How Conan came to rescue the awards from mediocrity

A piano-playing sandworm, gentle jabs at the star of Emilia Perez’, and the right kind of winners... it worked for an awards event increasingly under fire, writes Adam White

- Adam White

For the first time in years, the Oscars seemed to actually enjoy themselves. Sunday’s ceremony, hosted by first-timer Conan O’Brien and held at the Dolby Theatre in Los Angeles, was a celebratory affair a necessary lick of positivity for a city that had wethered destructive wildfires in recent weeks, and a shot in the arm for an awards show that seems more and more to have to justify its existence. A brilliant turn by O’Brien and a raft of genuinely very good winners made this the best Oscars in recent memory.

O’Brien, a red-haired court jester of a man, typically leans towards absurdity rather than zingers, so kicked off his appearance with a pre-recorded skit in which he hatched from Demi Moore’s back à la The Substance – then realised he left his shoe somewhere inside of her and dove back in for a scramble. Once he arrived on stage, jokes came thick and fast. “[Wicked] is the perfect movie for anyone who’s ever finished watching The Wizard of Oz and thought, ‘sure, but where did all the minor characters go to college?’”; “Conclave is nominated for Best Picture tonight ... Its logline is: a movie about the Catholic Church, but don’t worry.”

Were the jokes dangerous? Ribald? Even (God forbid) Gervaisian? Not especially. Only the Drake crack (“We’re halfway through the show, which means it’s time for Kendrick Lamar to come out and call Drake a paedophile”) felt particularly scandalous. Rather O’Brien focused on silliness and selfdeprecation, far more comfortable mocking himself than the stars in attendance or movie culture at large (“A Complete Unknown, A Real Pain,