Mike Figgis was born on February 28 1948 in the town of Carlisle in the north-east of England. After early creative endeavours in music and theatre, Figgis found his way to directing for film, his debut feature 1988’s Stormy Monday. Over the last 20 years he has produced work of stunning diversity and innovation, but certainly his biggest success has been Leaving Las Vegas (1995), an adaptation of John O’Brien’s novel of punishing alcoholism, shot on Super 16, which became one of the most acclaimed pictures of its year and subsequently brought Figgis head-to-head with Mel Gibson’s Braveheart at the Academy Awards ceremony of 1996. In this edited extract from Figgis’s diary of that particular Awards Season, first published in Faber and Faber’s Projections 6 (1997, edited by John Boorman and Walter Donohue), Figgis, a nominee both in the categories of Director and Adapted Screenplay, describes the bizarre experience of “Oscar Night.”
25 March 1996, The Oscars, LA
Some time ago I went to the Armani store in Beverly Hills and had a fitting for my special tuxedo. I think the design I chose was something they were hoping to get Quentin [Tarantino] to wear but he went over to Hugo Boss. It's a long coat with a velvet collar and silver lining. The lining was my idea; I have an ego as well. The day I go to pick it up they tactfully ask me to leave before Mel Gibson arrives. The fitting room has racks of clothes in it waiting to be picked up by the Chosen.
On the morning of the Oscars I try to sleep late and have a normal breakfast. In fact, I am not in the slightest bit nervous and am in complete agreement with [the critic] David Thomson's predictions. My entire family has joined me at the Chateau Marmont and it is interesting to see what my two sons look like in tuxedos. My daughter chooses to wear an antique dress that I bought a long time ago in a shop in Devon. My wife has borrowed a diamond necklace from the appropriate store in Beverly Hills, valued at about $650,000.
Cage and Elisabeth Shue in Leaving Las
Vegas
The inevitable stretch limo turns up and we depart at about 3.00 p.m. It's very hot in the back and the driver, a young girl called Laura, sets off over Laurel Canyon, which is a very winding road. It feels like we're schoolchildren on an outing. We see lots of other limos heading in the same direction. As we get closer to the theatre we see some helicopters circling. We join a huge line of limos and creep forward. Out of the window we see a huge crowd. Some people are holding banners with religious right-wing statements: “Homo Sex Is a Sin,” “Sex Is a Sin,” etc, etc. Jesse Jackson is boycotting the event because there are no black nominees. There are also no Hispanic nominees or Asian, for that matter. Our windows are dark but people press their faces against the glass, trying to work out if we mean anything. It's very hot in the back. Suddenly we are there and doors are opened violently by a team of red-coated flunkies. The noise of the helicopters is incredible and we are urged onto a red carpet and announced over a PA system. The rest of my family go ahead while my wife and I walk the line from camera to camera. Live interviews start. It's impossible to hear properly or to think straight. As I wait behind Claudia Schiffer and her magician, I become aware that my foot is stuck to the red carpet, courtesy of a huge wedge of bubble gum which some celebrity has dropped. The gum dogs my footsteps all evening. Eventually we get into the theatre. It is impossible not to peer into the faces for a famous name. We make our way to our allocated seats. It seems that all nominees have aisle seats. Rod Steiger makes himself known as a fan of the film. Anthony Hopkins says hello. Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman say hello. Sharon Stone says hello. I wish everyone luck and realize afterwards that half of them are guests and not nominees.
At this point it is still exciting. An atmosphere of something about to happen. The show starts. Three and a half hours later it finishes and by that time I am very depressed and bored. Nic [Cage] wins his award and Elisabeth [Shue] and I do not. It's a huge relief that it is over and that this is the final ceremony [of the Awards Season]. Here are a few images from the three and a half hours:
Christopher Reeve is revealed in the middle of the stage in a wheelchair. He makes a very moving speech and I find myself in tears. He gets a standing ovation, but as he finishes we go into a commercial break and a barrier slowly comes down between him and us. As the barrier is coming down we see on a huge TV screen a Revlon commercial by Cindy Crawford. I found the two images together quite disturbing. At the break there is a stampede for the bar, the only place where smoking is permitted. Substitute guests come in to fill all the empty seats.
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Mike Figgis was born on February 28 1948 in the town of Carlisle in the north-east of England. After early creative endeavours in music and theatre, Figgis found his way to directing for film, his debut feature 1988’s Stormy Monday. Over the last 20 years he has produced work of stunning diversity and innovation, but certainly his biggest success has been Leaving Las Vegas (1995), an adaptation of John O’Brien’s novel of punishing alcoholism, shot on Super 16, which became one of the most acclaimed pictures of its year and subsequently brought Figgis head-to-head with Mel Gibson’s Braveheart at the Academy Awards ceremony of 1996. In this edited extract from Figgis’s diary of that particular Awards Season, first published in Faber and Faber’s Projections 6 (1997, edited by John Boorman and Walter Donohue), Figgis, a nominee both in the categories of Director and Adapted Screenplay, describes the bizarre experience of “Oscar Night.”
