Funny things, award ceremonies. They exist to celebrate the best: the best written; the best sung; the best acted; the best designed. And we tune in in our millions to watch these ‘bests’ receive their prizes. It’s all, of course, tremendously exciting. Who, we wonder, will win? What will they say? Will they trip up the stairs? Will they remember to thank their Granny? All very important aspects of an awards ceremony I’m sure. But is that really why people tune in?
There are of course those awards – the Oscars, BAFTAS, Golden Globes – where it’s all about the dresses. At least it seems that way if the dreary output from our esteemed television networks is anything to go by. How low will they go? Who dares to go strapless? Will a single person this year wear yellow? In the rain. And I’m sure many viewers tune in just for the fashion chat. And why not? It’s often more exciting than the hours of dross to follow.
Amongst all the reasons for dropping everything to catch these ceremonies (or for remembering to catch it later on the internet) is the less obvious, and oh-so guilty pleasure of waiting for your favourite star to drop their ever-present smile. It’s that split-screen moment just before the winner is announced: six hopeful faces, still smiling their professional, ‘awards-night’ smile; still smiling their ‘God-I-hope-it’s-me’ smile; still smiling their ‘this-could-really-be-it smile’; still smiling their ‘the-world-is-watching-me smile’. Then we finally have our winner and the screen fills with the shocked/in denial/confused/delirious/ecstatic face of the newly crowned victor. The other contenders vanish; their moment is gone. But in the split second before they are cut from our view, we get the briefest of glimpses of their reaction to the news; their honest reaction before the pro in them kicks them back into line. It’s a rare and precious moment. Seconds later, as the victor climbs to the stage, the runners-up find cameras thrust into their faces, so they’d better be ready with a generous smile. Come on, let’s face it: we love to see them struggle; to see the pain behind the grimace; to see the festering resentment of ten nominations with no wins. It’s in the eyes. Unless they’ve opted for tinted eye wear, which just ruins the fun for the rest of us.
This is not something I spend much time thinking about. Honestly it isn’t. But, if you read my last post, you’ll know that I’m shortly up for a prize myself, the Kelpies Prize 2015, for children’s fiction. Admittedly, it’s on somewhat of a smaller scale than the Academy Awards, or the Booker, but it is nevertheless the biggest thing I’ve ever been involved in. It’s the only prize ceremony I’ve ever been involved in (unless you count my sixth form prize night, where I was shocked to find myself walk off with the joint prize for French. I wasn’t even in contention, but I think my teacher felt obliged to give me something for improving from a predicted ‘E’ to an actual ‘A’).
As my nerves have been increasing, so too has the awareness that all eyes will be on me and the other two shortlisted writers. What if, like me, someone there enjoys the Schadenfreude of watching for the runners-up reaction? With this in mind I thought I’d better practice my split-screen moment: the before (Will I? Could I?); the after (OMG! It’s me! Or, Bravo! Well done!); and, yes, the momentary in-between face (Bugger! Not me!).
And I need to practice because I’ve been told that I suffer from ‘facial leakage’. The inability to fake an emotion.
So, judge for yourselves. Are these faces believable?
The Before Face:
The After, OMG! It’s Me! Face:
The After, Bravo! Well done! Face:
Yes, it’s identical to my OMG! It’s me! face. This is the face I hope to be wearing whatever the outcome. It is, I think, a genuine-looking smile. It’s a smile that only hurts if you don’t mean it. Without it of course, there’s every danger that I could be wearing….
The Bugger! Not Me! face:
Or the ‘No, really, I’m super happy for you, really’ face:
Or, and this would be a personal disaster, the ‘I feel like killing you’ face:
I think I’d be on safer ground with the ‘oh well, there’s always next year’ face:
Naturally, on the night, there will be no hiding my genuine emotion; all the effort in the world won’t help me. I shall just have to trust my face to perform for me because I’ll be too busy being genuinely excited, terrified, expectant, hopeful, and most importantly, thrilled to be there at all. That’s the face I’ll be wearing: thrilled and excited and just happy to be part of it. And I don’t have a picture of that face, because I can’t fake it a week away from the event. And in any case, your mouth can be doing one thing, but it’s the eyes that have it. That’s where the true emotion hides. I’ll check in with you next week with some photos and you can judge for yourselves.
Whichever way it goes, I trust my eyes will be smiling brightly.