Bette Davis
looked into
the eyes of
Robert Wise
and forgot
her lines,
but just
for a mo
ment.
She’d
already
failed to
mention
most of
the nom
inees. He
must have
been a bit
freaked out
by all of this
absurd upstaging,
but yet he began
to plow into
his little no
thing of a
speech,
but only
for a mo
ment, for
after just
a few
short
words,
Ms. Davis
would
int
er
upt
him
to say a
few words
about Newman,
for whom Wise
was accepting
the Oscar, but
mostly to regale
our dear Mister
Wise, for she
was clearly
a fan, with
accolades
for his acc
omplishments,
which, with late
Bette Davis aplomb,
she noted, included
two academy awards
himself. So that by
the time Wise was
awkwardly able
to accept the
Oscar on
Paul’s
behalf,
he was
surely
quite flus
tered. But
his eyes cert
ainly gave none
of that away. It
brushed off the
awkwardness of
the late Bette
Davis as
she is
who
she is,
along with
the fact that
now the academy
award for best actor
in a leading role
was all but
forgotten, just
like that part
in The Color
of Money,
even though
its recipient
remains most
assuredly burned
into the memories
and hearts of a
vast and aging
accumulation
of those of
us who’d
never
grace
the
silver
screen
(and no
small number
of those who have).
