Page 82 of Director's Cut
Not that it can matter right now. I have a class to keep teaching.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Despite knowing Charlie can swap in for me during the lecture Ashlee’s observing, I still find myself spinning my wheels the first two weeks of April, doing the same thing I did that day in Maeve’s office. It’s like it’s impossible to get the words out. It’s to the point of utter embarrassment, something that keeps me up night after night, turning over every mistake I’ve ever made.
If I were still with Emily, telling her I’ve been putting off bailing on her, she would dump me instantly. Even thinking of how we ended things has me in cold sweat as I lie awake. But the days are passing me by, and I’m not dating Emily. I’m dating Maeve, who hasn’t tried to break up with me. We haven’t even so much as had a fight.
But if I wait another week, if I let it get to be less than ten days before I leave for France, that may not be the case.
I need to tell her after the “Oscar bait” lecture today. Two weeks before her evaluation.
She gives me a little smile as I step up to begin my lecture for this week. I tug at the collar of my shirt, despite the fact that it’s freezing in here. I need to focus on the air-conditioning. It’s not hot, I’m not feeling faint, Maeve and I have been great. She loves me. I’m going to remind her of why that is right now. I lay my hand on my diaphragm as I open my PowerPoint and force my breath to steady. My head’s clear—clear enough—by the time I turn to the class.
“According to a 2014 study conducted by UCLA sociologists, the IMDb keywords most commonly associated with Oscar bait taken from films between 1985 and 2009 were”—I hold up a finger as the students, a new crop, but with about the same dynamic as last semester, lean forward—“Family tragedy…”
They laugh, just like I expected them to.
“Whistleblower, Pulitzer Prize source…”
The laughing only increases. I glance over at Maeve, who’s smiling.
“Physical therapy, domestic servant, and Watergate.” I pause. “Sound right to anyone?”
Several students nod. “Well, the Oscar-bait phenomenon has actually been around almost since the Oscars’ inception. Its first usage in the press dates to around 1948.” I find myself smiling. “But today we’re going to discuss the results of this blatant practice using two examples. One is of a movie musical that happened to hit every Oscar-bait button, seemingly unintentionally, and succeeded in sweeping awards season, and one is a movie musical that tried to hit all the buttons and failed miserably. La La Land and Les Misérables…” I pause for dramatic effect. “Respectively.”
I switch to the next slide, watch as students type away, transcribing everything, seemingly even my jokes. I know this lecture so well, though, that I can let my mind wander for a second. Charlie will do great. Maeve will have the perfect last piece for her grant evaluation—
I can’t concentrate on that now. I dig a nail into my palm, refocusing.
“People are singing in these musicals, and it doesn’t really make sense. Musicals, by definition, are bombastic. They exist in a heightened reality that involves a sort of audience participation. When you’re in the audience for a play, it doesn’t matter that you know the actors are wearing mics, that the sets aren’t real, or that people sing instead of speak. But with movies, particularly movies made in the 2010s, realism was a constant pressure. Real emotions, real gritty sets, real events, real people. Which, coincidentally, is also what the Oscars value.”
A student named Paul raises his hand. “Wait, is that why they had the actors actually sing live in Les Mis? For the Oscars?”
The class and I and—I glance at her—Maeve all laugh at that. Maeve more than me, even. She hates Tom Hooper so hilariously much.
I give him a finger gun. “Bingo! Hooper wanted more room for natural acting and singing. Which is nice in theory, but the result is, well, I’ll just say we’re not watching all of Les Mis in this class, so…”
I put on Russell Crowe and Hugh Jackman’s “The Confrontation” sequence, and then, while the students are watching, take the opportunity to sit next to Maeve and drink some water. Maeve smiles at me, and ever so subtly moves her hand to mine. Links our pinkies like we’re in a movie. It makes me melt. But the clip is over both far earlier and far later (this fucking musical) than I want it to be.
I accidentally make eye contact with Maeve, and she’s covering her mouth trying not to laugh. I know exactly what she’s thinking about—we were watching Les Mis to create this lecture and Maeve said that the clinking of the swords while Jackman and Crowe were singing was the equivalent of singing ‘Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again’ while doing dishes, and she proceeded to actually deliver the most beautiful rendition of the song while loudly cleaning only to drop and shatter one of my clay bowls. I was too busy crying on the floor laughing to even notice.
God, I love this woman.
I’m going to make sure she gets this grant. Despite my idiocy over the last several months, I’m going to do it.
And okay, I do barely hold back a laugh. The class starts laughing too. “I’m sorry,” I manage to bark out. “The fucking clinking of the swords being louder than the singing gets me every time.” I exhale, fan myself a little to get my face back to normal. “But La La Land takes a different approach…”
I get through the rest of the lecture. It goes as smoothly as I could hope for. Students are laughing and asking questions and engaging with what I have to say. I get through all the material I want. No one grills me on my biased position within the Oscar system. Maeve doesn’t stop smiling at me the entire time.
By the time I’m returning to my seat so Maeve can close the lecture, my heartbeat’s steady and my step is light. I can hardly believe I was so upset a few hours ago. Charlie’s question was wrong; I’m not doing this because I feel like I need to escape anything. I just love it here. I love how every class validates an existence Emily was so set on tearing down.
Paul raises his hand. “Not a question.”
“Go ahead,” I say, now nearly thirty classes in and feeling at ease with the students. Finally.
“I just got the alert from Deadline and—holy shit—congrats, Professor Sullivan, on your film getting into Cannes!” Paul says.
Congrats, Professor Sullivan, on your film getting into Cannes.