Could it be that the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has decided to imitate the BBC’s Film … in its final painful incarnation? As it shuffled towards oblivion, that TV show decided in its last series not to have a single presenter, but a rolling, changing roster of guest hosts. The result was blandness and uncertainty.
Now, for Oscar night, the Academy is itself pivoting towards hostlessness.
Bruised by the Kevin Hart debacle – in which that planned presenter was dropped for refusing to apologise afresh for past homophobic comments – and after what was clearly a subsequent low-morale interlude in which the poisoned chalice was then refused by every comic in town, the Academy is engaging in a radical experiment with communal compering.
Out goes the grinning single MC or MC pairing, in comes a phased cavalcade of stars, a terrifyingly under-rehearsed Avengers Assemble of A-listers introducing various segments. This would be in addition to the traditional, awkward, guest-presenter pairings for awarding the actual statuettes.
What a nightmare it sounds: an exponential increase of audience unease and megastar self-love, slowing down the show’s momentum and pace. None of these big names will be allowed to develop audience rapport. Nor will the audience be allowed the reassurance of a single thread of continuity – what with all of these egos having to be rolled on and off stage during musical breaks, like 18-wheeler pantechnicons being negotiated in and out of a pub car park.
I was in the audience at the Oscars a couple of years ago, when Warren Beatty contrived to award the best picture gong to the wrong nominee, causing dismay and consternation and creating a brand new conspiracy industry about the whole thing being deliberately cooked up to boost TV ratings. All of these segment hosts will be terrified of a similar cockup and an eternity of shame on YouTube.
Of course, it could be argued that discomfort and embarrassment is part of the Oscar night tradition – cherished and amplified in the age of social media when those at home can be a snarky Joan Rivers, jeering at every limp gag and fashion fail.
I myself have blogged about the tradition of the wooden award presenters, often in their weird newsreader-pairing of an older man and a younger woman. The most legendary example being Roger Moore and Liv Ullmann in 1973, exchanging stilted, scripted conversation before trying and failing to give the best actor Oscar to Marlon Brando for The Godfather.
And there is also the argument that the host plummets in interest anyway after the all-important opening monologue. Once that is out of the way, the audience is sometimes irritated to see the host keep coming back, unless they have a huge stunt up their sleeves, such as Ellen DeGeneres’s famed star selfie.
There’s no getting round it: group host or no group host, who’s doing the opening monologue? Who’s doing the gags about Donald Trump’s federal shutdown? About Brexit? About Putin? About Kevin Spacey’s bizarre in-character video as Frank Underwood? Or indeed the gags about Kevin Hart not doing the gags? Or is there to be no opening monologue – just an extended satirical musical spoof of this year’s movies? Either way, the hostless Oscars could be a gang show of grisliness.