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52 | AVENUE MAGAZINE • APRIL 2012
Peggy Siegal’s Oscar Diary
APRIL 2012 • AVENUE MAGAZINE | 53
David O. Russell
and Spike Jones
Peggy Siegal and
Catherine Martin
Suki Waterhouse
and Bradley
Cooper
This was the year absolutely no one could predict Best
Picture for the 86th Academy Awards: not even me, the
Oscar witch. This made directors Steve McQueen,
Alfonso Cuaron and David O. Russell very crazy. After
months of screenings, press conferences, lunches, and
parties, publicists and bloggers had to look these three wise
men in the eye and say, “We don’t have a clue.”
Then came the slogan, “It’s time.” That was
Fox Searchlight’s last suggestion on 12 Years
a Slave advertisements that subliminally
registered in the hearts and minds of voters
in the closing days of the studio’s low-key
campaign.
“It’s time.” So simple. Says it all. Just like
the mantra “Find your voice” that marketing
honcho Harvey Weinstein came up with
three years ago, which drove The King’s Speech
to a win.
This is how you win an Oscar. You pinpoint
and connect an exact emotion on the screen to
an exact emotion that moves 6,000 voters who
are mostly very smart white middle-aged guys.
On Oscar night, host Ellen DeGeneres joked
to 43 million viewers, “Possibility number one:
12 Years a Slave wins Best Picture. Possibility
number two: You’re all racists,” answering
the question three hours before the win was
announced. DeGeneres then gifted sponsor
Samsung with the world’s most famous selfie
and tipped a pizza delivery guy $1,000.
The gripping 12 Years a Slave won Best
Picture, putting Steve McQueen in the history
books as the first black director, who is also
British, to win an Oscar.
It took the star power of white heartthrob
Brad Pitt to get the film financed. Taking
the small but heroic role as the slave’s savior,
Brad then took a backseat by shooting WWII
film, Fury in England, leaving the promotion
to others.
Steve McQueen’s muse Michael Fassbender,
who portrayed a sadistic plantation owner,
announced he would not campaign. McQueen,
Chiwetel Ejiofor and an unknown supporting
actress, Lupita Nyong’o, were left with the
herculean task of selling a film about slavery that
was guaranteed to embarrass every American.
This is why their win was so poignant.
Warner Bros.’ wildly popular Gravity had
skyrocketed to $1 billion globally at the box
office. This technical game changer propelled
Sandra Bullock into outer space with $70
million of backend profits tucked into her
space panties. The beloved thriller landed
triumphantly with seven Oscars. Alfonso
Cuarón, who slaved for four years to create
his masterpiece, won two statues for directing
and editing and became the first Latino
director to win. Although Gravity’s producer
David Heyman did not strike gold, this film
was one hell of a second act after producing
all those Harry Potter films.
In the past four years, David O. Russell
has been a serious contender with 25 total
nominations for his last three films. Hilarious
and astute American Hustle garnered 10
nominations, but no wins this year.
The four acting categories were easy to
predict. Cate Blanchett wowed the minute
Blue Jasmine was released in July. This
instantaneous phenomenon is known as the
“Colin-Firth-Daniel-Day-Lewis slam dunk.”
In November, beautiful darling Jared Leto
stole everybody’s hearts dressed as a woman
in Dallas Buyers Club. His long hair, penchant
for ’90s grunge, and rock band 30 Seconds to
Mars, made him another instant winner.
Matthew McConaughey’s career renaissance
became “McConaissance.” Mud, Dallas Buyer’s
Club, Wolf of Wall Street, and finally HBO’s
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54 | AVENUE MAGAZINE • APRIL 2012
© Copyright 2013 startraksphoto.com and BFAnyc.com
True Detective collectively earned him Best
Actor by December.
The actress who really stole the show
on the campaign circuit was eloquent
ingénue Lupita Nyong’o, who morphed into
a fashion goddess. No one will forget her
Best Supporting Actress acceptance speech
when she said, “It doesn’t escape me for one
moment that so much joy in my life is thanks
to so much pain in someone else’s.”
