David Lynch is perhaps the only auteur who could produce a four-hour Oscar telecast only to have the audience say upon its conclusion, “Wait. What just happened? I don’t get it.”
Perhaps nominees and winners could be read by a midget who speaks backwards. The host could be a rotting cow carcass in a feather boa that presenters must address as “the heart of the ceremony.” Winners with overly indulgent acceptance speeches would be played off by cacophonic bass and middle frequencies chosen to make them feel so uncomfortable that they leave of their own accord.
First of all, all the films nominated and discussed would be fictional, so as not to date the telecast for future audiences. There would be no references to new technologies. All music would be either deep cuts by the Kinks or the Rolling Stones, and the font of choice for all graphics would of course be Futura.
Again, no one would laugh. The telecast could end with the off-screen death of Billy Crystal, and no one would really be that sad about it.
Greengrass could take his trademarked “shaky-cam” style to give the Academy Awards much more grit. The camera would whip around the winners as they walked from their seats to the stage, resulting in half the audience in attendance excusing themselves to the restroom so that they may vomit.
The ceremony would be billed as “The Realest, Grittiest Oscars Ceremony in Recent History.”