Hollywood: The Night the Stars Came Out

The stagehand told Bob Hope he had a minute and a half before it all started. "Thank you," replied Hope calmly. "Shall I pull my pants up or just go on?" A minute and a half later, pants pulled up, the comedian-master of ceremonies walked onto the stage at Santa Monica's Civic Auditorium and, for the eleventh time in 13 years, did his valiant, 21-hour best to pull up that most intractable of TV shows, the annual "Oscar" awards of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.

"This is the night," began Hope, "that wars and politics are forgotten and we find out who we really hate." The show was off and trotting—the Academy Awards never run. What kept interest sparking during the preliminary events was pure starlight. In recent years, Hollywood has increasingly chosen to stay home and watch on TV, but this year, Academy Board Member Gregory Peck took it upon himself to change that, personally called everyone to be sure they would be there. It made a difference. Not only were there old-timers such as Fay Wray and Chester Conklin, but of the top six award winners, only Peter Ustinov, named best supporting actor, was absent.

M.F.L. as M.L.F. "When your name is read," nominees had been instructed before show time, "please recover from the ecstatic shock as quickly as you can and push your way immediately through the crowd of all your sudden friends." And everyone tried. Lila Kedrova, 45, a surprising winner as best supporting actress for her near-flawless portrayal of a desperate and dying courtesan in Zorba the Greek, started forward and then stumbled into a Zorba-like bear hug from Star Anthony Quinn. "Has it really happened?" she gasped. "It has," he assured her.

The big news, of course, was My Fair Lady. As predicted, M.F.L. proved the multilateral force of the evening, collected nine Oscars, including best picture and best direction. But what really made the race interesting was Producer Jack Warner's changed love, or how he decided to stop worrying and take no chances on a bomb. There was radiant Julie Andrews, most foully (so they said) done out of the part she had created on Broadway, now present as a best-actress nominee for her Mary Poppins role. And there was Audrey Hepburn, the girl who got the movie part but no Oscar nomination. Audrey was there by Academy request to fill in for stroke-stricken Pat Neal and present the best-actor award. And there was Rex Harrison, a sure winner who had played with both Eliza Doolittles.

March on the Embassy. Rex's turn came first. He took the stage stairs two at a time, happily embraced his film co-star no fewer than five times, and then hit the evening's high note of graciousness: "Deep love to—eh—well, two fair ladies, I think." Next came the best-actress category, and Julie Andrews was onstage, taking her Oscar from 1964 Best Actor Sidney Poitier and beaming. "I know you Americans are famous for your hospitality," she glowed, "but this is ridiculous."