Holding Nicole's hand, Ryan walked into the theater and quickly found the section where the film crew was seated. After greeting David Fincher, Al Pacino, Harvey Weinstein, and the other crew members one by one, he quietly sat down and waited for the award ceremony to begin.
In fact, he didn't have much hope that he or Nicole would win an Oscar. Although the Academy Awards weren't as erratic as the Grammys and the judges' standards were somewhat predictable, it was still quite difficult for someone with little seniority to win.
Ryan had specifically watched the performances of the other nominees for Best Supporting Actor in their respective films. Except for Joe Pesci, he was confident that his performance in The Sixth Sense was slightly better than the others'. If it had been five or ten years later, and Harvey Weinstein was already at his peak, winning a Best Supporting Actor wouldn't have been too difficult. After all, in a few short years, this guy would push Gwyneth Paltrow to become an Oscar queen, and after the turn of the century, he would create the first Best Actress born in the 1990s.
As for Nicole Kidman, Ryan felt her chances were even slimmer than his. First, she wasn't a standard American—even though she had American citizenship—and second, she was a blonde beauty. Even if her acting and looks were equally praised, in the eyes of those conservative old men, she would still have to wait in line for a few more years before being considered for an award.
Perhaps that was just as well. It would help build up the qualifications needed for reaching the pinnacle in the future.
The rousing music suddenly started, breaking Ryan's train of thought. After the usual parody clips, Billy Crystal jumped onto the stage. The guy rattled on non-stop with his sharp tongue, poking fun at Kevin Costner, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and others. Eventually, amid a chorus of boos from the audience, he finally stopped with the increasingly risqué jokes.
"Alright, alright, I know I'm rambling. You're probably saying, 'Hey Billy, no matter how much you talk, the Academy still won't give you a little gold man, so get off the stage already!'" Actually, he didn't need to make any jokes—just showing his face was enough to make people burst out laughing. "So, next up is the award for Best Supporting Actress!"
It was a bit surprising that such a major award was being given out right at the beginning.
When Billy Crystal stepped off the stage, the presenter who walked out from behind the curtain stunned the audience. According to Oscar tradition, major awards like this one were usually presented by last year's winners. But standing on the stage now was a relatively short, pretty-boy superstar—none other than the now A-list Tom Cruise!
However, whether it was the guests in the audience or viewers at home, after a brief moment of surprise, they quickly returned to normal. After all, while the Oscars weren't as brain-dead as the Grammys, they still had their occasional bouts of craziness. That wasn't unusual, right?
Ryan, however, furrowed his brows tightly. He knew very well that Nicole had rejected Tom Cruise's advances multiple times over the past year—something that wasn't a secret in the industry. Many tabloids had run speculative reports about it. Now the Academy had Tom Cruise presenting the Best Supporting Actress award, which almost certainly meant Nicole had no chance.
Of course, this might also be a deliberate move by the Academy. After all, controversy meant buzz, and buzz meant higher ratings.
"Don't worry, Ryan. I'm already very satisfied just being nominated."
Nicole reached out her hand, gently placing two slender fingers on the boy's furrowed brow. After a few gentle taps, she smoothed it out.
"The nominees for Best Supporting Actress are..."
Tom Cruise paused for a moment, his eyes unintentionally drifting toward the tall, beautiful woman in the audience. But when he noticed Ryan's slightly amused gaze, he instinctively withdrew his gaze and continued reading: "Whoopi Goldberg, Ghost. Annette Bening, The Grifters. Lorraine Bracco, Goodfellas. Nicole Kidman, The Sixth Sense. Mary McDonnell, Dances with Wolves."
"And the winner for Best Supporting Actress is…"
Tom Cruise lifted his head, flashing his trademark smile, which earned a wave of boos from the audience.
Ryan suddenly felt the hand in his tighten slightly, even trembling a bit. Despite living two lifetimes, he knew very clearly—every actor wants to stand on that stage, wants to hold that little gold statue, and be recognized with the highest honor.
"Whoopi Goldberg, Ghost! Congratulations!"
As expected, just like in his past life, the plump Black actress won Best Supporting Actress for her touching and memorable performance in that romantic tearjerker. Tom Cruise, secretly relieved, was glad he didn't have to awkwardly present the award to a woman who had repeatedly rejected him.
At events like this, no matter how disappointed one was, most people still maintained proper decorum. Especially these seasoned actors—they could act their way through anything. Ryan and Nicole joined the rest in clapping, though only they knew what they were really thinking.