Tuesday, February 25
I flew to L.A. with some indefinable eye
infection that made Olympics reporter Bob
Costas’ reaction to Botox look attractive. My
medical calamity possibly caused by Latisse,
which promotes eyelash growth, caused
my eyelids to resemble red golf balls and
necessitated the wearing of dark glasses.
No, I did not look as cool as Anna Wintour.
I managed to grope my way through Oscar
week in couture Ralph Rucci gowns and furs
and pretend temporary blindness was “just a
new look.”
On this, my 30th trip to The Beverly Hills
Hotel, the famous Polo Lounge had finally
been renovated to look exactly like it did
30 years ago so as not to upset the regulars.
Each pool cabana now had giant flat screens
installed for watching CNN in the sun. Cate
Blanchett and Oprah Winfrey were the hot
Oscar week guests.
I headed over to the Vanity Fair Social Club,
with its media-friendly “WeWork Hollywood”
pop-up lounge. Vanity Fair publisher Ed
Menicheschi, who perfected the Midas touch
for masterminding Oscar week sponsorship,
greeted me. I participated in a panel discussion
of Oscar prognosticators about who would
win, hosted by Michael Hogan of VF.com with
Anne Thompson of IndieWire, Sasha Stone
of Awards Daily, Pete Hammond of Deadline,
Dave Karger of Fandango, Krista Smith of
Vanity Fair, and Kyle Buchanan of Vulture.
If you had put fire to our feet we could not
tell you who was winning Best Picture. Like a
bunch of nerds all trying to impress each other,
we did predict every other category correctly.
The town was crawling with stars. So it
wasn’t shocking to find the most famous
sitting in the middle of a public restaurant
drinking and singing oldies by the Eagles
and Neil Diamond. That was the scene at
Nobu in L.A. where Bono and U2, here to
perform Mandela’s theme “Ordinary Love”
at the Oscars, sat drinking sake and George
Clooney’s Casamigos Tequila with Clooney
himself, and Cindy Crawford and Rande
Gerber as they all belted out songs.
Steve McQueen
with Bianca
Stigter
Jennifer
Lawrence
Brad Pitt and
Angelina Jolie
George left town soon after, was rumored
to stop in London to see his new girlfriend,
Oxford-educated British barrister Amal
Alamuddin, and they headed to an exotic,
secluded island for a much-deserved vacation.
After winning the Oscar last year for producing
Argo, George had a supporting role in Gravity;
co-produced August: Osage County; and
starred in Tomorrowland, which Disney will
release in 2015. He also produced, wrote,
directed, and acted in The Monuments Men.
Clooney marched to Berlin, Milan, London,
and Paris, successfully opening that film.
With his Oscar night absence, not only did
he make sure Sandra Bullock got all the credit
she deserved, but my hunch is that he was
also quietly proud of his good friend Brad
Pitt, who produced 12 Years a Slave, Gravity’s
biggest competition.
Wednesday, February 26
Action central was now in the lobby
of Chateau Marmont where Vanity Fair,
Graydon Carter, and Benedikt Taschen
Alfonso Cuaron
Lupita Nyong’o
honored world-class photographer Annie
Leibovitz for the launch of her new sumosized
book, Annie Leibovitz.
André Balazs confided that Annie pulled
an all-nighter in her pajamas hanging her
work. Balazs gave her free reign to install
her huge iconic portraits throughout the
hallways and first floor suites that were open
during the party.
Photographers Mario Testino and Terry
Richardson browsed as Annie walked
Quincy Jones on a tour of her larger-thanlife
exhibition. Sylvester Stallone gazed at his
own portrait taken 20 years ago, his Dorian
Gray Rocky face now frozen—as in Botox—
not the blockbuster animated Disney winner.
