The Man Called Oscar

[The Silver Bullet]

On Tuesday I am making a speech to the Lion's club (which is sort of like a returned servicemen's league, I guess). I need to make a five minute talk on anything I like (along with an interview on current affairs and two impromptu speeches on the night). This is my prepared five minute speech, The Man Called Oscar...


*****


I'm not sure about you, but for me there's nothing more attractive, no animal, mineral or vegetable quite like a three and a half kilo little golden man standing on a film reel holding a sword. His name is Oscar and I have to tell you, I really have I thing for him. I want to pick him up, take him home, and put him on the mantle.

Every year, in the latter portion of March, Oscar goes home with twenty-five people. He flirts with five times that number but doesn't have much say in who he winds up with. That honour is left to the matchmakers of the cinematic world, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and sciences.

I have been told numerous times that my obsession with secrecy on the eve of Oscar's debutante ball borders on the line of obsessive compulsive. I have also been told that my obsession, nay, my quest to obtain and come into possession of Oscar is unrealistic, once again, obsessive compulsive. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. In fact, I beg to differ. Oscar is the man of my dreams. I just have to earn him, and so I’ve packed by bag and set off on a life long affair, I’ve set of on the yellow brick road to reach the stars.

In July of last year I began screenwriting collaboration with a friend from Canada. Seven months and six and half drafts later, we've come the closest we've ever been to reaching out and feeling the cold golden warmth of Oscar in all his glory. What keeps us going is the same thing that kept David Lean in Jordan for over a year when he did Lawrence of Arabia, the same thing that possessed Peter Jackson in his one and a half year stint shooting Lord of the Rings, the same thing that pushed Francis Ford Coppola to the brink of madness, Stanley Kubrick into anxious stupors and Martin Scorcese within a hair of his Golden Dance with the Golden Man. I can't work out whether it is a desire to create, to share, to inspire or to entertain. I think it's mainly my undying, distracting and often physically painful need to tell a story.

I have always enjoyed standing up in front of a large group of people and simply talking to them. I have always written stories, and made up tales. I've always drawn pictures and, I admit it, had a brief sordid affair with comics. I've even filled many a musical stave with crochets and minums, in hope of forging a melody. But I was always searching for something. I was never going to win the Pulitzer Prize, I was never going to be Picasso, or Rembrandt, or Beethoven, or John Lennon or a motivational speaker. Then one day I picked up a video camera, and said three simple words that changed my life: LIGHTS. CAMERA. ACTION.

Now I mix them all in a bucket. I make moving pictures. I am John Grisham. I am J.R.R Tolkien. I am Wagner, and Vivaldi and Tchaivosky and Michelangelo and Leonardo Di Vinci and Jackson Pollock and Toulouse Lautrec and Quinten Tarantino. I am Lean, Jackson, Coppola, Scorcese and Kubrick. I am a filmmaker. I am a teller of stories. I am in love, with a man named Oscar.

And I have the feeling that we won't be dancing cheek to cheek for a few years yet. But, I don't doubt that one day, he will look down on me from my mantle in Los Angeles, New York, London or Mount Gambier, and smile. Oscar comes to those who wait, he rewards those who devote their lives to the telling of stories, and take it from me, I've already started devoting. Frank Capra once said, “Film is a disease. When it infects your bloodstream it takes over as the number one hormone. It bosses the enzymes, directs the pineal gland, plays lago to your psyche. As with Heroin, the antidote to film is more film.” And for me, ladies and gentlemen - it’s a terminal illness.

There's nothing more attractive, no animal, mineral or vegetable quite like a three and a half kilo little golden man standing on a film reel holding a sword. Not for me. His name? Call him Oscar.

And as far as I'm concerned, Ladies and Gentlemen, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

[Holden Pike]

That runs you five minutes? Have you timed it?

[spudracer]

Well he has to allot time to pause..and what not...

Ever given a speech Mr Holden!?

[The Silver Bullet]

Five minutes is not a long time, and believe me, I can do it, and yes I've timed it.

Last year I was Australian Runner-up in this nation wide Public Speaking competition, Rostrum, if any of you know it.

Apart from length, what did you actually think?

[Holden Pike]

Sounds mostly like something Bob Hope would read off the teleprompter with music swelling gently behind him, just before Burt Bacharach comes out to sing "The Look of Love", and ten minutes before Best Documentary, Short Subject is handed out before a bored audience.