25 March 1996, The Oscars, LA
Some time ago I went to the Armani store in Beverly Hills and had a fitting for my special tuxedo. I think the design I chose was something they were hoping to get Quentin [Tarantino] to wear but he went over to Hugo Boss. It's a long coat with a velvet collar and silver lining. The lining was my idea; I have an ego as well. The day I go to pick it up they tactfully ask me to leave before Mel Gibson arrives. The fitting room has racks of clothes in it waiting to be picked up by the Chosen.
On the morning of the Oscars I try to sleep late and have a normal breakfast. In fact, I am not in the slightest bit nervous and am in complete agreement with [the critic] David Thomson's predictions. My entire family has joined me at the Chateau Marmont and it is interesting to see what my two sons look like in tuxedos. My daughter chooses to wear an antique dress that I bought a long time ago in a shop in Devon. My wife has borrowed a diamond necklace from the appropriate store in Beverly Hills, valued at about $650,000.
Cage and Elisabeth Shue in Leaving Las
Vegas
The inevitable stretch limo turns up and we depart at about 3.00 p.m. It's very hot in the back and the driver, a young girl called Laura, sets off over Laurel Canyon, which is a very winding road. It feels like we're schoolchildren on an outing. We see lots of other limos heading in the same direction. As we get closer to the theatre we see some helicopters circling. We join a huge line of limos and creep forward. Out of the window we see a huge crowd. Some people are holding banners with religious right-wing statements: “Homo Sex Is a Sin,” “Sex Is a Sin,” etc, etc. Jesse Jackson is boycotting the event because there are no black nominees. There are also no Hispanic nominees or Asian, for that matter. Our windows are dark but people press their faces against the glass, trying to work out if we mean anything. It's very hot in the back. Suddenly we are there and doors are opened violently by a team of red-coated flunkies. The noise of the helicopters is incredible and we are urged onto a red carpet and announced over a PA system. The rest of my family go ahead while my wife and I walk the line from camera to camera. Live interviews start. It's impossible to hear properly or to think straight. As I wait behind Claudia Schiffer and her magician, I become aware that my foot is stuck to the red carpet, courtesy of a huge wedge of bubble gum which some celebrity has dropped. The gum dogs my footsteps all evening. Eventually we get into the theatre. It is impossible not to peer into the faces for a famous name. We make our way to our allocated seats. It seems that all nominees have aisle seats. Rod Steiger makes himself known as a fan of the film. Anthony Hopkins says hello. Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman say hello. Sharon Stone says hello. I wish everyone luck and realize afterwards that half of them are guests and not nominees.
At this point it is still exciting. An atmosphere of something about to happen. The show starts. Three and a half hours later it finishes and by that time I am very depressed and bored. Nic [Cage] wins his award and Elisabeth [Shue] and I do not. It's a huge relief that it is over and that this is the final ceremony [of the Awards Season]. Here are a few images from the three and a half hours:
Christopher Reeve is revealed in the middle of the stage in a wheelchair. He makes a very moving speech and I find myself in tears. He gets a standing ovation, but as he finishes we go into a commercial break and a barrier slowly comes down between him and us. As the barrier is coming down we see on a huge TV screen a Revlon commercial by Cindy Crawford. I found the two images together quite disturbing. At the break there is a stampede for the bar, the only place where smoking is permitted. Substitute guests come in to fill all the empty seats.
Figgis on the red carpet
Steven Spielberg does a nice speech leading up to Kirk Douglas's honorary award. Kirk walks with difficulty and has problems with his speech after his recent stroke. A cameraman fights his way down our row to get a shot of someone behind us. He shoulders my wife aside and supports his weight on her shoulder. She tries to get out of his way and he tells her, annoyed, “Relax.”
When the Best Actor award came up, I had a feeling that Nic was not going to get it. When he did I experienced a huge drop in energy and a wave of depression, which I suppose was due to relief that it was now all over at last. It has been a somewhat uncomfortable period to be in, and yet not in, this special club.
After the awards there was a “Governor’s Ball,” to which my kids were not invited. We made plans to meet up later. The ball was chaos. Winners walked around with heavy trophies not quite knowing what had hit them and not knowing what to do with the things. Much hugging, congratulating and consoling. A man approached me and wanted to know why there was no “back story” in Leaving Las Vegas. I sat at a table with Nic's mother and his grandmother.
Outside there was anarchy as everyone tried to find their limo. I gave my number and waited for an hour and a half. Eventually we found our driver, who informed us that she had been parked twenty yards away waiting for her call. We set off for the next rendezvous. More traffic jams, more circuitous driving. Spago and the Miramax party. We got in, but my kids were held back. I kicked up a fuss and they got in. As I did so, it crossed my mind that as a loser I might not have the same clout I had as a nominee, but my change in status had not quite filtered through yet. I attempted to get drunk and, with Stephen Rea, eventually succeeded.
