Diary

16 February 2008

Bryan Forbes reflects on sleeplessness and the Academy Awards

As I write it appears that the American writers’ strike will not kibosh this year’s Academy Awards, not because the conglomerates who run the film industry have found a surfeit of the milk of human kindness, but because too much rides on the Awards ceremony. Like our football Premiership, it is all about money. Those same conglomerates are, as usual, blowing small fortunes on full-page trade ads and free DVDs to Academy members in the hope of gaining their votes (even though every year the Academy urges us not to be influenced by such blatant gerrymandering). Conversely, the strike was about the conglomerates’ reluctance to share any spoils from potential IT revenues. The Writers Guild, of which I am a long-time member, has paid me a decent pension from age 65 and diligently audits on my behalf the double-bookkeeping ploys perfected by Hollywood since day one. They ferret out residuals owing me from films I made donkey’s years ago; this week I got $26.90 from King Rat, shot in 1964. Not a fortune, but every little helps, as that supermarket says.

Without revealing who or what I have voted for, I can share my enthusiasm for a few deserving films that won’t garner any trophies, but in my view are as worthy as those that have been much lauded. Look out for Waitress, Knocked Up, The Kingdom, The Savages and Margot at the Wedding.