The Oscars.

The Oscars.

Deep in the heart of Los Angeles they were doing what they normally do at this time of the year. They were posing, posturing, preening themselves and grinning gleefully for the cameras. They pulled the inevitable faces, slapped each other's back in a blizzard of self congratulation, they pouted, blew kisses, wallowed in self aggrandisement and then just sat back to enjoy the evening.

Once again the Hollywood film industry took off its hat, bowed courteously to all its leading stars and star makers and indulged  itself in another round of egotistical selfies, that modern trend where you hold a phone in front of your face, smile cosmetically with a group of fellow actors and actresses and pretend that you're the best thing since sliced bread. This was Tinsel Town at its very best, LA showing off outlandishly and garishly, Hollywood flaunting all of its glittering wealth and then boasting both its self image, its weird sense of hierarchy and its abiding air of overwhelming vanity.

For night of the year the cream of the show business fraternity gets all over excited about the one event of the year that brings them all together under one huge umbrella of glamour and glad handing. This is LA recognising the finest in cinematic achievement and an occasion like none other. Suddenly, the red carpet is given the full vacuum cleaner treatment and everybody goes wild in that lovey lovey world of thespian self indulgence where the applause never seems to fade.

Once again the Oscars were back again rather like some social gathering which always seems to get slightly out of  control. For one night only the conceited and pretentious came face to face with the big, bold and the unforgettable. Actors and actresses rubbed shoulders with famous directors and producers, cameramen and camerawomen shook hands with lighting and sound technicians while those who were rather less well known may have decided to stand back from all of the fuss and palaver.

On the night itself the biggest surprise came with the Oscar for best film, once the preserve of the great, good and legendary where Clark Gable once shared the smartest of dinner suits with James Stewart and the drinks flowed like a never ending fountain. Last night Green Book shocked all of the experts and movie analysts. A film based at a time of disturbing racial segregation in America, it featured a promising black pianist and a white chauffeur with all of the unfortunate developments that rocked the USA to its foundations at the time.

But then there was one Olivia Colman, as British as steak and kidney pie and red post boxes, a lady easily amused, a glorious sense of humour and who was almost shell shocked at the adulation she seemed to be receiving from her contemporaries. Colman, oozing eccentricity and a very British air of modest understatement, reflected the sentiments of many of us when she claimed, quite accurately, that the whole night had been quite hilarious.

For her role in the very royal film the Favourite, Colman could hardly hold back her stunned disbelief and then thanked both her ever supportive family, friends, the cat and dog, the goldfish, the postman and the local pub landlord. Strange how good news spreads. A story about Queen Anne and her courtiers, Colman blew raspberries and then proceeded to behave like a young girl at her first end of year school prom. Good for you Olivia!

Then and quite deservedly there was an affectionate nod to one of the greatest rock bands of the 1970s and 1980s. Starring in the wonderful Bohemian Rhapsody, Rami Malek  won the best actor Oscar for his glorious portrayal of the great Freddie Mercury. Bohemian Rhapsody although one of the most powerful and moving films of the year so far, hadn't quite the box office power to claim the big prize which did seem a crying shame but who are we to pass judgment?

Once again Green Book was the flavour of the night with Mahershala Ali taking the best actress gong while the ever controversial Spike Lee snatched the Oscar with a collaborative role for best adapted screenplay in the making of Green Book. Wherever you looked there were warm homages to both the Green Book, the Favourite and Bohemian Rhapsody, films of beautiful photography, class and immaculate execution.

Meanwhile behind the scenes, the stars certainly came out on the night in question. Lady Gaga looked suitably outrageous, shoulders and arms emblazoned with fashionable tattoos. Bradley Cooper, her co star in that now third incarnation of A Star is Born was bearded, white shirted and bow tied. Cooper, sadly, looked nothing like James Mason but did look respectable and sartorially elegant.

There was Helen Mirren who turned up for the Oscars in the full knowledge that she was never in contention for any Oscar of any description and merely came along for a good, old fashioned party. Film stars love to be the centre of attention and Mirren was perhaps living proof. Dressed all in red and just glad to be where all of the rest of the showbiz world was, the very British Mirren, clinked glasses of champagne and remembered when she was the Queen- the film that is.

And now we realised what the whole of the Oscars was all about and always will be. It's that one time of the year when Hollywood gets all soppy and sentimental, ludicrously appreciative and grateful for making and starring in movies, perhaps saying far too much in their acceptance speeches and then staring at a bottle of booze at three in the morning in a state of bleary eyed regret. We would never want it any other way because we think the Oscars should always be celebrated.

The stars and celebrities drifted slowly away from their late night parties, still punch drunk and deliriously happy but not quite sure what possessed them to behave in a way that might have seemed as perfectly acceptable at first. Los Angeles has now cleared up after another heavy night of Hollywood smiling and hand shaking but then your thoughts turned back to Olivia Colman who seemed convinced that it was her birthday when quite clearly it wasn't. If only Donald Trump had been invited to this lavish shindig. On second thoughts maybe not.