Kathy Goes to Hollywood: Part 3 of A British Female Filmmaker’s Adventures in LA

Kathy Hill is a British filmmaker currently working in Los Angeles on pre-production for her first feature. Each week she shares with us her experiences, advice and anecdotes from Tinseltown.

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Diary Part 1
Diary Part 2

Diary Part 3

Oscar week's a real trip.

Thursday 2nd March. At the pre-Oscar fashion, food, wine and jewellery press do.

Wolfgang Puck shows us the sushi hors d'oeuvres and mini chocolate Oscars dusted with 24 carat gold. We
get to take a choccy Oscar home.

Perfect models sport this year's dress theme: 'old glamour'. The real bling glittering round their necks and wrists is insured for millions. We jostle with crowds of journalists and paps fighting for front row space.

Samples of this year's Oscar cocktail, wine, champagne and chaser from the vintners.

All quite heady for 10am on a weekday morning.

Then a magic moment.

36 Mafia are blinging it on the red carpet 2 days before the awards, bouncing and hopping about like schoolboys with attitude. Who said diamonds are a girl's best friend?

Even Audrey would be dazzled by the sparkles from the rappers' teeth, rings, medallions, bracelets and
watches dancing in the LA sunlight.

'Have you got a moment for the UK?'

'Who you reporting for?'

I give them the details.

Black Entertainment TV commence an extended video interview with the cool but jolly dudes.

Yoshie Muramatsu, my trusty assistant, and I wait patiently watching their antics.

Every few minutes the rappers look at us and quip:

'Who are you again?'

'Close-Up Film from the UK'.

'Oh yeah, right.'

Finally our turn comes.

'There's a lot of rappers in the UK dreaming they'll be where you are one day. Any advice for musicians
and filmmakers who are starting out?'

'Listen to your parents, unless they're crazy. Go to church. Study hard at school.'

Hmmm.

'And will there be any swearing on the night?'

'Absolutely not. They said we could keep 'bitch' but we ain't gonna. My mum's gonna be watching. And his
kids.'

'How long has it taken you to get to this point?'

'People think it's an overnight success thing but it's taken 15 years. Look..'

He touches his greying hair.

The Oprah-esque Black Entertainment TV network interviewer keeps saying:

'Go on. Strut your stuff like you just got the Oscar'

'No way. It'll jinx it. It's in God's hands.'

They're jigging up and down like it's the end of term.

'Who are you again?'

'Close-Up Film from the UK.'

'Oh right.'

We discover the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce Office is providing free lunch Thursday and Friday. All the
driving and parking's adding up.

We rush over and combine Caesar salad with interviewing the Honorary Mayor of Hollywood, Johnnie Grant who started his showbiz career in North Carolina local radio in 1939 and whose acting credits include 'White Christmas' with Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye.

He's a bundle of fun, an official 'Treasure of Los Angeles' since 2002, friend of Bob Hope, Chairman of the Walk of Fame Selection Committee and knew John Wayne personally.

'He'll be turning in his grave if that gay cowboy movie wins.'

'So will you be at the Oscars?'

'No way. It's too stiff and formal. I'll be at home where I can shout "Oh no. How could you choose that".'

I'm tempted to ask him if I can have his ticket but feel it would be bad taste.

'Any advice for filmmakers in the UK who are starting out?'

'It's a tough business. You have to be really strong. Focus on what you can give back to your community. Get involved in helping others. Like Bob.'

His own Star's in front of Grauman's Chinese Theatre between Zsa Zsa Gabor and his one-time Army Air Corps Commanding Officer, Glenn Miller.

Yoshie and I go back to the Kodak Centre to visit the 'Meet the Oscars: The 50 Golden Statuettes' Exhibition which shows how they're made and who's received them in the past.

We take turns holding a real Oscar.

Standing on a box in front of the plinth, cameras flashing, you pick up the award. Two surprises.

Bing! It's attached by an unbreakable plastic cord.

Wow. It's really heavy. Like lead. It drops down into your hands.

Quite right too. It's a weighty achievement.

We get our Oscar posters autographed by the designer, Joan Maloney.

'I'm the first woman to be chosen to design the Oscar poster.'

'The first woman in 78 years?'

'Yup. I think so.'

I ask her to sign the Cary Grant one for my friend in the biz who changed his last name in honour of the one
and only.

'He'll love this.'

Joan looks tired. We get chatting.

I tell her about my angel movie. She smiles and looks off to the left.

'I believe in angels. I've got one watching me right now.'

I follow her gaze. No-one there.

'I lost someone very close recently. He's helped make all this happen.'

Kindred spirits and angels in the most unlikely places.