Paramount CEO Brad Grey’s wife
Cassandra, Carole Bayer Sager and Lorraine
Schwartz gave a private dinner at Cassandra’s
Violet Grey store on Melrose. Jack Nicholson,
seated with model Erin Wasson and Eva
Mendes, held court as superstar Pharrell
Williams (in his Vivienne Westwood
“Mountain” hat) and Anjelica Huston chatted
Portia de
Rossi and Ellen
DeGeneres
Bono
Michael Fassbender
Sienna
Miller
Leonardi
DiCaprio
Matthew
McConaughey and
Camila Alves
up Chinatown producer Robert Evans. Dom
Perignon sent the champagne, proving that even
behind private dinners, one can now spot a sponsor.
Thursday, February 27
Oprah Winfrey slipped into Essence’s “Black
Women in Hollywood” lunch at the Beverly Hills
Hotel where Cheryl Boone Isaacs, the first black
female president of the Academy, was honored
with a Trailblazer Award.
President Bill Clinton, in town for the
first United4Humanity gala at Sony Studios
that night, had lunch at Larry Gagosian’s
magnificent modern home in Holmby Hills.It
was designed by architect A. Quincy Jones, the
mentor of Frank Gehry—not to be confused
with music legend Quincy Jones, the mentor
of Michael Jackson.
On this night, there were
Barry Diller
and Diane von
Furstenberg
56 | AVENUE MAGAZINE • APRIL 2012
Amy Adams and
Darren Le Gallo
Lady
Gaga
This is how you win an
Oscar. You pinpoint
and connect an
exact emotion on the
screen to an exact
emotion that moves
6,000 voters . . .
10 parties. English society decorator and Olympic
party animal Nicky Haslam flew in from England
for the Vanity Fair dinner Sunday night and was my
escort for this evening. We made it to five parties.
Vanity Fair and Sony’s “Toast to American
Hustle” at Ago on Melrose was our first stop, to
pay homage to David O. Russell. Inquiring minds,
including hotshot producer Megan Ellison,
Amy Adams, Sony CEO Michael Lynton and
co-chairman Amy Pascal, debated who was
winning Best Picture. We still didn’t know.
CAA’s Josh Lieberman was on his way to
ICM’s John Burnham’s Santa Monica home.
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Al Pacino and David Mamet were huddled on
a couch as Spike Lee and Meredith Vieira sat
nearby listening.
At Warner Bros.’ fancy private dinner for its
nominees at the Bel Air Hotel, Nicky and I were
greeted by David Heyman. Executives Sue Kroll
and Juli Goodwin brought us over to Sandra
Bullock and CEO Kevin Tsujihara. Again,
everyone whispered, “Who is winning Best
Picture?” Gravity’s technical wizardry, revered in
L.A., was now thought to have the edge.
Spike Jones arrived and was too superstitious
to discuss his chances for Best Original Screenplay
for Her. He won. Don’t worry about Blue Jasmine
fellow nominee Woody Allen; he was tap dancing
with Susan Stroman on Broadway, rehearsing
Bullets Over Broadway. As a man who doesn’t
believe in campaigning for awards, he just might
show up to collect a few Tonys.
An exhausted Alfonso Cuarón was the last to
appear, with girlfriend Sheherazade Goldsmith.
He was fighting a cold and couldn’t wait to get
back to real, not reel, life.
Brad Grey’s party for Paramount’s nominees
was in full swing at Spago Beverly Hills. The Wolf
of Wall Street’s Marty Scorsese was huddled in
a booth with Brad, marketing maven Megan
Colligan, producer Irwin Winkler, and the
ageless Don Rickles. Jonah Hill’s buddy
Leonardo DiCaprio had just left, as he was
getting a cold too, but he later showed up at the
Bel Air, where Marty was staying, to have drinks
with Scorsese and Cuarón in the bar.
Nebraska talent Bruce Dern, Will
Forte, June Squibb, cinematographer
Phedon Papamichael and
screenwriter Bob Nelson relaxed
since their grueling nine-month
campaign, which had begun at
Cannes, was finally over.
Ron Meyer, vice
chairman of Universal,
had his annual private
party at his Malibu home
in honor of Graydon Carter.
