The Oscars are coming up. I avoid this nonsense like the plague, but each year write something up as to how things should go. As I've been doing this for a few years, they've developed a continuity of their own. For those of you who are going to watch the 96 hour long marathon ceremony, good luck. I will be getting several decent night's sleep.
Three days before the ceremony even takes place, people will have selected spots around the Dolby Theatre for star watching. They will have camped out in the hopes that they can get photos and autographs from the stars. They will spend their time gossipping about who will be wearing what, annoying local stores with requests to use their washrooms, and giving Uber Eats drivers some brisk business.
ABC's president will gather together the producers, Raj Kapoor and Katy Mullan, who are returning again to head up the broadcast, in their office. He will demand that they keep on schedule as he's tired of the Oscars ceremonies going on for days and days. "Look, I get that they all want to celebrate, but our affiliates have to do their morning news traffic reports. It might not matter to you or me, but the people of Des Moines, it matters that a broken down pick up truck collided with a molasses truck."
Mullan and Kapoor will promise that they'll keep on top of things, all while knowing they'll be breaking that promise.
Conan O'Brien, returning to host, will be fine tuning his monologue with the writers, wondering how many people he'll offend this time.
Jack Nicholson's corpse will be brought out for preparations at a mortician's facility in Los Angeles. As his will dictates he must be at every Oscars, his body was embalmed years ago, and each year, it seems to take longer to get him ready to go.
Kapoor and Mullan will be interrupted from their plans on how to keep Barbra Streisand from attending the Oscars with the unexpected news that she has passed away in her sleep.
On the morning of the ceremony, Tom Cruise will set out from home. His ban from the Oscars continues, and yet he has an outrageous scheme on how to infiltrate the event once again this year, Mission Impossible style. It requires a few hired guns and/ or expendable twits. Nothing he hasn't done before.
Mullan and Kapoor, having had spent the last three days thanking their lucky stars that they won't have to deal with the rage ego-storm of Barbra Streisand ever again, will be in last minute preparation time.
The Dolby Theatre will, likewise, be in last minute preparation time with staff handling various tasks. Jack Nicholson's body will be placed in the front row seating, in tuxedo and sunglasses, looking, well... like Jack. Mullan and Kapoor will brief the small group of seat fillers who will be paid extra to be spending the evening surrounding Jack. They will advise them to ignore the scent of embalming fluids.
Leonardo DiCaprio, nominated for Best Actor this year, will be at home getting ready. He'll be meeting his latest girlfriend, who will be turning twenty six in July. As such, he will be busy planning on how to dump her at the end of June, what with his disregard for any woman over a certain age. He will also be feeling a growing sense of dread. He knows he should just skip the Oscars, what with the PTSD over being beaten up every year by Marisa Tomei, but his ego insists he must attend.
Mullan and Kapoor will be briefing their designated enforcers, back again this year. Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei, who have worked together on multiple Oscars ceremonies and spent time beating up DiCaprio and Cruise, will be raring to go. Upon mention of keeping the speeches short, Jones and Tomei will shrug.
Despite not being in any notable movies in the last year, John Travolta will be at home, getting his tux ready. He'll give himself a look in the mirror, and nod to himself. "Joey Tarleton, you're looking good."
The ceremony will get underway. Paparazzi will crowd the red carpet, talking to incoming stars, trying to get a sound byte. Some of the stars will pass them by entirely. Others might stop in and have a few words.
Tom Cruise will meet with a group of waiters/ movie set extras in a warehouse a few blocks away from the Dolby Theatre. Plus Scott Baio, who has nothing else to do and hasn't learned from the last few years of helping Tom Cruise out on Oscar night. It will be an audacious plan of distraction and misdirection, with the group being the distraction. "This can't fail!" Cruise will say.
"Say, I think I need a bigger role in this," Baio will insist.
"Shut up, Chachi!" Cruise will snap.
"Hey! I was also in Charles in Charge!" Baio will point out.
Katherine Heigl and Katherine Heigl will show up, despite having no film work in the last few years. The actress and her alternate reality counterpart and wife will make a spectacle of themselves on the red carpet, making out, hands all over each other. Heigl once risked the space-time continuum to bring her counterpart in to this reality. After all, for someone that narcissistic, the only person they could love is themselves. After getting a bit too risque, they'll be ushered inside.
