“First off, I’d like thank the Academy for this great honor…and Sikorsky, Boeing and McDonnell Douglas too.”
The rest of the world refers to it as the night of the Academy Awards or the night of the Oscars.
In L.A. proper, the four-million or so people who won’t be walking on a red carpet refer to it as Sunday, and, depending on where they live, oftentimes, the night of the helicopters.
News copters, police copters, ABC show copters, rich people copters, and I’m guessing this year maybe even a few gate-crashing, camera-equipped drone copters trying to get a good shot of Jennifer Lopez’s cleavage, will fill the night sky across a large section of Los Angeles, creating havoc on the populace.
This annual sky-filled show actually starts slowly the day before when late-arriving big wigs land in private jets at LAX, Santa Monica or even Van Nuys and thwup-thwup their way across town to one luxe hotel or another to pre-party and pick up their tuxes, designer gowns and complimentary Botox or spray on hair treatments. The smart ones, of course, have been in town for the past five months to partake in an orgy of award shows, culminating in Oscar’s big night.
On the big day, as regular folk are preparing their guacamole dip and Oscar ballots, a couple thousand lucky invitees will climb into freshly polished limousines and be whisked to the Dolby Theatre. No doubt a few of the wealthiest would prefer to be air lifted directly to the red carpet on Hollywood Blvd. but there are pesky rules about helicopter rotors being in close proximity to cell-phone-picture-taking tourists.
At this late-afternoon point, sky watchers can expect just a few working copters and the Goodyear Blimp sharing tight airspace in a coordinated air ballet to chronicle the red carpet arrivals and to make sure all is safe with Meryl Streep just below.
The real air-show debacle starts well after the show wraps and soon after Wolfgang Puck spoils the used-to-being spoiled at the annual post-Oscars Governors Ball dinner held in a big white tent. After a sumptuous meal and some top shelf booze, the A-Listers are fed, oiled and ready to schmooze at one of several glitzy parties held at the hottest restaurants and clubs across the city – well, those west of La Cienega anyway.
The night of the copters has officially begun and no one will sleep tonight. No one!*
Now it’s every man for himself as, what sounds like, dozens of helicopters take to the night sky, deployed to film something big, someone important, anything…shiny in their nightlong pursuit of following celebrities from soiree to soiree. George Clooney, George Clooney’s new wife, or, if Jennifer Lopez isn’t visible, maybe even an HGTV performer will suffice. Higher up, above the feeding frenzy, and monitoring the action, is the Los Angeles Police Department’s chopper force, and big surprise here, their aircraft make ear-numbing noise too. If things heat up down below they’ll even add a light show to the equation by kicking on their impressive spot lights that can illuminate half a city block. Now it’s a party.
The end result, no one gets much shut eye on the night of the copters. Dogs bark incessantly, babies cry, tourists scramble and thousands of people who lost on their Oscar ballots and ate way too much guacamole just want to get to bed. But the copters will have none if it. They rule on this night.
* Unless it rains, in which case no one flies tonight. But when does it ever rain in L.A.?
T.M.
Fresh Guacamole for the big night
Everyone wants to see the Oscars live, even aliens