Barbra Streisand, Jim Brolin,
John Travolta, Kelly Preston,
Diane Lane, Robert Downey Jr.,
and Paul Rudd mingled under a
tent with interior designer Sandy
Gallin and his new husband
Bryan Fox. Ron’s daughter,
jewelry designer Jennifer Meyer,
came alone. It was nanny’s
night off, so her husband Tobey
Maguire stayed home with the
kids.
Lara
Spencer
Larry Gagosian gave his 17th
annual art opening and dinner,
which is always a hot ticket for the rich and
hip. This year, art photographer Taryn Simon
mounted a show titled “Birds of the West Indies”
after the seminal taxonomy by ornithologist
James Bond. The exhibition also chronicled the
women, weapons, and cars depicted in the Bond
films, in addition to the birds that appear in all 24
movies. Even MGM couldn’t dream this up.
Dinner followed next door at Mr. Chow’s,
complete with Eva and Michael Chow. Simon’s
filmmaker husband Jake Paltrow brought his
mother Blythe Danner and his sister Gwyneth.
Since the Spielbergs and the Paltrows are
close family friends , Kate Capshaw arrived with
Theo and Sasha Spielberg. Jared Leto came
with Terry Richardson. Adrien Brody, Elle
Fanning, Cameron Diaz, John Waters, and
Robbie Robertson chowed down. Power
collectors Eli and Edythe Broad and Bill
and Maria Bell split chopsticks.
After dinner, we migrated to Gagosian’s
home. It was raining, it was windy, and
it was cold. Teetotaler Robbie Robertson
slipped on wet stone outside the house. He
was taken to the hospital that night and
endured a two-hour operation on three
broken ankle bones. Simultaneously,
Nicky Haslam slipped onto a glass table
and crashed to the floor. Nicky was fine;
the table was a goner—so much excitement
for one night.
Friday, February 28
Woke up this morning and the eye problem
had reached epic proportions as my left eye
was now shut. Found an eye doctor to lance the
infected eyelid. He gave me enough drugs to get
me to the Publicist Guild lunch at the Beverly
Wilshire Hotel. Jerry Lewis was receiving
a Lifetime Achievement Award from Carol
Burnett. Thankfully, I only needed one eye to
take all that in.
At her uncle’s Rodeo Drive store, Roberta
Armani toasted fellow Italians Marty Scorsese
and Paolo Sorrentino. The suits Leo wore in
The Wolf of Wall Street were designed for him by
Armani himself.
Paolo Sorrentino was the overwhelming
favorite to win Best Foreign Film for his Felliniinspired
The Great Beauty, and indeed he won.
Armani’s talent turnout was very impressive.
Cate Blanchett, who has signed with the designer
as the face of his perfume, was there with Glenn
Close, Robert DeNiro, and Samuel L. Jackson.
All were bedecked in Armani.
Wanda McDaniel, the marketing guru for
Armani, was the very first to dress actresses on
the red carpet. Jodie Foster was her muse and
that was 25 years ago.
Greta
Gerwig
Bette Midler
Laura Dern, Bruce Dern
and Andrea Beckett
APRIL 2012 • AVENUE MAGAZINE | 57
Harvey Weinstein and
Georgina Chapman
Naomi
Watts
Graydon Carter and
Anna Scott Carter
Andre Balazs
Sandra Bullock
Terry Richardson
I never tire of the overwhelming
excitement, throngs of eager press,
and screaming fans. Everything boils
down to this moment of mass hysteria.
Philomena producers Gaby Tana and
Tracey Seaward invited me to Steve Coogan’s
home where music man Alexandre Desplat
and Jon Hamm were having beers. Coogan
captivated me with conversation of how he
and the real Philomena Lee, who was a red
carpet regular, took their “full disclosure”
adoption campaign to the Vatican, meeting
The Pope. Only Harvey Weinstein could
have pulled off that jaw-dropping marketing
miracle.
