divided into three areas visited by winners and sometimes presenters after they appear on stage. The first stop is a crowded photo room where celebrities smile for the cameras and practically get tanned by the flashbulbs. No questions, just poses.

A few minutes later, it's off to the TV interview room for sound bytes you'll see later on E!, CNN and the morning news shows. Cameras in the back, familiar faces such as CBS's Mark McEwen up front tossing softball questions at stars getting their answers down pat for the next stop, the print media room.

Newspaper and magazine journalists make up about two-thirds of the media population, getting the most space backstage. Tables are set up with spaces designated for each publication. Telephone and computer hookups are available, if requested in advance. Elbow room is scarce. As deadlines approach, the place resembles an elegant sweat shop with everyone hunched over their stations.

Industry publications like Variety and the Hollywood Reporter and key outlets like the Associated Press send handfuls of reporters to share the work load. One reporter takes care of the winners' list, one gets post-award interviews, another covers the red-carpet entrance, and so on. Many newspapers send two writers to get the details and critical perspective printed the next day.

Our only knowledge of what's happening inside comes through medium-size televisions installed every few dozen feet. The din of clacking keyboards and discussions make headphones the only way to hear the show's audio. Listen too long and you could miss winners' remarks when they arrive for a brief press conference. Transcripts of acceptance speeches provided by Academy staff members are indispensable.

A hand-penned scoreboard keeps track of the evening's winners in case you fall behind. The Academy also provides an answer desk to check Oscar history books for trivia.

Once in a while, someone steps to the awards podium and the room gets quiet. Tom Hanks, known for passionate speeches, is good for this. Everyone wanted to hear what Elia Kazan would say as he accepted a controversial lifetime achievement award in 1999.

Winners are generally impatient to get to the parties by the time they reach the print media tent. Only three or four questions are allowed; reporters who want to ask a question hold a numbered card aloft.

My number was called twice, in my first and final years covering the Academy Awards in person. The first time taught me a lesson. The second time fulfilled a personal goal, so I felt I never needed to go again.

In 1994, Anna Paquin was named best supporting actress for her role in The Piano. Paquin was 11 years old at the time, still unaccustomed to handling celebrity and a live audience. I asked her about future career plans and Paquin looked puzzled, stammering through a non-answer painful to await. That's when I learned never to ask a grown-up question of a child. At least, not in the presence of my peers.

But, I had the Oscar bug. My daydream was to return for an evening when my idol, Jack Nicholson, won another Academy Award, and to be chosen to ask him a question. In 1999, it happened.

Nicholson was named best actor for As Good As It Gets, but his entrance to the media tent was postponed by a 70th anniversary Oscar tribute gathering all living winners on stage. The delay enabled me to complete my story before deadline and settle into position to pose a question. Nicholson arrived and, surprisingly, my number was the first called.

What do you ask your hero at such a public, one-shot moment?

I approached the microphone tightly clutching a tape recorder, my knees feeling weak for the only time ever dealing with a celebrity. I muttered some congratulations and the actor drawled his thanks. Then, my question tumbled out:

"Jack, you always seem to be the life of the party at these award shows. What's it like to always be the coolest SOB in the whole room?"

The roomful of reporters erupted in laughter and applause. More important, Nicholson cracked up, flashing that killer smile and launching into an aw-shucks answer that I still can't recall unless I listen to the tape. I walked out of the tent that night feeling delirious, knowing that moment was as good as it would ever get.

I've had no urge to return to the Oscars since.

I'll be at home Sunday night like everyone else who's nobody, except for banging out Monday morning's story on my computer. The chair's more comfortable, the bathroom's closer and I can wear anything I like.

© St. Petersburg Times. All rights reserved.