John Travolta, just arriving, will see them go and say to himself, "Wow, Kristine Howard and Kristine Howard really look good this year."
The seat fillers around the corpse of Jack Nicholson will be making a point of breathing in a shallow way.
Jones and Tomei will be off to the side of the seating, talking amongst themselves. They will both turn, as if sensing a presence. At this point in time, DiCaprio will arrive with his date. He will see Jones and Tomei, and start to tremble. Tomei will smile, point at him, and run a finger across her throat. DiCaprio will stifle the desire to cry.
Travolta will take his seat, look around, spot Jack Nicholson's corpse a couple of rows down and a few seats over, and say to himself, "That Jeremy Norton. What a guy, always the first one in, the last one to leave."
At home, James Brolin will be lost in thought, what with the days since his wife Barbra Streisand died in her sleep. He might wonder why no one has mentioned this in the news, but really doesn't care.
Conan O'Brien will open up the ceremony with a monologue taking shots at how no one's seen this year's nominated films, various actors in the audience, the industry in general, and Donald Trump for good measure.
At Mar-A-Lago, the American President will begin forty seven straight hours of rage tweeting with "Connor O'Ryan Not Funny! Unfair!"
At home, Billy Crystal will feel grateful that he once again turned down hosting this thing.
Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei will keep an eye on things. Tomei will keep looking directly at DiCaprio, sizing him up, calculating the velocity of a punch to his nose to break it again.
Leonardo DiCaprio will have a distinct feeling like someone is walking over his grave.
The first winner will be announced. They will set the tone for the evening when thirty seconds into their speech, they tell the orchestra that no, they're not going to get rushed off the stage, so quiet down there.
Tom Cruise will finish his briefing with his elite team of waiters and extras, plus Scott Baio. "Any final questions?" he will demand.
"Is there a chance any of us are going to get hurt?" one will ask.
"Good question," Cruise will say. "Maybe. Now go put your mime make-up on."
The group will break up. Except for Scott Baio, who will ask, "what about me? I'm not going to be wearing mime make up?"
"No, you're driving," Cruise will tell him. "Besides, you're not a good enough actor to be a mime."
"Come on! I was the star of two shows! Three if you count Joanie Loves Chachi." Baio will protest.
"Shut up, Chachi!"
Mullan and Kapoor will look at their watches, realizing that they're already an hour behind where they're supposed to be by this point in the broadcast. "They'll never let us do this again," Kapoor will remark.
Mullan will nod. "See you in hell."
John Travolta will point at Michael B. Jordan in the crowd, and say to the person sitting next to him, "That's Mark S. Burroughs! You know, the basketball player!"
Barbra Streisand's agent will arrive at the mansion she called home with her husband. James Brolin will answer the door. "James!" he will say. "I'm so sorry, really. Just got your message an hour ago. I've been in Bora Bora hiding from my fifth ex-wife. Anyway, we've got to get the publicity machine up and running and let people know about the funeral."
"I haven't organized a funeral," Brolin will tell him.
"You haven't? Why not?"
"Funerals are sad occasions," Brolin will explain. "And right now, I'm happy."
Donald Trump will tweet about how great the movie about his wife is, and how everyone's a loser.
Leonardo DiCaprio will squirm in his seat, feeling the eyes of that woman who keeps beating him up every year when he comes to these events. He will summon up the courage to look where he knows her to be. Marisa Tomei will meet his gaze, and then smirk. The expression will be enough to make the actor tremble.
Tom Cruise will load up the waiters and extras in the back of a delivery truck, telling them, "hold on to whatever you can. There's no seat belts back here after all." They will all look back at him, each dressed like Charlie Chaplin, with white mime make up on their faces. They will start to move in an exaggerated mime fashion. Cruise will close the rolling door. "Move it, Chachi!" he will yell as he gets on a nearby motorbike.
"My name is Scott!" Baio will reply.
"Nobody cares!"
News will break, three days late, that Barbra Streisand has died. Mullan and Kapoor, having had convinced the press to sit on the story so as to not overshadow the Oscars, will both sigh with dismay. "Do we need to do a quick edit of the memorial scroll?" Mullan will ask.
