Movie Nation

Of all the self-inflicted indignities Scottish comic, actor and TV host Craig Ferguson has subjected himself to through his decades in the public eye, none can compare to co-writing, directing and starring in a movie where supporting player Joss Ackland, in a tiny role, utterly upstages him.

This is worse than trying to cobble together a rom-com with pal Kathie Lee Gifford, worse than surrendering his very-funny chat show to a witty robot, worse than taking sixth banana status behind Drew Carrey on a sitcom.

Because “I’ll Be There,” meant to make a screen star out of cherubic English songbird Charlotte Church, hasn’t a bloody laugh in it.

Veteran screen heavy Ackland (“Lethal Weapon II,” etc.) letting his hair grow long to play a geezer named “Evil Edmonds” fronting a has-been band, the Boolzebops, is almost funny in a head-snapping casting sort of way. But he doesn’t do his own singing, so that’s as far as that goes.

Ferguson plays a late New Wave/early hair-metal rocker named Paul Kerr who, back in the day fathered a child with future single-mom Rebecca (Gemma Redgrave). That baby has grown up to be always-smiling, always Vespaing 16-year-old Olivia (Church), who finally learns who her dad is when the dissolute, reclusive Kerr (Curr?) makes the news.

Perhaps if he’d known, Paul’s latest bender wouldn’t have happened and he’d have never driven that motorcycle off the balcony of his Welsh manor house, put himself in hospital and been “sectioned” by helpful shrink Imelda Stanton.

Perhaps.

Just as Olivia is introduced into his life, an old bandmate (Ralph Brown) shows up to sober him up and get a reluctant Paul into AA.

Can he get clean, get into fatherhood and set this world to right, keeping the worried villagers where he lives (Ian McNeice among them) gainfully employed, even if he isn’t there to run a big tab down’t’pub?

If you didn’t notice his “directed by” in the credits, you still could figure that out by the way the star of this tale — named for the soul hit that Church ruins without even trying — slow-walks through every scene.

Pace problems in a comedy can be fixed in post-production, provided there are gags, one-liners and cute close-ups enough in the can to speed things up. Apparently not, in this case.

Long-sober alcoholic Ferguson is almost cute as a drunk, but barely, and merely thinly-charming sober in this case. And he’s nothing funny to say or play — just nothing.

The retro rock thing — he wrote and sang his CBS chat show’s theme — was promising in concept, but delivers little in the way of lighter moments.

And Church, pasted-on smile in close-up after close-up, has no spark, zero connection with the viewer via the camera. She had Ferguson and Warner Bros. (and shlock merchants Morgan Creek) behind her and she drives this star vehicle right into the ditch.

Or would, if Ferguson hadn’t already steered it in that direction.

All concerned would have been better served building a movie around cast-against-type Ackland and his codger-rockers. Only they’re never given a chance to be funny, either.

Want to see something funny with Our Lad Craig in it? Hit Youtube, look for the “Late Late Show” bits with his assorted sock puppets (not a euphemism) or him laughing at the robot sidekick. That stuff still leaves me in stitches.

MPAA Rating: PG-13 for drug references, some sexual humor/nudity and brief language 

Cast: Craig Ferguson, Charlotte Church, Joss Ackland, Jemma Redgrave, Imelda Stanton, Ralph Brown and Ian McNeice

Credits: Directed by Craig Ferguson, script by Craig Ferguson and Philip McGrade. A Warner Bros. release on Tubi, Amazon, etc.

Running time: 1:45

The story is as old as the movies — or at least as as old as the John Boorman/Lee Marvin vengeance thriller “Point Blank (1967).”

Mob-connected guy is set up and either shot and left for dead, made the fall guy and sent to prison, or both.

“Payback” such variations on a theme inevitably-called (Mel Gibson was in the most famous one, a remake of “Point Blank.”), although most abandon that title as its become common as dirt.

The director/co-writer Joseph Mensch version of this “Payback” is about a hustling boiler-room broker with a Russian mob-backed New York brokerage who stumbles into something he shouldn’t know, gets sent to Los Angeles, set up for a mob hit and sent to jail thanks to his mob-provided lawyer.

Naturally, Mike Markovich (Australian Matt Levett, not yet the Next Mel Gibson) has had a lot of time — six years in prison — to figure out what happened and who did this to him.

He gets out, and even though he has no experience with this kind of dirty work, cozies up with his old bosses and plots his revenge.

