Future sense

The Visual Effects Society Awards may be the nerdiest face of the season, but it's also the freshest.

The four-year-old show celebrates the 1,600 Society members who work as effects wizards and animators on everything from feature films to video games to theme park rides to commercials.

That means the VES honors represents an exploding sector of the industry, one that threatens to crush all others beneath its computer-graphical weight. In fact, it's not farfetched to think that 10 years from now we may well be mulling over the Globes and Oscars as good predictors of the VES Awards.

And so, black tie securely fastened, I drive to the Hollywood Palladium to witness the shape of awards shows to come.

Toying with tuxes The difference between this show and others this season is clear, right in the Palladium driveway. Normally one must push through a herd of black stretch limos to get to the door of an awards show. But setting the tone in front tonight are not one but two white stretch Hummer limousines.

Inside, it is quickly clear this is an actual dinner for the membership, not a made-for-TV event that members are invited to attend. At most shows, the entranceway is dominated by the red carpet/photo op space where a handful of celebs loom while the mere membership is sent scurrying around the side, like hired help forced to enter through the kitchen door.

In the VES foyer, across from a giant "Monsters Inc." statue, three photographers shoot some unidentifiable men in tuxes. Otherwise media hype is MIA.

During cocktail hour, the chummy bonhomie of a trade association prevails. The crowd, about 75% male, is not entirely the geekfest I had expected, although a smattering of wizard-like men in long beards and braided hair dot the room.

Many of the young men in tuxes look like they should be carded before being served drinks. But one can nod approvingly at the flourishes this group adds to their tuxes. Rather than modish, hipster variations, this group tampers in genuinely quirky ways. Bright maroon vests, kilts and plaid ties give the room a genuinely wacky air.

Hello Mr. Cheech At the dinner, I am stunned on third glance to realize the quiet, unassuming man seated to my left is in fact Richard "Cheech" Marin, formerly of "Cheech and Chong" fame.

A million miles from the pot jokes of his youth, conversation with Cheech turns out to be the most cultured chitchat one is likely to find at a Hollywood awards banquet.

He speaks in a modest but genuinely enthusiastic manner of his current beautrix, a Russian concert pianist, about the demands of classical music, about his collection of Chicano art, which is currently touring North America, and of the novel he is writing and his difficulty in finding a narrative voice.

Marin, who has made a second (or third) career of performing voice-over roles for animated films, (a man reminds him they worked together on "Fern Gully") puts his presence here in the context of his cultural interests. "I hang out with some artists," he says. "A lot of these animators are my buddies."

Having jumped on the nouveau animation bandwagon at its dawn with the "Lion King," Marin notes the change he's seen among his friends in the business over the past few years. "I saw the visual effects guys come into their rock star mode. All of a sudden, I'd see these animators show up in motorcycle jackets and these crazy clothes. I'd say, all right dude, looks good — but you're still not going to get laid."

On with the speechmaking The largely star-free ceremony feels much more like an actual get-together than the rest of the season's canned, made-for-TV spectaculars.