Traditionally, there are three private agency
parties on Friday night—WME, CAA, and
UTA. They were hosted by Ari Emanuel,
Kevin Huvane, and Jim Berkus and were
press free, leaving the stars uninhibited and
happy. Justin Theroux, about to explode in
HBO’s miniseries The Leftovers, canoodled
with Jennifer Aniston. Past and present
Oscar nominees and winners including
Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, Oprah Winfrey,
Charlize Theron, Sean Penn, Bradley
Cooper, Jonah Hill, Alexander Payne, Steve
McQueen, and Alfonso Cuarón were among
the evening’s migrating tribe.
Saturday, March 1
Barry Diller and Diane von Furstenberg
canceled their annual, highly anticipated
outdoor lunch for Graydon Carter at their
Coldwater Canyon home atop a steep hill
because of impending torrential rain that
never came. Three hundred power hungry
showbiz executives were sent into a tailspin
for an alternative activity.
Luckily, Sony Pictures Classics’ and
industry icons Tom Bernard, and Michael
Barker took pity on me and invited me to
their table at the Independent Spirit Awards
under a wobbly tent that billowed with the
wind in Santa Monica.
Bob Balaban and I headed to the 6th
annual Chanel-sponsored dinner hosted
by the debonair Charles Finch at Madeo.
Girls donning $20k Chanel dresses included
Anne Hathaway, Sienna Miller (with baby
daddy Tom Sturridge), Lily Collins, Greta
Gerwig and Poppy Delevingne. Jessica de
Rothschild and her director husband Sacha
Gervasi were in attendance as well as Adrien
Brody, David O. Russell, Oliver Stone, Danny
Huston, Jean Pigozzi, Ben Silverman, Peter
Morton, and Elon Musk.
Harvey and Bob Weinstein along with
Chopard honored their nominees, including
the singers in RADiUS-TWC’s Best
Documentary winner 20 Feet from Stardom,
with a seated dinner at the Montage Hotel in
the “Marchesa Ballroom.” (The dining room
was rechristened for the evening in honor
of Harvey’s wife Georgina Chapman’s dress
label.) After dinner, guests were wowed by
a performance from Weinstein’s upcoming
Broadway musical, Finding Neverland, based
on their Oscar-nominated film about Peter
Pan creator J. M. Barrie. Celebrities Bono, U2,
Meryl Streep, Julia Roberts, Oprah Winfrey,
Olivia Wilde and Jason Sudeikis, Christoph
Waltz, and Taylor Swift gave Neverland’s
stars, Jason Alexander and Gary Barlow, a
standing ovation.
Sunday, March 2
My Oscar date this year was GMA’s
glamorous Lara Spencer. I arrived, as usual,
two hours early at the Dolby Theater in order
to plant myself on the mother of all red carpets.
Only this year, I was incognito with the dark
© Copyright 2013 startraksphoto.com and BFAnyc.com
58 | AVENUE MAGAZINE • APRIL 2012
© Copyright 2013 startraksphoto.com and BFAnyc.com
glasses. I greeted each of Lara’s interviewees
as if they were coming to my house for dinner.
I never tire of the overwhelming excitement,
throngs of eager press, and screaming fans.
Everything boils down to this moment of
mass hysteria. It’s always humbling to stand
among the entertainment giants, wish them
luck and have them nervously smile back.
It’s the bittersweet finale when all of the
campaigning is over and you think you won’t
see them until their next movie. It’s like the
last day of camp.
I was now dateless and alone as Lara Spencer
went home suffering from a sore throat.
Those in the know always hang out at the
downstairs bar during the broadcast where
the sound is turned up on the flat screens.
This year, Cate Blanchett’s husband theater
impresario Andrew Upton bought me free
drinks. I hung out with Cate, her CAA agent
Hylda Queally, the adorable skinny Sally
Hawkins in a heavily beaded Valentino gown,
Julia Roberts, and Tom Bernard and Michael
Barker who have 140 career nominations and
32 wins.
After reassuring Blanchett that her
stupendous pale beaded Armani Privé gown
was the best of the other girls’ pale dresses and
that her Oscar would pop against it, she went
on stage to win.