The next morning I had a complete hangover. Part alcohol abuse, part award season abuse. But I survived.
25 March 1996, The Oscars, LA
Some time ago I went to the Armani store in Beverly Hills and had a fitting for my special tuxedo. I think the design I chose was something they were hoping to get Quentin [Tarantino] to wear but he went over to Hugo Boss. It's a long coat with a velvet collar and silver lining. The lining was my idea; I have an ego as well. The day I go to pick it up they tactfully ask me to leave before Mel Gibson arrives. The fitting room has racks of clothes in it waiting to be picked up by the Chosen.
On the morning of the Oscars I try to sleep late and have a normal breakfast. In fact, I am not in the slightest bit nervous and am in complete agreement with [the critic] David Thomson's predictions. My entire family has joined me at the Chateau Marmont and it is interesting to see what my two sons look like in tuxedos. My daughter chooses to wear an antique dress that I bought a long time ago in a shop in Devon. My wife has borrowed a diamond necklace from the appropriate store in Beverly Hills, valued at about $650,000.
The inevitable stretch limo turns up and we depart at about 3.00 p.m. It's very hot in the back and the driver, a young girl called Laura, sets off over Laurel Canyon, which is a very winding road. It feels like we're schoolchildren on an outing. We see lots of other limos heading in the same direction. As we get closer to the theatre we see some helicopters circling. We join a huge line of limos and creep forward. Out of the window we see a huge crowd. Some people are holding banners with religious right-wing statements: “Homo Sex Is a Sin,” “Sex Is a Sin,” etc, etc. Jesse Jackson is boycotting the event because there are no black nominees. There are also no Hispanic nominees or Asian, for that matter. Our windows are dark but people press their faces against the glass, trying to work out if we mean anything. It's very hot in the back. Suddenly we are there and doors are opened violently by a team of red-coated flunkies. The noise of the helicopters is incredible and we are urged onto a red carpet and announced over a PA system. The rest of my family go ahead while my wife and I walk the line from camera to camera. Live interviews start. It's impossible to hear properly or to think straight. As I wait behind Claudia Schiffer and her magician, I become aware that my foot is stuck to the red carpet, courtesy of a huge wedge of bubble gum which some celebrity has dropped. The gum dogs my footsteps all evening. Eventually we get into the theatre. It is impossible not to peer into the faces for a famous name. We make our way to our allocated seats. It seems that all nominees have aisle seats. Rod Steiger makes himself known as a fan of the film. Anthony Hopkins says hello. Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman say hello. Sharon Stone says hello. I wish everyone luck and realize afterwards that half of them are guests and not nominees.
Nicolas Cage with his Oscar
At this point it is still exciting. An atmosphere of something about to happen. The show starts. Three and a half hours later it finishes and by that time I am very depressed and bored. Nic [Cage] wins his award and Elisabeth [Shue] and I do not. It's a huge relief that it is over and that this is the final ceremony [of the Awards Season]. Here are a few images from the three and a half hours:
Christopher Reeve is revealed in the middle of the stage in a wheelchair. He makes a very moving speech and I find myself in tears. He gets a standing ovation, but as he finishes we go into a commercial break and a barrier slowly comes down between him and us. As the barrier is coming down we see on a huge TV screen a Revlon commercial by Cindy Crawford. I found the two images together quite disturbing. At the break there is a stampede for the bar, the only place where smoking is permitted. Substitute guests come in to fill all the empty seats.
Steven Spielberg does a nice speech leading up to Kirk Douglas's honorary award. Kirk walks with difficulty and has problems with his speech after his recent stroke. A cameraman fights his way down our row to get a shot of someone behind us. He shoulders my wife aside and supports his weight on her shoulder. She tries to get out of his way and he tells her, annoyed, “Relax.”
When the Best Actor award came up, I had a feeling that Nic was not going to get it. When he did I experienced a huge drop in energy and a wave of depression, which I suppose was due to relief that it was now all over at last. It has been a somewhat uncomfortable period to be in, and yet not in, this special club.
After the awards there was a “Governor’s Ball,” to which my kids were not invited. We made plans to meet up later. The ball was chaos. Winners walked around with heavy trophies not quite knowing what had hit them and not knowing what to do with the things. Much hugging, congratulating and consoling. A man approached me and wanted to know why there was no “back story” in Leaving Las Vegas. I sat at a table with Nic's mother and his grandmother.
Outside there was anarchy as everyone tried to find their limo. I gave my number and waited for an hour and a half. Eventually we found our driver, who informed us that she had been parked twenty yards away waiting for her call. We set off for the next rendezvous. More traffic jams, more circuitous driving. Spago and the Miramax party. We got in, but my kids were held back. I kicked up a fuss and they got in. As I did so, it crossed my mind that as a loser I might not have the same clout I had as a nominee, but my change in status had not quite filtered through yet. I attempted to get drunk and, with Stephen Rea, eventually succeeded.
The next morning I had a complete hangover. Part alcohol abuse, part award season abuse. But I survived.
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