There’s not enough novelty to this story to make it feel fresh. The heavies in the cast make slightly more of an impression than the bland, forgettable leads. There’s a Baryshnikov daughter in it playing Mike’s wife, and veteran character actor Rade Serbedzija plays another version of everybody’s favorite Slavic grandpa.

The tacky, thuggishly dim and gauche Russian/Ukrainian/Georgian milieu — very “Eastern Promises” — is a nice touch. No wonder Trump identifies with them.

But there’s nothing here — not the modes of revenge, not the learn-as-you-go novelty of Mike getting in over his head (poorly exploited in the script) and especially not the dull, colorless acting — to recommend this latest “Payback.”‘

MPAA Rating: unrated, violence, some sexual situations, profanity

Cast: Matt Levett, Toby Leonard Moore, Anna Baryshnikov, Lev Gorn, Elena Satine and Rade Serbedzija.

Credits: Directed by Joseph Mensch, script by Metin Aksoy and Joseph Mensch. A Vertical release.

Running time: 1:31

The global refugee crisis becomes personal for a solo sailor off the coast of West Africa in “Styx,” a detailed, perfectly realistic minimalist parable from Germany.

German character actress Suzanne Wolff (“Three Musketeers,” “Return to Montauk”) makes the most of a rare leading lady turn as almost the only character in this, one of the most accurate sailing solo dramas and one that wrestles with an existential crisis of our time.

Rike is an emergency services doctor in Germany, a physician on the scene with EMTs at car accidents and the like — stressful, life-and-death-decision work. It’s no wonder that her way to unwind is getting in a boat with no one else around.

But her get-away sail from Gibraltar to remote Ascension Island in the middle of the Southern Atlantic, days of silently working the boat, taking precautions, riding out storms and checking the charts, are upended when she comes across a disabled trawler overloaded with African refugees far out to sea north of the Cape Verde Islands.

She can hear screams and wailing across the water, as they’ve seen her. She can raise a coast guard with her “Pan Pan” (SOS) calls, and communicate with a South African-accented coast guard.

She understands, perfectly, the orders that she “not intervene,” that her mere presence will add to “the chaos” of this situation. She hears (in English) the “Back away, back away.”

But she’s a doctor. And the voice on the other end of the radio’s reassurances that “help is on the way” give her doubts.

Director and co-writer Wolfgang Fisher doesn’t have a lot of credits (“What You Don’t See” is his other feature), but he hews as close to the reality of this story as possible. Rike’s meticulous planning — she lays out everything she is packing on her 12 meter (39 foot) yacht, gears up by-the-book — and experienced sail-handling make her seem at home in this world, and stereotypically German.

There’s one eyebrow raising moment, becalmed, skinny-dipping over the side — i happens, but its insanely risky. But even that has a grinning “Yeah, she’s German all right” feel.

She doesn’t talk to herself, doesn’t make an effort to stay in touch with anybody by radio, which suits her personality and intended destination. Ascension is where Darwin set up his own experimental unspoiled test forest. Rike’s boat is named “Asa Gray,” America’s most famous 19th century botanist. When Rike isn’t saving lives, she unwinds immersed in flora.

The encounter-at-sea has hints of melodrama to it, but presents as a moral dilemma. Will the First World respond to a climate-population-and conflict (often religious) induced humanitarian crisis in the Third World?

It’s a solid, troubling story, acted with compassion mixed with pragmatism, where every decision made by everyone we can see is defensible and rational, no matter how irrational it can seem from the comfort of the viewer’s distant remove.

Here, on a small sailboat in the middle of the ocean, is the world wrestling with this global crisis, from South Asia and Australia to Mediterranean and Atlantic Coast Europe to the Americas, and not finding any easy answer.

MPAA Rating: unrated, some nudity

Cast: Susanne Wolff, Gedion Oduor Wekesa

Credits: Directed by Wolfgang Fisher, script by Ika Künzel and Wolfgang Fischer. A Film Movement Plus streaming release.

Running time: 1:34

Another great one is gone. Good in “Sounder,” legendary in “The Pride of Miss Jane Pittman,” colorful in every character role she ever took. I’m remembering her in “Because of Winn Dixie” right now.

Cicely Tyson just released a memoir. She was 96

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https://abc13.com/cicely-tyson-actress-dies-at-96/10105726

This Cuban Missile Crisis tale looks tense, tight and period perfect.

Cumberbatch, Benedict Cumberbatch, plays a “salesman” recruited to snoop around Moscow in the early 60s.

I am so there for this one.