But maybe that's just me?

[The Silver Bullet]

Then you're reading it wrong.

HA!

[Holden Pike]

So what happened with your Oscar speech in the Lion's den?

[The Silver Bullet]

I won.
That's the first round done.

Next it's Zone. Then State. Then National.
If I get that far. And I have before.

I wasn't that happy with it.
I'm modifying it before I go in using it next time.
I'm going add a bit that isn't so "Me" Orientated.

I don't dispute I'll be doing a completley different speech when competitions pop up later in the year. I just had to whip something up fast, and I whipped up this.

I just don't know what to talk about....

[thmilin]

well, i used to be a public speaker, too ... the ones that clinch it are usually the funny ones or the ones that argue some difficult topic with amazing clarity and humanity. i did abortion and what it's like to be multiracial.

five minutes is a helluva long time, man! long@ss speech, your butt gets tired and has to keep seeming genuine and engaging. this is probably why i hate crowds and conversations with people i don't care about at parties. but it's good practice for bullsh|tting. and of course, if it gets you some awards ... ;)

this was a charming speech. but yeah, there's something oddly ... well, as if you belittled your passion for your work by the premise - the oscar, you make light of him but then, this is something you're pursuing, which undermines it a bit.

but, seems your changing your story anyway so ... good luck with a topic!

[The Silver Bullet]

What I really disliked, Thmilin, was how it was too "Me, Me, Me". I really didn't like that.

I'm speaking in a different competition tomorrow, so I'm going to write a new speech for it. I don't know what about yet, I'll come here and enlighten you before I present it.

Five minutes isn't a long time. I've had to go for eight minutes before, I just feel much more comfortable with eight minutes than I do five. Five is so short, you can't say anything. You have go in say a little bit and get the hell out. I'm really not a fan.

Nice to know there's someone like me out there Thmilin!! Hoorah!!

[thmilin]

yeah, i was in a speech and drama team and competed with other schools in the Pacific. got two gold and a silver. mwahahaha.

yeah, i agree, it was very about you. but like i said, it's even better when you sell YOU via your ideas on some fascinating topic. what about sex and morality? film and morality? hmm ...

[sadesdrk]

I just passed a speech class with an A last semester. Our speeches were only 2 minutes long, but I like being the center of attention. Some people got up there and looked like they would rather die. I think that natural public speakers are rare...sounds like you have the gift, Silver. I liked your speech, very intertaining.

[The Silver Bullet]

I've started my new one.
Basically it's about morality full stop.
How we churn our lives away for money and stuff, then die.
So far I think it's pretty good.

I'll post her when she's cooked.

[sadesdrk]

yes. Do.:)

[Yoda]

That's an interesting topic. I remember sort of being freaked out when my dad basically reminded me one day that having a job is really just you selling chunks of your life away. I mean, I'm sure I'd realized it, but not in that way, if you catch my drift. We trade part of our lives away to make a living...though I suppose that IS part of our life.

Now I'm confused. :)

[The Silver Bullet]

Yeah, well...
It's the way it goes, I guess.
You don't know what you've got 'till it's gone.
It's about relationships, but you never seem to get a chance to tell someone what you think. That's just who we are, and the culture we belong to.

As the Cheshire Cat says in Alice in Wonderland:
"I'm mad. You're mad. We're all mad here."

[sadesdrk]

oh CAN IT people! Lighten up!:p:p

[The Silver Bullet]

I know, I know.
I need to say that message in a funny way.

I need a funny story.
Who has a funny story I can borrow?

[sadesdrk]

Oh scads!
but you should tell your own.

[The Silver Bullet]

At the beginning of the play “Pravda”, the villain, Lambert La Reux tells the audience: "You are born into a tragic culture. Tragedy is bred in your bones." Lambert La Reux goes on to be, well, very, very evil, but there is something his opening words that holds a certain amount of truth. We are born in to a tragic culture of fast cars, fast food, reality TV, money, wealth and greed. We learn to cheat and steal as we learn to walk and talk. A few of us are pure souls, few being the operative word -- but the majority of us are less than perfect. When I was two I stole a chocolate Santa. I have no qualms with looking into someone's eyes and lying through my teeth. It is this tragic culture that makes us such monsters, and it makes sense of that old saying: "You don't know what you've got 'till it's gone."

