It’s one thing to view the Red Carpet on TV, but quite another to see it in person.
Those dresses — even the ugly ones — are amazing. Many are custom, so the fit is fantastic, and the designer beading and bling is striking.
Charlize Theron looked like a goddess; she’s very tall, Nicole Kidman is so pale, she looked practically translucent, and Halle Berry sent the press into a frenzy with all that hair and that super beautiful gown.
BTW I’ve never seen so many small slim men—Keith Urban looks like a pocket person. David Oyelowo—who starred in Selma—is tiny—how could that be—he played the bigger than life Martin Luther King?
Nicole and her pocket person.
Fans sat and cheered on several sets of bleachers opposite the press. Some stars waved—others like Casey Affleck slumped by and walked with head down—some were surrounded by security like Denzel Washington and Meryl Streep —who waved at everyone—and others walked the carpet looking a little lost– like Richard Dreyfuss.
Meryl, the gracious goddess.
One foreign film team showed up with a group of tribal dancers—a great idea to attract attention—but SO LOUD—I could barely hear our interviews. Publicists walked the carpet holding signs with correct titles and spellings of names. And animators held their little puppet- like creations hoping to attract any press attention.
Sting walked ahead of his wife, Mel Gibson held his granddaughter’s hand (I mean his baby momma) and Michelle Williams walked hand in hand with Busy Phillips. Nicole Kidman glided and kissed every third person she saw. And everyone took pictures of everyone, and the roar of the press was deafening.
Halle and her hair.
Speaking of the press— that was my ticket to this party, I’m a producer, so I got to see all of this up close. I stood for about five hours in an area double the size of your average bathroom scale. My colleagues: the cameraman, talent wrangler and host, stood on two separate steps below me in equally cramped quarters. Did I mention we were all in formal attire? The motion picture academy has a strict dress code for the press, and if you don’t comply they can send you packing. I wore a long dark velvet satin number (vintage Macy’s) with an evening coat, yoga pants, panty hose, and an under-shirt. I know, I know, I wore workout attire under my evening clothes to the Oscars, but it was 55 degrees!
The press crush.
I always carry a backpack when I work and fortunately it made it through the metal detector. (I, of course, set the alarms off, thank you earrings.) My backpack included my notes, water, energy drinks and a box of cookie bribes. I know security can be gnarly and our PA needed to run in and out of the area so I had my bribes ready, if she didn’t. Luckily, Samantha was a blond cutie who looked capable of both extreme flirting or hysterical crying depending on the need—so cookies were not necessary. Although we did meet an officious cop who bent the rules and allowed us to dart through a blockade he was guarding—so he got the chocolate chips.
Mel and his Baby Momma.
It was a great day—mostly. I was almost pushed off my platform by some rogue journalists who invaded our space. Thank you flirty PA for turning into Zena the Warrior Princess and backing them away from me. All I can say is I’m thankful I avoided ending up as red carpet road kill.
The arrival party came to a screeching halt at 5:30 as security lined up across the carpet announcing to the press that they must exit into the dirty alley behind the platforms.
Before I left, I took a last look at the giant Oscar Statues and realized everyone looks like a size 2 standing next to a 10-foot statue. I guess it’s about perspective, not size.
All in all it was fun—and yes, that’s me posed in front of the giant Oscar trying my best to look like a size 2, before I go home and clean the cat box.
Lisa DiGiovine
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