The balance was so perfect in that moment, the irony so rich.
Those who cheered on Elia Kazan were cheering on the one quality that made him such a singular artist: He was his own man and not susceptible to groupthink.
Those who protested Kazan's presence were protesting that very quality: They were saying that he was too much of an outlier, a wolf in a radical's clothing.
Sreehari Nair captures his Kodak moment at the Oscars.
My favourite Oscar moment did not involve singing. Nor did it involve such specialities as silhouettes pirouetting against a starry background.
My favourite Oscar moment did not involve wisecracking or cheap shots.
It did involve a master of cinema, yes, but there were no heartfelt speeches beamed from a hospital bed or interjections by some cute, curly-haired translator.
And although it did not involve slapping or manhandling of any kind, it's safe to say that punches were thrown and points were made.
Well, it was the sort of moment that validated William Faulkner's bourbon-breathed assertion: 'The past is never dead. It's not even past.' My favourite Oscar moment happened in March of 1999, but its roots stretched back as far as 1952.
1952. Two years before Terry Malloy cleaned the docks, and a year after Stanley Kowalski had poured grease and sweat over a Republican's vision of sweet, temperate America.
1952 was when Elia Kazan had a legacy to protect and a future to look forward to. He had demonstrated that he could shape Tennessee Williams' meandering genius into quotable poetry and create a Brando out of thin air.
1952 was also when Elia Kazan was called upon as a witness by the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) to identify communists from his days with The Group, a theatre troupe that in its prime functioned as a haven for Soviet sympathisers.
1952 was when Kazan threw it all away.
Under no pressure to testify, Kazan 'named names,' more than a handful of ex-comrades, many of whom were by then disillusioned with the Soviet model.
Those named by Kazan were blacklisted. Many never got their jobs back. Careers were terminated, families suffered.
Kazan never expressed the slightest of remorse, citing everything from the publication of The Gulag Archipelago to the Fall of the Berlin Wall as evidence that he was right.
But the stigma followed him all his life.
Nobody gave two hoots about communists being fingered. The charge against Elia Kazan was that he had, in his desire to establish himself as a patriot, proved himself to be a traitor to his artistic community, to his band of brothers. And the worst part of it was that he did what he did without any special prodding from the HUAC people.
The tenor of Kazan's actions was best summed up by Orson Welles: "Friend informed on friend not to save his life but to save his swimming pool."
1999. The echoes of that legendary betrayal hovered in the air as Robert De Niro and Martin Scorsese took to the stage to introduce Elia Kazan, who was to be awarded an honorary Oscar that year.
De Niro spouted generalities about Kazan being a great director of actors, but he was cut off by Scorsese, who spoke about the Greek emigrant and his relationship with his adopted country.
There it was -- a reminder of Elia Kazan's love for America! There it was -- a reminder of the price others had paid when Kazan chose to publicise his love!
If the picketers outside the Chandler Pavilion weren't enough, this bit of introduction by Scorsese must have turned the trick.
What happened next was drama of the subtlest yet most electrifying kind.
A montage of Kazan's greatest hits was played, and when it was over, out walked a grizzled man in a spiffy suit supported by his third wife.
Recipients of lifetime achievement awards are apt to be met with unanimous applause, but here was a version of that custom so checkered that it was nothing short of stunning.
For all of Oscars' efforts to promote an egalitarian face, this was when the awards ceremony took on a truly democratic colour.
Warren Beatty, Kathy Bates, and Meryl Streep stood up and gave a rousing welcome.
Jim Carrey and Steven Spielberg applauded without leaving their seats.
Nick Nolte did not just stick to his seat but also made sure that his arms were firmly crossed lest his hands involuntarily give into the trend.
And Ed Harris and Amy Madigan went a step further: They stared straight at Kazan with eyes reserved for unreckoned souls.
The balance was so perfect in that moment, the irony so rich. Those who cheered on Elia Kazan were cheering on the one quality that made him such a singular artist: He was his own man and not susceptible to groupthink. Those who protested Kazan's presence were protesting that very quality: They were saying that he was too much of an outlier, a wolf in a radical's clothing.
It would have been easy to spot the self-deceptions of those who did not clap for Kazan, but it was the sheer wordlessness of their demonstration that made it so compelling.
When you cancel an artist for his past transgressions, what you are essentially trying to do is erase an unpleasant chapter from history. But when you look such chapters in the eye -- as Amy Madigan and Ed Harris and Nick Nolte did that night -- you are, in effect, suggesting that uncomfortable truths are never forgotten and therefore never condoned.
Something came over Kazan's face, something like a mixture of pride and shame. He waited for the applause to get louder, for the dissenters to change their stance. But try as he might, he could not find their G-spots. His jowls quivered, his fat nose twitched a little. He attempted to compose half a speech, but his words turned into air, and he vacated the stage, sighing, "Thank you all. I think I can just slip away."
If I return to the video of Elia Kazan's honorary Oscar every now and then on YouTube, it is to experience that feeling that can be safely described as an 'ecstasy of sadness.'
This was a great Oscar moment precisely because it violated the clean-cut tradition of the awards ceremony.
This was a great Oscar moment because there was nothing soft or moist about it.
We watch the Oscars for quick resolutions and snap judgements, but here was an instance of stubborn artists holding on to their beliefs without offering us an easy escape.
This was a great Oscar moment because it produced no clear winners.
Feature Presentation: Rajesh Alva/Rediff.com
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