Joe Bob's America: Podium senility

NEW YORK, April 5 (UPI) -- Poor Brian Grazer, producer of "A Beautiful Mind," uncrumpling his supremely boring speech and bending his head down like a whipped puppy to bring the longest Academy Awards ceremonies in history to a grisly, bruising close.

Was I the only person who noticed just how many people took the stage at the Oscars in order to read an acceptance speech? Are these people really in show business? I haven't seen this much computer-generated boilerplate since the last time I strained my biceps trying to lift an AOL Time Warner writer's contract.

Isn't the official time limit on acceptance speeches under 60 seconds to begin with? I can understand if they're senile and their memorization skills max out at 27 seconds, but in fact it's the old geezers who tend to make the most extemporaneous speeches. Last year Dino De Laurentiis was so charming I didn't think he was a day under 85, and he seemed to remember things that happened before World War I. So what's the deal with the canned lectures?

Thank God for Sidney Poitier, who took the stage. (Let's start with that concept. Is it too much to ask that an honoree command the space before he begins to talk, instead of walking up there like a cat burglar stealing Ritz crackers from a buffet line?)

Sidney Poitier took the stage, looked directly at the audience, and spoke in short eloquent sentences without a single moment of "gee whiz" false modesty or syrupy "God Bless America" hokum. He thanked every person he wanted to thank, and he stated their names clearly, proudly and with conviction, instead of rattling them off like roll call on church bingo night. He spoke of racism without using the word "racism," and he allowed both conviction and emotion to register on his face without actually saying, "I have this conviction" or "I'm feeling this emotion."

Isn't that what you're supposed to do when it's your turn to talk?

I'm calling for an outright ban on crib notes, and not just at the Oscars. It amazes me that actual members of Congress, the heirs of Demosthenes himself, stand like cigar-store Indians and blare forth cliché-ridden manifestos that are pre-packaged in leaden prose that starts to bore you before they've reached the first period. Then they sometimes alter it before it's printed in the Congressional Record, presumably so they can load it up with more dead blarney and jingoism that will never be consulted by anyone except paid interns of highway-industry lobbyists.

Given the fact that they did take the time to write it out, couldn't we expect a few metaphors or bon mots? Heck, I'd settle for a dirty limerick or two.

It's hard to believe this is the same Congress that got into fistfights in the 19th century because of "intemperate speech." This speech is so temperate it's written on word-processors that have 68-degree climate-control software. The last time anyone woke up long enough to listen to a debate was when the honorable gentleman from Minnesota snagged his pant leg on the podium and said "Darn." (The next day, of course, he had it expunged from the Congressional Record.)

We should take a cue from the House of Commons, where reading anything is forbidden by rule. Why? The same reason your ninth-grade debate teacher wouldn't let you do it. If you're talking about something that matters, the only way other people can tell whether you mean it and you're able to defend it is that your actually speak, not read. A public servant who reads is like a snake-oil salesman who's plotted out his spiel in such a way that the technical truth is a giant whopper. Anybody who reads should be shouted down like a creaky vaudeville act that goes on too long.

In fact, this is the practice in Parliament. Members will sometimes sneak a couple of pages onto the lectern, but if they glance down too often, one of the backbenchers will pipe up with a cry of "Reading!" The member will then deny that he's reading, but he'll be too embarrassed to continue to look at the paper. John Major used to read all the time during Question Time, and that's why the joint was so noisy. Three-quarters of the inquiries would be answered with a simple, "I refer the gentleman to my previous statement." But Tony Blair has restored the chamber to its former raucous glory by getting up there and talking.

The simple reason for barring reading is that it makes it more difficult to lie. Why bother with floor debate at all if it becomes a succession of term papers filed in a three-ring binder? Anybody who takes a position should be made to do a verbal dance until he's either convinced the opposition or shut 'em up.

And as to people in the motion picture industry who can't talk without a script:

Look, fellows, it's the script that's used to imitate the reality of actual human speaking, not the other way around. Have a little class.

(Joe Bob Briggs writes a number of columns for UPI and may be contacted at [email protected] or through his website at joebobbriggs.com. Snail mail: P.O. Box 2002, Dallas, TX 75221.)