Thanking the Academy

This is s HUGE statue that my Oscar-Award winning documentarian filmmaker friend and I nearly knocked over in our eagerness to take a photo in front of it.

On October 7, I was invited by my friend Renee Fischer and fellow College of Notre Dame of Maryland alumna (oh that acronym) to the Student Academy Awards ceremony. We got to see four categories get awarded bronze, silver, and gold - and were fortunate to get to watch brilliantly edited montages of clips of each with filmed reactions by each student. The filmmakers ranged from a collective of multicultural Europeans to a single young woman with owlish glasses who looked (and likely was) barely out of high school. Columbia School of the Arts (my other alma mater) came home with another award. My hands were sore from applauding all the talent in the room.

The speeches were sincere. Most of the filmmakers were stunned, delighted and quite captivating in their young vulnerability -- they thanked the Academy, noticed they had uttered the words aloud, then froze and thanked the Academy again, just to make sure they had actually heard themselves utter the famous phrase.

It was a glamorous Manhattan night, full of glitz and booze in the spectacular, high-ceilinged Ziegfeld Ballroom, and it struck me full-on how differently the film industry schmoozes. Better, really, than any other industry.

I asked one of the many bartenders whether anyone had ever staggered into this astonishing display of glassware and he stared wildly at me as if caught in the act --- then revealing thathe had done so himself, tripping into the front of the table just before the event this evening!

At this point I have been in rooms of award winning computer technicians, doctors, lawyers, salespeople, nonprofits, lots and lots of authors, and a few visual artists. I have mingled with grantwinners and attended more than my share of galas.

This room was different. Here, everyone was not only hungry but willing to charm for their supper. Everyone was quick with a comeback, eager to play the game. Conversations were more improv than pitching, and the exchange of business cards and the tapping of phones looked like a magic trick that all of the best dressed of the beautiful people were hired to do as a flash mob.

The next day (slightly hungover) I had a zoom with my usual group of wonderful working writers. After the business of the day, I told them about the party and together we analyzed and discussed the tendency of "drama kids" to be fun company. What was it that made them such excellent conversationalists?

"They're always performing," said one.

"They're always themselves," said another.

I think the truth is that they're always willing to join in and play the game, whatever the game might be. And if there's not some playful thing happening, they're willing to do the vulnerable thing, and try to start one.

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