While I was at the Oscar broadcast, 160
VIPs at Graydon Carter’s annual Oscar
viewing dinner were getting ready for the
rush of a thousand more party guests. Five
hundred limos were on the way. Those
who watched the awards from the beige,
circular dining room were Graydon’s
friends including: Sofia Vergara, Tom Ford,
Carolina Herrera, Bruce Weber, Allen
Grubman, Bob Colacello, Judd Apatow, Jeff
Klein and John Goldwyn, Rupert Murdoch,
Steve Newhouse, Les Moonves, and Jimmy
Buffet.
I ran through the Governor’s Ball and
found Bryan Lourd and Fox’s beloved leader
Jim Gianopulos, ushered by Fox Searchlight’s
Michelle Hooper, sitting at Brad Pitt’s empty
table because everyone else was still in the
press room doing interviews.
I arrived at the Vanity Fair party at its new
location, 8680 Sunset Boulevard, a parking lot
that was transformed into an airy glass dome.
I stood in a corner, ravenously inhaling my
In-n-Out burger with ketchup dripping down
my chin and of course, Graydon—the adored
maestro of the week—came up and so sweetly
wanted to know how I was doing. It’s a little
difficult to respond with a mouthful of food
behind dark glasses.
The stars were huddled together in groups,
air kissing and congratulating each other. Bill
Murray, Lupita Nyong’o, Jennifer Lawrence,
Naomi Watts, Idina Menzel, Sarah Paulson,
Bette Midler and Lady Gaga owned the
dance floor; Jared Leto passed his Oscar
around so much he dropped it and it now
sports a little dent in the head; pregnant Kerry
Washington ate for two; and the Janes —
Fonda and Buffet—huddled on a couch,
while The Great Gatsby’s production and
costume designer, and wife of director Baz
Luhrmann, Catherine Martin and I posed
with her two Oscars. (Including the two she
won for Moulin Rouge, she now has four).
Even Madonna has sponsors now. The
material girl—blinding in 1,000 carats of Neil
Lane’s diamonds—hosted her seventh annual
awards bash at her manager Guy Oseary’s
home with Gucci. Originally super secret, the
party is now a headline on Page Six. Madonna
made her best effort to cream off the stars
from Graydon’s party.
In attendance were Paul McCartney, Tom
Brady and Gisele Bündchen, newly engaged
Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis, Serena
Williams, Prince, and Pink. Madonna closed
out her own party by breakdancing with her
kids and Miley Cyrus, and spinning records
until 7 a.m. for Matthew McConaughey.
Madge, short for majesty, would rather die
than entertain press, let alone an adorable
publicist like moi. Last year, ever so curious,
Anne Hathaway and Jared Leto
Charlize Theron
I was brought as
a guest of a guest
only to be frogmarched
to the door by Oseary, the
furious host himself. Dear
readers, I did this for you. It has
taken me a year to admit—I was
too socially traumatized to report
my investigative failure. I now realize that
I was just a pawn for Oseary’s A-list purity
for the night. His own rock status had been
boosted by signing Bono and U2. Thank God
my social stock is still otherwise intact. The
week before the Oscars, the real Oscar—de
la Renta—had invited me to his beachfront
paradise in the Dominican Republic with
Lord and Lady Astor. In June, the Duke and
Duchess of Marlborough are expecting me at
Blenheim Palace. So much for not making the
cut at Madonna’s.
Once again, I scored a ride home on a
friend’s plane where my dark glasses fit right
in. Passengers received an email that morning
requesting “no jeans.” I thought this was a
bizarre fashion edict, only to find out the
indigo dye in denim bleeds onto the jet’s white
leather chairs.
As a closing to my 10th annual Oscar diary,
I can sum up this year’s race as one of intense
emotions and euphoric pride for our love of
what Americans do best: making the most
wonderful and culturally enlightening movies
that entertain the world. On to Cannes!✦
APRIL 2012 • AVENUE MAGAZINE | 59