But for pure, nonstop stargazing, the best spot at the Oscars was outside the two unisex bathrooms backstage at the Kodak.
In the nearby touch-up room, Cate Blanchett took the shine off her forehead; Tim Robbins, with a peace sign emblazoned on his tie, had a button sewn back on his jacket. The trophy models reapplied their lipstick and Kate Winslet fiddled with her curls.
After the roiling, shrill cacophony of the red carpet, the atmosphere behind the scenes of the 77th annual Academy Awards was almost astonishingly calm and quiet. One celebrity after another dutifully emerged from the green room. Nominees who'd received their award onstage lined up like nervous (and well-dressed) doctoral candidates to be photographed and interviewed. Even as some reappeared with the Oscar emotionally clutched in their hand, the scores of show organizers and laborers carried on with a quiet professionalism; another piece of the puzzle was unfolding within minutes.
Backstage the air was chilly and bathed in ever-changing light from the set, now pink, now white, now purple, now blue. Tuxedoed stagehands sat and stood watching monitors, reading from scripts, looking at laptops as one act gave way to the next. Then they sprung into action, silently hefting 12-foot-tall Oscar statues, heaving platforms that carried grand pianos and drum kits, shoving into place the wings and towers of the elaborate set.
Yes, this is the biggest televised awards show, with digitalized this and widescreen that, but the cameras onstage were anchored with dumbbell plates, and men heaved on ropes to open and close curtains, just like in the movies.
"Prepare for organized chaos," said one stagehand as the backstage announcer counted down seconds to show time.
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Down the hall, Chris Rock issued his last request before going onstage for his much-anticipated monologue: "You got the ice, the glass and the Mountain Dew out there, right?"
With military precision, his query order was passed down the line through three assistants until the confirmation came back in a walkie-talkie transmission near Rock: "The ice, the glass and the Mountain Dew."
In the dim light of stage right, three shelves' worth of Oscar statuettes glinted in precise rows while the trophy models waited in director's chairs as the stagehands prepared for the first musical number.
Everyone was dressed in black, so when the American Boys Choir made its appearance, the result was visually startling. In their red vests, white shirts and blue trousers, the choir thundered up the steps to the backstage area like, well, a group of boys, and for a moment the Kodak was transformed into any school auditorium.
Occasionally the professional politeness of the room was stripped away.
Robin Williams walked by, prompting one of the boys to say, saucer-eyed: "That's Robin Williams.". Then two of the boys said it. Then six, until even the comedian, standing quietly in the doorway, had to grin as he prepared to stride onstage.
Ten minutes later, when Morgan Freeman, best supporting actor Oscar in hand, appeared, everyone from stagehands to photographers to pages burst into applause that followed the actor through the winner's walk — a pathway around the back of the stage to the elevator that took the winners up to the press room.
The presence of one Kate with a K and one Cate with a C caused a bit of confusion.
After Blanchett won for best supporting actress and disappeared into the elevator, a page came down the elevator saying to another staffer with a phone, "Kate Winslet wants her husband brought up."
"Kate Winslet?" said the woman with the phone. "You mean Cate Blanchett."
The page grew pale.