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And the winner of the Best Bantamweight Supporting Actress is…

February 12, 2013

Joy, it’s that time of year again; the Baftas. I bloody hate award ceremonies. Firstly, why do we have different categories for actor and actress? It surely doesn’t need to be gendered, does it…? It’s not as if it’s sport and you have to class people in accordance with their physical ability. Actors are the same all over the shop. Perhaps they should introduce weight categories for the winners as well; I’d be much more interested in seeing the nominees for the Heavyweight Supporting Actress, just to see the looks on their faces.

Then there’s the speeches, the most tedious part of any one of them. I guess there must be a formula to be followed, but it doesn’t half depress me to see how conventional even the most unconventional ones are. Just once, I’d like it to go down like this:

“Oh my! Oh my! I can’t believe it! I would say: ‘Oh my God,’ but I’m afraid that might upset Mary from Bognor and she won’t be my fan any more, or else I’ll get a complaint I’ll have to deal with, or else a lurking journalist will have a slow day and call me an insensitive blasphemer, as that is still an issue that afflicts 21st century society. But I digress, something which I intend to do quite a lot over the forthcoming however long.

“Where was I? Oh yes: my oh my! I can’t believe I’ve won! I was told I’d have a 1 in 5 chance of winning, otherwise of course I wouldn’t be here because that would be an insane waste of an evening, but it never occurred to me I’d actually win. This new set of clothes that I bought just for tonight was in no way bought just because I might be on camera. And please don’t think that, because I’m an actor, I in any way worked on my reaction shot for winning and at hiding my expression in case I lost.

“Not that I ever thought I would win, but I’d hate to think my face would make me look like I did. I wouldn’t like to be thought a bad sport for not liking to lose a competition I never willingly entered in the first place. I am, of course, obliged to live up to everyone’s expectations regardless of how unreasonable they are.

“Now onto the thank yous. This will take several hours, so if for some reason you aren’t sitting in a room where champagne is being served like water, I hope you at least have some cheap lager. I don’t know where to start with the thank yous, so I suppose I shall have to start where every other person starts; with my parents. After all, we must all be incredibly thankful that I was born. My parents, who tragically can’t be here tonight because they are in the pub across the road, were an inspiration to me.

“Every time they told me to tidy my room, I bounced upstairs with joy and pranced around in front of the mirror, perfecting my various array of sullen teenage expressions. I remember being incredibly grateful to them one time when they grounded me, because I knew it would turn out for the best and I would eventually be standing here, boring the bollocks off of all of you.

“I’d also like to thank: Willy, Milly, Billy, Tilly, Dilly, Filly, Hilly, Killy, Zilly, Nilly and Silly for all they did for me during filming, plus a whole host of other people you’ve never heard of, have no wish to look up and probably wouldn’t be able to if you did because they aren’t important enough to be on Wikipedia.

“With that in mind, I can’t honestly say I know who these dedications are for, why I couldn’t write personal letters or simply have spoken them briefly as I left the film set for the last time. These individuals may be offended if I don’t mention them, so I can only imagine that they assume that neither their contribution, nor my thanks, are worth anything unless I win.

“I do wish I could remember all their names. I’m particularly indebted to the man who served me a sandwich one Saturday in June, since without him, I would surely have been unable to be here tonight, something which I’m sure we’re all very grateful for. I am, of course, contractually bound never to acknowledge my own efforts and talents, so instead must tiresomely attribute this deserved award to anyone who happens to be walking by.

“Incidentally, I hated every second of filming, something which I have conveniently forgotten because the picture turned out to be a success. I despised every one of my co-stars with a passion, something which I must never mention because it will make me look bad, so I must endure praising them. I can forget all this, though, because I’m the one getting the award, and they have to just shut up and look happy for me, much to my satisfaction.

“I will now proceed to make the fact that I won and four other people lost all the more awkward by talking to them from up here on the stage while clutching my award, telling them how much more deserving they are, not that I’m rubbing it in or anything. I know perfectly well that all they want to do right now is melt into the floor and magically appear at home, but to be honest I am equally as uncomfortable and see no reason why they should be reprieved simply because the fickle masses picked me out for torture this year.

“I’d like to finish by saying that this award, the Oscar, which I won, is worth so much to me, not because it is a trophy and is made of gold, but because of all the memories it brings. I will take it home and put it at the bottom of a small opaque cupboard so I never have to look at it again, though be assured I will hastily retrieve and display it for parties. I shall, when questioned about this cumbersome trinket, endeavor to strike a balance between modesty and gratitude, while secretly wishing everyone would just shut up about it. Everyone knows the Oscar is special, because it depicts a small golden man, as opposed to a large golden face, or a small golden ball on a stick.

“I feel privileged to be here tonight, as in actual fact, I didn’t come here of my own free will but was instead bundled into the back of a van with a sack over my head and plonked down onto the red carpet feet first and slightly disheveled. I’m glad. I’m so very glad of everything. Words can’t express how glad I am, but that won’t stop be from trying.

“I thank you, from the bottom of my gritted, smiling teeth. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You, my fans, are the reason I’m here, and you will never know how much I resent you for it. And if you’re not my fan, even though I secretly hate you, I thank you for your heartless slights on my appearance which ground me in reality and help me to grow. Thank you. To my fans, your stalking is much appreciated.

“Please don’t write about me in your tabloid newspaper, I beg you. Thank you. What more do you want from me? I did everything right. I’m not drunk, but not sober, not dressed like the Queen, but not dressed like a hobo and as far as I know my underwear isn’t showing. Please don’t let there be anything I’ve missed. Thank you, thank you! Oh Christ, why am I here. I could have stayed in and watched Miami Ink. Thank you.”

This should be accompanied by lots a wailing, waving and a furtive look of immense relief, expertly hidden by tears of joy and much hand flapping over the chest area to construct some kind of make-shift fan, in case of spontaneous fainting from the joy of it all. The lucky winner should then shuffle to the edge of the stage and hug whoever it was who handed them the prize as if they personally awarded it, even if they don’t know them from Adam. If that person was a woman, the winner might also kiss her on the cheek, since you can do that sort of thing at award ceremonies.

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