Mary Ellen’s America
Hell would be a small room with red shag carpeting and paneling floor to ceiling. The walls would be adorned with a series of limited edition lithographs of Red Skelton’s favorite sad-clown oil paintings. Covering one entire wall is a television screen playing a continuous loop of Sheilds and Yarnell, a Dean Martin roast with Sammy hosting, and the series finale of M*A*S*H. On the radio is a medley of James Taylor and Dan Fogelberg and at exactly 4pm every afternoon a guy named Phil Staeggerbach drops by--speaking only in Klingon--until exactly 10pm, at which time he leaves.
Whatever you want.
Every year we watch.
Every year we wait.
Every year this is what we hear. “I’d like to thank the academy, my producer, my agent, my family, my friends, so on and so forth, blah, blah, blah.”
In a country where handing out awards has become a national pastime, I find it amazing that the artistic elite consistently bungle opportunities to be profound.
I, on the other hand, have been working on my speech for years.
On my Oscar Night I emerge from the stretch-limo wearing rented diamonds and a strapless Haines Her Way gown with matching shoes.
I kiss babies, sign glossies, talk to MTV, E and the Weather Channel; and in my hand, the speech.
I put on my surprise face as Harrison Ford calls my name. I ascend the Oscar throne, take my award, step to the microphone and deliver “the speech”
As I say the final words, my eyes slowly blink, a smile comes to my face and a tear falls.
I raise Oscar above my head.
The camera cuts to the audience—stunned and frozen in their seats, a single tear is rolling down each of their cheeks--and as the silence continues, people all over the world are stopped in mid-step, staring at their TV sets, a tear rolling down each of their cheeks.
My speech has made it all clear.
Life’s unanswered questions?
Answered.
Wars end, pollution is gone, the ozone layer returns and people start car-pooling.
AND it’s all done in the 30 seconds allotted by the academy.
But it doesn’t end there…
Workers find new meaning in their jobs, and as they chat with their happy coworkers the next day at the water cooler they say things like,
“That speech was cool,
Isn’t it great about world peace?”
And,
“What did you think of her sensible shoes?”
The speech is made into a best selling novel, which wins the Pulitzer Prize in literature and news.
A song from the text sung by Marilyn Manson and Naomi Judd, wins the American and Latin Grammy, American Music, Country Music, MTV and VH1 awards.
The speech is made in to a 2-part mini-series that runs during sweeps and wins more than one Emmy. Not only that, but a story about me is done on A&E’s Biography, which wins the Cable Ace.
The American Comedy, Golden Globe, People’s Choice, Screen Actors Guild Awards, all mine.
Beating out Oprah, People Magazine names me most popular and I get a year’s free towing from the Triple A.
The form and content of the speech put me in line to win the Malcolm Baldridge and Car & Driver Awards. I’m also on the short list for the Publisher’s ClearingHouse.
My high school retroactively makes me Homecoming Queen and Valedictorian and all my overdue video fines are erased in perpetuity.
Further bi-products of the speech have miraculous effects worldwide getting me the Holy Grail of the Awards circuit--
The Nobel Peace Prize—and that has a cash bonus.
And finally, in an ironic twist, my screenplay based on the speech is made into an Oscar Nominated Blockbuster Movie, for which I am already preparing my next trip to the podium.
Back to the Homemaker from Heck
All material ã 2002, Mary Ellen Page