In today’s fast paced world of sex, money and power, one can often forget the true pleasures of why we’re here in the first place. While we rush off to work, to school and worry about deadlines and office politics and tertiary entrance ranks and Brittany Spears and our credits cards and how we’re not getting enough or as much as we used to, we often forget to stop, and as cliché as it is, smell the roses. Of course we can’t blame ourselves for such shallowness, after all we have been conditioned in to seeing the world in the foolish way that we do from day one. From the moment we were convulsed the womb the Western World that we belong to told us what to do and how to act. She told us what to say, when to say it and what words to put emphasis on, how to walk, how to smile, how to dress and how to survive in a dog eat dog world. She told us that there were three steps to survival – sex, money and power. That is our tragic culture, and we never stop to think about it in that manner, because it has told us what to do from the moment we opened our eyes. She told us we were unique – just like everybody else.

Now, no matter how much money you or I make in our lifetimes, ultimately comes down to one small fact. One day, you’re going to die. It’s a terrible thought, that of shuffling off one’s mortal coil, but it is a fact, and one that people put into the back of their minds. One day, all that money, will mean nothing. However, my speech is not all doom and gloom. There is one aspect of our lives that actually means something. We have friends and we have a family and we can fall in love. Each and every relationship that we forge in our lifetime is worth its weight in gold. It goes so fast, life. One moment your young and dashing next you’re looking back on 70 years and the old woman next to you has shared of fifty thousand meals with you – that means something. It’s not what you ate, or where you ate it, it’s who you ate it with. It about holding someone’s hand, and not saying anything and feeling as though you’ve had the greatest conversation of your life. Time goes so fast, and in our tragic culture we don’t stop to look into the eyes of those we love. There will come a time when we will look back and truly realise that we never said what we felt. There’s the remedy – right there. Actually say it. Hold the hands. Look in the eyes. Talk.

But we don’t do that. We won’t do that. We all think that what I’m saying is all very romantic, but ridiculous. You need money to survive, we have been told so, we know so, it is so. In Thornton Wilder’s “Our Town” Emily turns to her mother in law and says: “They just don’t understand, do they?” Of course we don’t. We take people for granted. You don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone, but at the same time, you wouldn’t change your time here for a second. This is life, our Wonderland. I can’t work us out. We’re an enigma.

As the Cheshire Cat tells Alice; “I’m mad. You’re mad. We’re all mad here.” And then he disappears, grinning.

[patti]

bravo, bravo silver.
when do you speak?
i just read this thread this morning and wanted to suggest you include a bit on breathing....nothing too sappy, but still poignant.

i was thinking about how as little babies our senses are open much wider and we train ourselves to narrow them down- a baby hears a door slam over and over and over as the sound bounces off one wall to other wall and back...they hear the sound bounce around......as we grow up we learn to shut out this echo, just as we learn to adjust the colors we see.... just think of the light and color show babies see....and our eyes learn to adjust, compensate and just not see certain reflections, etc.
it can all tie in with breathing and how we forget our breath......we forget how much we rely on it ofourse, and people learn to breath shallowly as they race through life busy busy busy.

just wanted to bring the idea up.

good luck silver!

[The Silver Bullet]

I speak today at one o'clock.
Thankyou Patti!

:D

[The Silver Bullet]

I've decided not to use the Oscar speech for the next stage of the Lion's contest. Instead, I've re-written one of the old Reel World (http://www.thereelworld.cjb.net) articles, Something Alarming, and made it better.

Enjoy!


*****


Something Alarming

Ladies and Gentlemen.
When writing a speech for an event such as this, it is crucial to find the perfect topic, a topic that you feel passionate talking about. For that reason, today I was going to be talking a bit about the death of former-Beatle, and my own personal favourite, George Harrison. I was going to discuss how all the idols and artists of yesteryear are slowly fading away into a hazy nothingness and leaving us with a new generation whom are ill equipped for the job of being those we look up to. I thought it was important, and was something that should be addressed. I had something to say, and I was passionate about it. The perfect speech? Not quite.

Something else happened. Something more important, more drastic and more shocking to the very fibres of the base on which our society is built took place:

I bought a chocolate éclair. Now, now, hear me out. I am not a fool.