Kapoor will shrug. "Or we try to remember to add her to next year's edition."
Donald Trump will send out a series of six dozen tweets inside of seven minutes dragging Barbra Streisand over the coals.
The night will go on, with the schedule falling further and further behind.
John Travolta will look at his watch, trying to decide if it's time to call it a night. He's not getting any younger, after all, and he's not nominated this year for anything.
The March of the Dead will unfold across the big screen, memorializing actors, directors, and others in the industry who have died in the last year. Some names will be omitted. Others will be met with a "who are they" reaction in the crowd. And one person on screen will in fact be in the audience, and get up off their chair and yell, "Hey! I'm not dead yet!"
Scott Baio will stop his truck a block short of the Dolby Theatre. He will get out, open the back door, and find the mimes running in circles. "Hey guys! It's time to go! Get out there already!"
Tom Cruise will watch them all clamber out and start moving in the general direction of the Dolby Theatre. He will check his watch, deciding on the best time to actually make his move and have his revenge.
The mimes will run down the street, and then start cartwheeling and somersaulting their way along the red carpet. Building security will call in to the event dispatch to advise of the situation.
Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei will hear the news over their ear pieces, and will wonder if this is some kind of distraction.
While building security does their best to shuffle the mimes off the red carpet and down the street, Tom Cruise will start up his motorbike, revving hard, speeding down the street, knocking Scott Baio off his feet, heading to the red carpet.
The winner of the Best Actor will be announced. Leonardo DiCaprio will already be on his feet, believing he has won, but then hear someone else's name. This will infuriate him, and he will walk down the aisle towards the stage as the winner accepts the Oscar. "This is an outrage!"
Jones and Tomei will start moving onto the stage.
Cruise will burst into the auditorium. He will jump off his motorbike, which will crash into the audience, adding several names to next year's March of the Dead. He will get up, run down the aisle, heading for the stage, where DiCaprio is yelling at the winner of the Best Actor Oscar.
Cruise and DiCaprio will be yelling at each other and bickering about who's the better actor. The presenter and the winner for the Best Actor Oscar will be looking on, rolling their eyes and looking exasperated.
Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei will close in on the pair. Tomei will tap DiCaprio on the shoulder. He will turn and find himself face to face with the object of his fear and agony. "Not you!"
"Yes me," she will say, and throw a hard punch, breaking his nose.
Jones, meanwhile, will start out by breaking Tom Cruise's arms.
After the annual beatdown of Tom Cruise and Leonardo DiCaprio, both will be removed from the auditorium by paramedics, as well as police, who want to have a word with Tom Cruise about the multiple casualties and the people down the block who have previous PTSD related to mimes and had it all unleashed thanks to his underlings.
The Oscars will conclude, seventeen hours past their expected end time. Stars will leave the auditorium, feeling like they haven't slept in days. They will be met by questions from the paparazzi. "What do you have to say about Barbra Streisand dying?"
Tomei and Jones will feel refreshed and pleased with themselves. "That was fun," Tomei will say.
Jones will nod. "Same time next year?"
Somewhere in Hell, the Devil will send Barbra Streisand's soul back to her body, rather than put up with her for an eternity just yet. He can wait another ten years until the boys from engineering have the Silent Room ready. She will wake up in a morgue, having no memory of what happened to her for the last three days. And she will be angry.
At a local hospital, casualties from the night will be treated. Scott Baio will be wondering how he'll pay a hospital bill when he hasn't worked in twelve years.
Cruise will find himself feeling very uncomfortable as a doctor and nurse work on him. He will be in a neck brace, with both arms in body casts, multiple facial contusions, and broken ribs. Police will be advising him he needs a lawyer. "I don't need a lawyer," he will reply back. "Do you know who I am?"
The one cop will say to the other, "Look, Harry, we've got someone who doesn't know who he is."
In another room, Leonardo DiCaprio will be moaning while being treated by two nurses and a doctor. He has sustained facial damage, a broken leg, broken arms, multiple bruises, and unresolved PTSD. "She broke my nose! Again! She broke it! My beautiful nose! Marisa Tomei causes pain!!!!!"
