In hosting, as in life, timing is everything. In March 1990, when enthusiastic applause greeted Oscar emcee Billy Crystal, he asked, "Is that for me or are you just glad I'm not Snow White?" Both, it turned out.
Sometimes an Oscar show soars on its eloquent acceptance speeches. Sometimes it strangles on its length, predictability or production numbers. Sometimes it's redeemed by a streaker and a sublime David Niven ad lib. Sometimes it's saved or sunk by its host.
As Whoopi Goldberg prepares to return to the task tonight, we decided to look at the entertainers who tackled the job seen and critiqued by millions. We limited ourselves to solo hosts during the TV era, and used news stories and the "Inside Oscar" books by Mason Wiley and Damien Bona to supplement our memories.
And the Oscar goes to:
Johnny Carson (1984, 1982, 1981, 1980, 1979): He never appeared in a movie except as himself. But Carson was host of TV's "Tonight" show. He was used to working with stars before a live audience and millions watching at home. He was also one of the best ad-libbers in the business, and he knew how to work a room. Carson set the standard for Academy Award hosts.
He could deliver zingers with the best of them, and with a little edge, too. When the 1981 show was delayed 24 hours because of the attempted assassination of President Reagan, Carson didn't let that stop him from joking about the chief executive.
Noting the one-time actor wanted to cut funding for artistic endeavors, Carson called it "Reagan's strongest attack on the arts since he joined Warner Bros." With perfect timing, he threw in the topper: "I'll bet he's up and around now."
In 1980, the winner of a special award for sound-effects editing, Alan Splet, didn't show up. Carson turned him into a running gag. "First George C. Scott doesn't show, then Marlon Brando, and now Alan Splet." He kept giving us updates: Splet missed the freeway turnoff and is lost in Ensenada. He's having trouble with his carburetor near Barstow. When absentee Melvyn Douglas won the supporting actor award for "Being There," Carson said, "He's in a car pool with Alan Splet."
He presided over some of the longest Oscar shows on record. "We're into our fourth hour. Let's check the board and see how much we raised," he quipped in 1984. It wasn't his fault, but Oscar dumped him, claiming his monologue didn't fit in the new, streamlined format -- which ended up a ratings loser.
Hey-O! Johnny was good. How good was he? Give him:
Bob Hope (1978, 1968, 1967, 1966, 1965, 1962, 1961, 1960, 1955 with Thelma Ritter in New York, 1953 with Conrad Nagel in New York. Also co-host in 1975, 1971, 1970, 1959 and 1958): "Welcome to the Academy Awards, or as they're known in my house, Passover," joked Hope, who turned his failure to win Hollywood's biggest prize into Oscar's longest-running joke.
His consolation gift was to host the ceremony more often than anyone and to be master of ceremonies at the first televised show in 1953.
Hope was America's king of comedy during his heyday, ribbing his Hollywood comrades and making fun of politicians in a good-natured way. In 1965, when former actors George Murphy and Ronald Reagan had begun political careers, he looked out at the audience and said, "Sitting out there are the stars of today and the senators of tomorrow."
But many of his one-liners were worthy of vaudeville. In 1978, he commented on "the furs, the jewels, the glamour -- looks like the opening of the Beverly Hills Taco Bell. I haven't seen so much expensive jewelry go by since I watched Sammy Davis Jr.'s house sliding down Coldwater Canyon." Rim shot, maestro.
Hope wasn't at his best when politics intruded. The 1968 ceremony was delayed by the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. The postponement, Hope said, was tough on the nominees -- "how would you like to spend two days in a crouch?" -- and on the image of the sponsor, Kodak, because "the show took three days to develop." In closing, he said Hollywood's moguls shared something with King -- "they had a dream." Shudder.
Hope, renowned for his USO tours to war zones to entertain soldiers, went ballistic in 1975 when the anti-war "Hearts and Minds" won the documentary award and producer Bert Schneider read a message from the Viet Cong. Hope insisted the Academy issue a disclaimer. When it demurred, he wrote one and prevailed upon co-host Frank Sinatra to read it.
But Hope is remembered mostly for his ease before the microphone, for his affectionate barbs and his unrequited quest for a statuette of his own. They should have just recast one in his image:
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Billy Crystal (2000, 1998, 1997, 1993, 1992, 1991, 1990): Crystal provided some of Oscar's biggest laughs when he arrived in a Hannibal Lecter mask and rode on an Oscar being pulled by Jack Palance. When Crystal found something that worked -- inserting himself into the year's big pictures or spoofing them in song -- he stuck with it.
Like Hope, Crystal was one of them. Even if he had never won an Oscar, he had appeared in successful movies and some duds as well. His humor was rarely mean-spirited although sometimes he relied on too much shtick, jokes aimed at industry insiders and ain't-this-cool chatter with Jack Nicholson.
Like a good standup comedian, Crystal excelled when something unexpected happened. Having his "City Slickers" co-star win early in the night was the best thing that happened in '92. After Palance did one-hand pushups, Crystal announced the winner's increasingly frenetic physical activity: "Jack Palance has just bungee-jumped from the Hollywood sign:"
Whoopi Goldberg (1999, 1996, 1994): After off-color zingers in '99, Goldberg ventured, "You know, I may not be doing this show ever again, so let's just go right to the edge and go over, what do you say?" But she went over the edge, lived to tell about it and was invited back.