Getting in the car on the way home we realise we left half our posters behind. Oh well.

*****

The next day we combine lunch with interviewing Clifton Collins Junior ('Perry Smith' in Capote) and get hand fed truffles by the chocolatier from Godiva.

'The Americans don't know how to make chocolate. You have to go to France or Belgium.'

I agree through a mouthful of dark chocolate biscuit.

He talks me through the Oscar selection, making sure he feeds me the samples in the right order.

'I don't want to spoil your palate.'

'Of course not. I think you've got a great job.'

'So do I.'

Back on the red carpet we interview Louis Horvitz - Director of the Academy Awards; this year's Academy
Awards Host, Jon Stewart; and Sid Ganis, the new President of AMPAS. All totally upbeat, positive,
calm, relaxed.

A major news channel reporter to Louis:

'Obviously you don't want a repeat of some of the disasters that have happened in previous years. What
are the things that can go wrong and how are you preparing for them?'

(A polite reference to Michael Moore?).

'Nothing's gonna go wrong.'

He exudes total faith. I believe him.

****

Saturday 4th March. 51 young ethnic minority kids from Inner-City Filmmakers carry the 50 Oscars to be
presented up the red carpet. We interview them.

'We feel so honoured to be here. This is where we're gonna be soon, thanks to our teacher.'

A kindly looking grey haired gentleman shepherds them along.

Everything's so peaceful here, like being on another planet.

Not a word of swearing from anyone, including the construction workers. Everyone's polite and helpful.

The atmosphere's rarefied. Is this the top?

Saturday night. We go on the tour of the Governor's Ball.

Our guide's a powerfully built woman in headset communication with security.

'You have 10 minutes. If you leave my side, you'll be immediately escorted out by armed guards. If you want to look at anything, ask my permission first.'

A bunch of 'haves' in cocktail gear are sipping champagne. The 'have-nots' go through in dribs and drabs with their minders.

The theme is rainbow. My favourite. Wonderful.

Sequenced coloured lights phase on the crystal stalactite ceiling. Like Superman's Krypton home.

The disco floor shoots metallic rainbows in ever changing patterns as I sashay around it dancing with my camera.

Our security lady looks on half alarmed, half bemused.

I haven't broken the rules. She's only a foot or two away.

'Just getting some good footage. Isn't it pretty?'

She calms down and smiles. She's not used to people playing.

The raised illuminated stage will host a live band. Everything's bathed in multicoloured light. Reminds me of scenes in my movie.

'Our 10 minutes is up.' She whisks us away.

I look wistfully for a moment at the sparkly people who get to stay.

I see how too much time spent around the Hollywood scene without actually making it could be dangerous.
I can feel 'nose against the glass' syndrome creeping in. Poor relation. Outsider trying to get in.

NO.

I'm enjoying being a voyeur tourist once but I don't want to get used to it.

There's a never ending layer on layer of leeches hangers on has beens never will be's energetic vampires who feed off being close to something that doesn't exist anyway.

The glamour. The illusion. Film. Fame. So seductive. So addictive.

So empty. So meaningless.

The only thing that matters is the work. The art.

The Oscars honour the work. But the glamour's the drug that draws you in.

Realising I'm becoming a moth I repeat my mantra of truth.

'I'm a multimedia artist. I'm a multimedia artist. I'm here to create. To channel and create.'


Late Saturday night. We go back to the red carpet for a last look before the show.

A row of larger than life Oscars covered in protective plastic. Further along a congregation of them conjure
up eerie references to veiled brides and zombie movies.

Tired from so much interviewing and filming, I'm surrounded everywhere by Oscars. Revolving on giant
moving screens high above me. A giant Oscar face emerges from the shadows as I walk toward the arrival
tent red curtains.

Tempting? Taunting?

Inspirational opportunity or Kafka nightmare with no escape?

We find out too late. We could have asked someone we met for invites to Oscar parties. We ring him up,
just in case. He says he'll do what he can. He rings back.

'I've managed to get you invites for the Amnesty International Oscar After Party - Arrivals only.'

'Thanks so much. That's really kind of you.'

We're not actually going to the ball. But it's better than nothing. And pretty exciting when you've only
seen the whole razamataz on TV in the middle of the night in England.

Some nice UK paps we met earlier said they might need someone to cover arrivals for one of the lesser Oscar parties if their fellow photographer who's sick doesn't make it.

I get a text. Yes, we can do it. Evening Dress Required.

****

It's Saturday night 11pm. Thought I'd be watching the Oscars at home on the TV as usual. Now we've got two parties to cover.

We have to get to the first one in evening gowns tomorrow/Sunday 4pm latest and we've got nothing to
wear.. Oh no!


To Be Continued…