“Savage” sums up a gang member’s life in three key episodes, pivotal moments where young Liam might have had a choice in the way his life turned out. The catch to that is, he had a lot fewer choices than we’d like to think.

The film’s novelty is its New Zealand setting and the biker gang that our hero (Aussie actor Jake Ryan) helped found, the “Savages,” is a Maori-Anglo mob. The tattoos, haka chants and the bonding of warriors are borrowed from Maori culture — they even ID their hometown as “Poneke,” the Maori slang for “Port Nichols,” aka Wellington, on their “colors” (jackets) or as they call them, “patches” — and their profanity-laced language donated by the Brits.

It’s a brutal blur of a movie, rendering its themes and actions in broad, violent strokes. That’s a help, as they mumbled accents are a bloody jumble to get through without subtitles.

We meet gang “Sergeant” (enforcer) “Damage” in 1989, bonded for life with his best friend and chief, Moses (John Tui), his faced covered in tattoos, including “Poneke.”

“Why d’you wear that mask?” gang moll/female gang leader/pimp (not sure) Flo (Chelsie Preston Crayford) wants to know.

“So you can see who I am.”

Damage and Moses maintain their gang through intimidation, protection money and recruitment. Young Red (Poroaki Merritt-McDonald) is their latest “prospect” (initiate).

But with Damage reaching what amounts to dotage in biker gang years, he’s half-heartedly wondering how much longer he’ll be able to manage the violence, physically or morally.

Real tough guys don’t need guns.

We see young Danny, as the future “Damage” was known, back in 1965, rugby roughhousing with his brother, stealing from the corner grocer’s, too hard for his homophobic hardcase Dad and indulgent Mum to handle. He is torn from brother Liam and sent to a brutal reform school where he is anything but reformed.

That’s where he meets Moses.

And we drop in on 1972 teen Danny and Moses (James Matamua and Haanz Fa’avae-Jackson), who have graduated from petty theft and into car thievery and the like. There’s violent potential in them. All it takes is a moment at the train station when they see the denim-clad thugs from a gang stomp through the crowd of civilians, intimidated as if they’re being menaced by the Yakuza.

The charismatic Moses comes up with a name and the denim vests for his five mates. “Savages” they’ll be henceforth. The shifting loyalties of brothers are dramatically tested in the 1972 segment. Danny’s brother Liam (Jack William Parker), left behind at home, has joined a rival gang. Sooner or later that will have to be worked out.

Ryan and Tui have kicked around Down Under films and TV for a couple of decades, with the occasional minor role in a Hollywood film as well. The conjure up riveting presences at the heart of “Savage,” magnetic characters who don’t give much away but still draw us in.

I was intrigued by Damage’s “trigger word” since childhood — a homosexual slur — and where writer-director Sam Kelly might go with that in his debut feature.

The dense accents make this a film that washes over you and makes sense thanks to the familiar tropes it builds on and scenes — some of them quite violent — which require no verbal explanation.

After all, what’s the point of calling yourself “Savage” if you’ve listened to Mommy’s plea that you “use your words” to settle anything?

MPAA Rating: unrated, violence, profanity

Cast: Jake Ryan, John Tui, Chelsie Preston Crayford,  Haanz Fa’avae-Jackson, Jack William Parker, Eden Flynn and James Matamua

Credits: Scripted and directed by Sam Kelly. A Quiver release.

Running time: 1:40

Wiig and Annie Mumulo from “Bridesmaids” and “This is 40” and “Bad Moms” are in Florida, going “Floridian.”

If you’ve ever lived here, you know what I mean. And if you haven’t, you probably still get it. Florida, amIright?

Lots of SNL and “Office” alumni in this one, which I believe has been delayed like many other pictures in the pandemic pipeline.

We’ve only had teasers for this up to now. It opens Feb. 12, which means they’re not sweating the limited filmgoing audience our current stage of the pandemic decrees.

“Haymaker” is an intriguing movie mashup, if nothing else. It’s “The Bodyguard” with a transgender twist, served on a beefcake MMA (Muay Thai) boxing platter.

The picture isn’t quite this or even remotely that, but it still might have come off had its leading man possessed something beyond an impassive A-B range of imparted emotions.

As its star is also its writer-director, well that wasn’t a problem that was going to fix itself.

Nick Sasso wrote, directed and stars as Nick Malloy, a defeated and humbled fighter reduced to doing bouncing work for his brother (D.B. Sweeney), who much preferred their previous life. Mack was Nick’s cornerman. These clubgoers?