Goldberg proved Crystal wasn't the only one who could make an entrance. During the year of "Shakespeare in Love," she emerged as an elaborately costumed Queen Elizabeth. "Good evening, loyal subjects. I am the African Queen. Some of you may know me as the Virgin Queen, but I can't imagine who."
Sassy, edgy and politically driven, she became more risque with each appearance. If some of her jokes fell flat, well, she enjoyed them. "I'm cracking myself up."
The Oscar winner who quipped, "I thought the blacklist was me and Hattie McDaniel," should have some interesting things to say tonight:
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Steve Martin (2001): Producer Gilbert Cates said Martin was an ideal candidate to host because "he's a movie star, he's funny, he's classy, he's literate."
Martin was all that and politically prescient, making a wisecrack about Afghanistan a year before most moviegoers could find it on a map. He scored with prepared material -- suggesting Tom Hanks was behind a plot to kidnap Russell Crowe -- and ad libs. After Bjork left the stage, he deadpanned, "I was going to wear my swan, but to me they were so last year."
Running into the audience to hand a bowl of dip to Danny DeVito seemed like a stupid host trick, but Martin generally moved through the show like a dancer who is light on his feet:
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Jack Lemmon (1985, 1964 and co-host in 1972, 1958): Lemmon shared the spotlight in '85 with 10 celebrity co-hosts, including the unwed and pregnant Amy Irving. Further fragmenting his presence was the Sally Field "I can't deny the fact you like me -- right now, you like me!" speech.
In 1972, Lemmon was the last emcee on stage, following Helen Hayes, Alan King and Sammy Davis Jr., but he was the one who delivered the hat and cane to Honorary Oscar recipient Charlie Chaplin. Lemmon was given more of a chance to shine in 1964 despite having to run interference because of a series of glitches -- wrong envelopes and presenters who couldn't read the monitor or pronounce the names.
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Frank Sinatra (1963 and co-host in 1975, 1969): In 1963, Sinatra opened with a joke about the Mona Lisa, then on display in Washington, D.C. Cutting the famous subject no slack, Sinatra said: "The chick just sits there and smiles." He also introduced Sophia Loren as "the greatest pizza maker in the world."
In the '70s, he was caught in the "Hearts and Minds" flap and responded to Dustin Hoffman's denunciation, on an LA talk show, of the Oscars as "obscene, dirty and no better than a beauty contest." Ol' Blue Eyes told the crowd, "Contrary to what Mr. Hoffman thinks, it is not an obscene evening. It is not garish and it is not embarrassing."
For reporters covering the Oscars, it was a very good year:
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Jerry Lewis (1957 with Celeste Holm in New York, 1956 with Claudette Colbert and Joseph L. Mankiewicz in New York, and co-host in 1959): Jerry Lewis was the Jim Carrey of his day. Told by his New York counterparts in 1956 that he was comporting himself with dignity, he responded, "The character with which I have been identified, that of a raucous buffoon, is merely a studied portrayal."
He ad-libbed, wished actress Grace Kelly (two weeks from her royal wedding) "good health, good luck and a good life" and made thank-you calls to critics in Hollywood who praised his hosting skills. In 1959, when the show ran 20 minutes short, Lewis borrowed the conductor's baton and presided over an impromptu dance on stage:
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Donald O'Connor (1954 with Fredric March in New York): This was back in the days when a split screen showing O'Connor in Hollywood and March in New York wowed the audience. When an early line fell flat, O'Connor suggested, "On with the reading of the will."
The "Singin' in the Rain" star joined Mitzi Gaynor in performing one of the nominated songs. And when the show ran long, it was left to O'Connor to whisper that fact to winner William Holden. As often is the case, the winners -- Donna Reed, Frank Sinatra, Audrey Hepburn, Holden, "From Here to Eternity" -- were more memorable than the host:
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David Letterman (1995): Bombing as Oscar host certainly hasn't hurt Letterman's ability to earn a living. If you can call $30 million a year a living, and we bet Chevy Chase could.
In late-night TV, in the comfy, chilly confines of the Ed Sullivan Theater, it's fine to let Dave be Dave. But not in prime time, when it's the Shrine Auditorium, the Oscars and an LA audience that's not automatically worshipful or hip to the routines.
Apparently mistaking the conductor for his good friend Paul Shaffer, he walked onto the stage and groused, "All right, I'm out here." He will forever be remembered for something he found hilarious -- "Uma ... Oprah" -- that left the audience cold. But Letterman has used his gig as a running gag ever since:
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Chevy Chase (1988 and co-host in 1987): Wonder why Chevy wasn't asked back? Could it have been his opening? "Good evening, Hollywood phonies." During his solo outing, he launched into a tirade against critics, joked about Cher's attire and pretended (again) to be caught on camera picking his nose.
Class, thy name is not Chevy Chase. A willingness to be a good sport and drop through a trap door? Yes. And no one could have known what to do when 78-year-old Bette Davis commandeered the 1987 show while presenting the Best Actor Oscar:
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