Restricted to two verses and the second bridge, he bows in a Beatlesque fashion and exits stage right to warm applause. Regardless, it likely reminded the audience of Céline Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On,” the love theme from another madman’s folly. The orchestra offered respectful yet redundant accompaniment - musical director Bill Conti, of “Gonna Fly Now” fame, would win an Emmy for his work tonight - and Smith is joined in the second verse by a pan whistle, a reference to Danny Elfman’s theme for Good Will Hunting theme, from which “Miss Misery” was nominated. He had a song, a song nothing could fuck with, a 3/4 pop song with a melody that rose and fell like lungs. Wider shots see him kicking his right foot out: a timekeeping tic, the Liverpool leg. He told Under The Radar that, lest he end up looking at Jack Nicholson, he decided to fix his gaze on the balcony, but every close-up catches him looking at the footlights, or his microphone. As usual, his hair is long and unwashed, but his ears still poke through. That white suit is oversized, or perhaps it was just ill-fitting, and perhaps no suit would have been fitting - not here, certainly, but nowhere else. He begins softly - too softly, so the vocals are brought up midway through the first line. The synths recede with the curtains, and he begins. (The original plan called for him to perform sitting on the stairs leading to the stage.) His hand accidentally brushes the strings. Vangelis-like synthbeds cue Smith, hustling to hit his mark at center stage. The camera looks away to the assembled guests. Trisha Yearwood has finished her performance, and the onstage columns drift apart like glaciers. But it’s all there, or if it isn’t, we can pretend it is. Elliott Smith at the 70th Academy Awards ceremony: When it’s mentioned, it’s as one of those cautionary anecdotes, an example of the fundamental incompatibility of the underground with commercial artistry.
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