“They pay the bills, so let’s be polite.”

But Nick loses the bouncing gig when he interrupts a backstage beating/rape of a star performer at a club. Still, that singer (Nomi Ruiz) is grateful, flirtatious and generous. And she’s got a job for him.

“What kind of job?” “A fun one…protect ME.”

It’s an odd relationship from the start. Transexual Nomi is vivacious, popular, a rising star and something of a drama queen. Trouble seems to travel with her, seeing as how she’s a bit of a mouthy provocateur.

Nick can’t keep her from every unpleasantness, because she’s got history and ongoing feuds — with a recording studio rival, with an LA sugar daddy (Ugo Kier) who resents her moving on “in this new life that I made for you.”

Nomi can’t even be bothered to tell Nick where they’re off to — by car or jet — half the time.

“Can’t you just adjust to your surroundings or whatever, like a ninja?“

The movie’s only important question is “Will they or won’t they?” And Sasso, the writer-director, is more interested in getting our guy back in the ring — doing a pilgrimage to Thailand, taking on onetime trainer (actress/stunt-goddess Zoë Bell) — than in answering that.

The story would be more interesting if the script — with its “I’ve got nothing to prove.” “I know that. Do you?” message — more overtly tied this need to fight again to Nick questioning his masculinity after falling for this transgender siren.

Sasso gives us a little of that, and a lot more concert drops and training montage.

Ruiz is an interesting if limited performer, confined here to playing a “type” — overtly sexual, over-compensating as female, with only the odd line here and there suggesting there’s more going on.

Sasso’s performance feels like a pulled-punch, and not just in the half-speed fight scenes. Are you in for this romance or not? Go big or go home.

The film’s style points for having the gender issue never come between Nomi and Nick (others have a “problem” with her) are squandered if Nick’s journey never seems that great and Sasso is too poker-faced to make it compelling.

Avoiding the conventional one man’s journey “from prejudiced to lovesick” leaves “Haymaker” with a vacuum where its heart should be. The picture was never destined to be a knockout, but settling for a draw seems a waste.

MPAA Rating: unrated, violence, sexual situations

Cast: Nikck Sasso, Nomi Ruiz, D.B. Sweeney and Zoë Bell

Credits: Scripted and directed by Nick Sasso. A Gravitas Ventures release.

Running time: 1:23

“The Third Man” is widely acknowledged as British director Carol Reed’s breakthrough film, even if his breakout title — the one that ensured his employability as a filmmaker –came much earlier.

But film scholars and cinema buffs, poking around his earlier works, often run up against just what was transformed in his eye, ear and style by that Vienna masterpiece. Was it the influence of Orson Welles on the set as star, perhaps even co-directing his own scenes or making blocking and lighting suggestions?

As that would tend to take something away from the future director of an epic (“The Agony and the Ecstasy”), a lovely period-perfect musical (“Oliver!”), and a grand Graham Greene spy dramedy (“Our Man in Havana”), the “Welles Influence” theory is often dismissed.

After all, Reed skillfully adapted Greene’s “The Fallen Idol” just the year before “Third Man.”

But poking around 15 years of his earlier films can be frustrating if you’re looking for an emerging style, an eye and ear that made “The Third Man” his undebatable masterpiece.

“The Way Ahead” is a pretty good case in point. It’s a classic WWII “unit” film, a story of men plucked from civilian life, trained, shipped out and finally tested in combat. Hollywood made so many of these — and Clint Eastwood and others have revived the genre more recently (“Heartbreak Ridge”) — that the best you can say for this one is that it’s from a British point of view and the humor is more droll than rowdy.

There are two action sequences, handled with great skill — the ship that Lord Glendon’s Light Infantry Regiment are on is torpedoed, and the company pitches in to try and save it, and a taste of combat in Algeria.

But otherwise, this is strictly formula, colorful in only the generic sense.

Based on a story by pulp action novelist and screenwriter Eric Ambler (“Journey Into Fear,” “Topkapi”), with on-set rewrites (he’s credited as co-screenwriter) Peter Ustinov, “Forward” is most unusual in its efforts to lay out the pre-Army lives of its soldiers and its pointed late-war (released in the UK in 1944) self-awareness.

Most of these would-be soldiers are late “call-ups,” men expecting deferments due to their age, their delusions about their “value” in their current jobs. Pretty much to a one, they are reluctant draftees.