I think that of all the deserts, the éclair takes the cake (no pun intended). The éclair, perhaps it’s the French name, has an air of sophistication that is lacking in donuts and so forth. Donuts, while original and delicious, are a blue collared desert; the mud cake, a novelty. The éclair however is pastry, cream and chocolate compressed into a small, handsome, economical package of taste. It can be served on a plate, with a little fork, as close to a work of art as a desert can be. In a nutshell, it has an air of quality, and there’s no denying that.

It does have its flaws. Prone to falling apart with ease, the dependence on the cream in the éclair is so grandiose that the dairy aspect to the treat can simply make or break the entire dish. And this is where my story begins. The éclair that I was eating, that fateful evening, pastry moist and chocolate sweet, had some pretty weird cream.

It was only when a friend pointed out an acute observation that I realised what was going on. The cream in the éclair was not cream. It was custard. Let me just say that gain to drive to point home. The cream in the éclair was CUSTARD. What was going on in the minds of those who crafted this pastry? What had led them to turn their back on their craft? What has happened to the entire western world we live in when one can’t expect to taste whipped cream on their tongue after the first bite of a chocolate éclair?

In short, ladies and gentlemen, we no longer take pride in what we do. We live in a world that has become lazy. Yes, everyone cuts corners, it’s human nature, but you only need to look at something as small as the filling of an éclair to see where the world has gone. Fast food, fast cars, reality television, a lifestyle that prompts itself to do things quickly, a lifestyle that expects us to settle for second best. We’re on a downhill slide. One moment we’re deciding to take the car to the shops instead of walking, next we’re gestating in a house and ordering food via the Internet and an armchair.

Things need to be done properly. There are rules and etiquette to the way things should be done. I stand before you I’m not so lazy that I brought a chair up with me. That would be wrong. You would think I am a lazy, lazy boy. We take in our watches and our shoes and our video cameras and expect them to be fixed. We are told, “It’d be cheaper to buy a new one.” And we do. We throwaway. It’s only when we stop and think, that we realise: Would have been cheaper or did the repairman just not want to put in the hard yards? The phone rings and someone asks you to answer it, the standard reply: “You’re closer” or even worse “You touched it last.”
The easiest thing to do, and ironically the laziest, would be to place blame on the remote control. One can change the channel without having to get up. It’s one small click for a big fat man, but a huge and obvious nemesis for our integrity. But I argue that you can go farther back than the éclair and the remote to see where we went wrong. The problem can be traced back the moment we convulsed out of the primordial ooze and Mother Nature in her not-so-infinite wisdom decided to give us intelligence. From that moment on we’ve used her gift of intelligence to create things that don’t require it’s usage. Mindless objects, pastimes and a world that simply makes things easier for us to be lazy and not have to think for ourselves. We don’t really stop and think about that when we go off to work with the washing machine cleaning the clothes, the dishwasher cleaning the dishes and the VCR recording daytime soap operas so we can sit around watching them later, do we?

The éclair, however insignificant, needs to be addressed. It’s a tell tale sign: our society is at the beginning of a slippering slope. Now is the time to dig in our heels, before the task of aiming for and achieving the best of our ability becomes like a perilous trek to the summit of Everest.

Ladies and gentlemen. We are living in hard times, yes. But don’t let that stop you from completing things to the standard in which they should be done. I stand before you today and say: “Don’t drop your game just because it’s the start of the year, or the middle of a war or an aftermath of the death of a Beatle.” I eagre you: “Ask for cream in your chocolate éclairs; and put cream into those that you make.”

[thmilin]

oh you silly boy. it's witty, and has some grammar errors. you sure you wanna use something like this?

also ... i'd just take out the first part about death and role models and loss. just make it more vague, that you were going to talk about the downfall of western society and then you were moved to talk about eclairs. a short intro will trick your audience less and make them feel less that you have short changed them - and yourself. the after part really at this point seems to belittle the real seriousness (in a bad way) before it.

[The Silver Bullet]

I guess you're wrong, Bab-ay.

I won.


:D

[thmilin]

oh. well DAMN. guess it was all in the delivery. ;) congratumalations, you skilled wordwrangler, you.

[The Silver Bullet]

Indeed.

And thankyou for the congrats.