"Believe me, Nicole, within ten years, you'll be standing at the top!"
Just as Ryan whispered that into her ear, Nicole Kidman's blue eyes gave him a sidelong glance. Even after four years, she still found her adopted son increasingly difficult to understand. Seeing him pulling faces at her now, she could only coldly warn, "Shut up, Ryan. Where are your manners?"
Ryan obediently shut his mouth and put on a perfect gentlemanly expression—just like Nicole always said, if he wanted to, he could be the perfect little gentleman.
A series of technical awards followed. Dances with Wolves was clearly the big winner of this year's Oscars, picking up Best Cinematography, Best Sound, Best Film Editing, and Best Original Score. Although it missed out on Best Costume Design and Best Art Direction, it made up for it by winning Best Adapted Screenplay.
"A great film starts with a great script. Every great script carries the blood, sweat, and tears of its screenwriter…"
After Tommy Lee Jones rambled on for a while, he finally announced, "Let's take a look at the nominees for Best Original Screenplay: Ghost by Bruce Joel Rubin, Green Card by Peter Weir, Avalon by Barry Levinson, The Sixth Sense by Ryan Jenkins…"
"Sweetheart, you don't look nervous at all."
Nicole Kidman glanced at the boy beside her and was impressed by his calm demeanor.
"It's obvious," Ryan pointed to the figure on the big screen. "The Sixth Sense can't beat Ghost."
Sure enough, Tommy Lee Jones opened the envelope and read out the winner: "The Best Original Screenplay goes to Ghost, by Bruce Joel Rubin!"
A low sigh spread through the Sixth Sense crew. So far, they had lost every award they were nominated for. Was the evening going to end with them going home empty-handed?
Ryan didn't show the slightest hint of disappointment, clapping along with the crowd. The screenplay for The Sixth Sense was indeed innovative and intriguing, but it was a thriller. Despite crushing Ghost at the box office, it clearly wasn't favored by the Academy. Besides, this wasn't years down the road yet—the Academy wasn't about to bow to commercial success just yet.
Harvey Weinstein discreetly wiped the sweat from his brow, looking visibly nervous and deflated, showing none of the composure he'd be known for in future years as a PR master.
The next award caught Ryan's attention—Best Foreign Language Film.
"The nominees for Best Foreign Language Film are Journey of Hope, Cyrano de Bergerac, Ju Dou, Open Doors…"
Ju Dou? Ryan blinked in surprise—he hadn't seen Zhang Yimou or Gong Li around.
He scanned the theater, but the venue was too large to make out individual faces.
"And the winner is... Journey of Hope!"
As the result was announced on stage, Harvey Weinstein sighed again. Ryan blinked and suddenly remembered something—Ju Dou had been brought to North America by Miramax from Japan, and had little to do with Zhang Yimou.
Ryan shrugged and straightened his posture. The next award was for Best Supporting Actor, and the presenter walking out was none other than Jodie Foster. As she took her place at the microphone, cameras began focusing on the nominees, so anyone not wanting to look foolish had better sit still and behave.
Still, what was up with the Academy tonight? The presenters kept getting weirder. Everyone knew Jodie Foster and Nicole Kidman were best friends. Having her present Best Supporting Actor... did that mean...
Some people were already turning their heads to look toward the Sixth Sense crew's section.
Nicole Kidman glanced at the boy beside her and sighed. She had lived with him in London for a long time and had hired the most famous etiquette tutor for him. If he wanted to, he could be the perfect little gentleman.
But that big mop of hair he had grown out for Terminator 2 looked so awkward in her eyes. If it weren't for Ryan's insistence, she never would've allowed him, as his guardian, to subject himself to the torment of a tyrant on set.
"A great film can never be without outstanding supporting performances…"
Jodie Foster didn't ramble like Tom Cruise had. After a few brief words, she began listing the Best Supporting Actor nominees: "Bruce Davison, Longtime Companion. Joe Pesci, Goodfellas. Ryan Jenkins, The Sixth Sense…"
As she read the names, everyone around Ryan began to tense up a little. Nicole gripped his slender hand more tightly, and even producer Harvey Weinstein had sweat beading on his forehead again. After all, for a fledgling Miramax, every single Oscar held immense value.
Everyone knew that of the four major nominations The Sixth Sense received, Best Supporting Actress was already gone, and there was no need to even dream about Best Director or Best Picture. The only real shot they had—and the award that Miramax had poured all its lobbying efforts into—was Best Supporting Actor.
"And the winner of Best Supporting Actor is…"