The funniest is played by music hall legend Stanley Holloway, most famous as Eliza Doolittle’s street bum dad in “My Fair Lady,” singing “Get Me to the Church On Time.” He plays a boiler operator/stoker at Parliament. That makes him a Cockney expert on British government. Brewer has heard the speeches, is sanguine about the coming war when we meet him (in 1939), and judges Members of Parliament by how long their speeches keep him past his suppertime.

“Only one good man ever got into Parliament.”

“Oh really? Who?”

“Bleedin’ Guy Fawkes!”

Before he’s the Dunkirk-survivor turned lieutenant in charge, David Niven‘s Perry runs a service station catering to the roadster classes.

There’s a travel agent, a mid level manager and his flunky at a garden supply company, and so on.

They meet on the train, muster in Crewe, and are put through their paces by a not-that-unreasonable Sgt (William Hartnell), an encouraging, buttoned-down character far-removed from the stereotypical insulting Drill Instructor Sgt. of American prepping-for-combat movies. (See “Full Metal Jacket” for the most infamous of these).

I like the framing device, a couple of old age pensioners — veterans of the Boer War or earlier from the looks of them — griping about their old regiment, “The Dogs,” going to the dogs because of the declining state of British manhood and toughness. They wear their colors, meet in a London square and complain about the Army, the government, the works. They’ll have to be won over by film’s end.

Other than that, “The Way Forward” is best appreciated for the future stars tucked into it. Trevor Howard was a couple of films away from his “Brief Encounter” breakthrough. Reed set the tone for the rest of Howard’s career with his non-nonsense British occupation officer turn in “The Third Man.” He turns up as an officer on the torpedoed transport, here.

James Donald, playing a private quickly promoted to corporal, is best known for a few war films such as “The Great Escape,” most famously as the humanist doctor in “Bridge on the River Kwai.”

Future big screen Poirot, epicurean and talk show raconteur extraordinaire Peter Ustinov plays a cafe owner in Algeria who grouses (in French) about the soldiers coming to his place until they introduce him to that British pastime, darts.

There’s Leo Genn (“Moby Dick,” many other films) as the unit’s commanding officer, John Laurie and many a familiar face to any fan of British cinema of the ’50s and ’60s.

So even if the plot is pro forma and the “types” a tad over-familiar, “The Way Forward” has its rewards. If nothing else, it’s worth seeing if you plan on having that “Orson Welles MADE Carol Reed” argument any time soon.

Rating: “U”

Cast: David Niven, Stanley Holloway, James Donald, John Laurie, Leo Genn, with Trevor Howard and Peter Ustinov.

Credits: Directed by Carol Reed, script by Eric Ambler and Peter Ustinov. A Two Cities/Eagle-Lion release on Tubi, Amazon, etc.

Running time: 1:45

Oscar winner, eight time Emmy queen, oh and Miss Chicago, 1946 — Cloris Leachman has passed from life into legend. She was 94, and worked and worked and worked (she was in “The Croods” cartoons) until the very end.

What a career, a so-so opening act, a stellar middle act career that included the Oscar for a sad, neglected housewife in “The Last Picture Show,” “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” and its sequel, “Phyllis,” and then — damn, she kept going, like her MTM co-star Betty White.

I only interviewed her once. She had a picture out and I was scrambling to pull an Oscar story together and thought, “Cloris LEACHMAN has an Oscar story and Oscar advice. You bet she does.” Here she is, the big name in this story, headlined…

“OSCAR NIGHT: Don’t Blow ‘The Big Speech'” — from 2005

It’s a moment you’ve practiced since you were old enough to stand in
front of the bathroom mirror — or “thank the Academy” in the shower.

But as Diane Wiest famously observed, in front of an audience of
zillions, “Gee, this isn’t like I imagined it would be in my bathtub.”

The Oscar acceptance speech is what people dream of, an actor or
filmmaker’s moment in the spotlight, those 45 seconds when you have
the whole world’s attention.

And yet the best-trained, best-paid actors, writers, directors and
producers in history most often get up there, take possession of that
statuette, and blow it.

They choke. They babble. And, heaven help us, they take out index
cards and start thanking their lawyers, their accountants, their
lawyer’s accountant’s pet-sitter.

“The moment one of those index cards comes out, I just die,” says
Oscar-winner Cloris Leachman (The Last Picture Show).

“You can plan for everything under the sun, but at the same time
you’re at the mercy of the guy who is voted best actor, and whether he
pulls out a list and starts reading all these names, or if he’ll let
himself get emotional and give a great speech everybody remembers,”
says Steve Pond, author of The Big Show: High Times & Dirty Dealings
Backstage at the Academy Awards.

“Actors are used to having scripts,” says Oscar-nominated screenwriter
John Logan (The Aviator). “Maybe they just want something they can
read.”

PRACTICE AND IMPERFECTION

Oscar-winner Marcia Gay Harden (Pollock) says she understands the instinct.

“Actors believe in being prepared,” she says. “And to get where you
are, that night, there are people who go all the way back to college
who were encouraging you. There were these waiters I worked with in
New York who would cover my shift for me when I would have to dash out
to an audition. Every single person counts!”

And there’s that nagging feeling that “it’s your one shot up there,
and ‘So-and-so is going to be upset if I don’t mention him,’ ” says
Pond, who covers the Oscars from backstage for Premiere magazine. “But
for every person you mention because you’re afraid they’re going to be
upset that you don’t mention them, there’s five others you’re
forgetting.”

Jennifer Connelly may never get another shot. When she won her best
supporting actress Oscar for A Beautiful Mind, she looked as though
she’d just been dumped (she had). And then she pulled out the laundry
list.

Martin Landau spent the summer and fall of 1994 practicing his speech,
a tribute to Bela Lugosi and the award Bela — his character in Ed
Wood — never won.

It was great. It was poetic. And you didn’t get to hear it Oscar night.

Because Landau used his Oscar, basically a lifetime achievement award,
to thank everybody who ever crossed paths with him.

Pond was sitting behind Oscar producer Gil Cates that night. “You
could feel the tension just growing and growing and growing,” he says.
“You could never sense that this guy was about to get to something
emotional and moving. You just had the feeling that this guy was going
to keep on naming names until he named everyone he knew, or Cates cut
him off.

“So Cates played him off the stage.”

Big moment, blown. There’s no greater indignity than being “played
off,” especially when the orchestra is playing you off to the Mission:
Impossible theme as with Landau.

“It seems that no matter how many times at the nominees lunch you hear
the producer say, ‘Don’t pull out a list,’ people still do,” Pond
says.

BUT WHAT IF?

It is, Logan says, “bad luck” to prepare a speech you might never get
to deliver. But Leachman, a best supporting actress winner for 1971’s
The Last Picture Show, says you should have something in mind to say,
even though she didn’t.

“I worried about finding a dress that ‘walked,’ you know, open in
front and back so I could get up and walk to the podium,” she says.
“But I gave no thought at all to having something to say, because
Ellen Burstyn and Ann-Margret had won the big pre-Oscar awards.

“I turned to my date, who happened to be my estranged husband, and
said, ‘My God! What if I win? Should I thank my teachers?’ And I
mentioned a couple of them to him. He paused for a second and said,
‘Those are funny names.’ “

When “the winner is, Cloris Leachman” rang out, the actress was
flustered “beyond belief.” But she came up with something, a funny
little dig at “all those kids” who made fun of her in elementary
school.

In 2001, Harden was prepared to win, but expected to lose.

“That’s why I was wearing a bright red dress with lots of ‘Notice me!’
cleavage, that night,” she says with a laugh. She had a speech —
actually it sounds a lot like a laundry list — scribbled on a napkin.

“But I picked up the Oscar, and the note was in the same hand. And
they’re right when they say it’s heavy. I was embarrassed to take the
Oscar out of my hand and read something. So I just winged it, and
forgot to thank my teachers.”

Adrien Brody made a heartfelt appeal for peace, after laying an epic
smooch on Halle Berry. Michael Moore made it a political diatribe.
Sally Field went off into “You really like me” land. Randy Newman
joked about how many times he’d been nominated without winning.

“I don’t want your pity.”

But Jonathan Demme rambled incoherently. James Coburn sputtered and blew it.

In the Internet age, there’s no excuse for not having something to
say. There’s even an Oscar-speech generator
(chickenhead.com/stuff/oscar/index.asp) for those who can’t think of
anything themselves.

So don’t prepare if that’s bad luck. But if your moment comes, have
something to say.

“It’s a TV show. You should be willing to entertain,” says Leachman.

Mike Leigh, Oscar nominated for writing and directing Vera Drake, says
that not prepping should be no handicap, considering what everybody in
the Kodak Auditorium does for a living.

“If the time comes, and I don’t expect it will, I’ll get up and, if
necessary, give them a few lines from Macbeth, a joke and something
they’ll remember,” he says. “It’s not all that hard, is it? There’s
only a billion people watching.”