There’s a moment that defines the entire 98th Academy Awards, and it’s not what you’d expect. It’s not Michael B. Jordan’s emotional Best Actor win, though that was beautiful. It’s not Paul Thomas Anderson finally breaking through after 14 nominations with One Battle After Another. It’s not even the opening blues jam that had Buddy Guy on stage at nearly 90 years old.
It’s Barbra Streisand getting drowned out.
While she was trying to deliver a tribute to Robert Redford, singing “The Way We Were” with the kind of intimacy only a legend can muster, the house orchestra decided to turn up the volume and essentially talk over her. Then they cut her off mid-sentence. Barbra. Streisand. At the Oscars. The woman showed up with her own conductor in the aisle because she didn’t trust the house orchestra, and still they managed to fumble it.
That one moment captured everything beautiful and broken about what the Academy Awards have become.
When Conan Gets Mean, We All Win
Conan O’Brien hosting for the second straight year was the right call, mostly because his comedy had teeth. “I’m honored to be the last human host of the Academy Awards!” he opened with, which felt uncomfortably accurate given where we’re headed. His bit about security being tight due to concerns from “both the opera and ballet community” was bratty in the best way.
But his sharpest moment came when he introduced Adrian Brody with a callback so perfect it stung. “Our next presenter heroically saved last year’s Oscars from running short. Please welcome Oscar winner Adrian Brody!” The room knew exactly what he meant. That was comedy that actually mattered, the kind that makes you wince and laugh at the same time.
The problem is Conan’s comedy was the exception, not the rule. Anne Hathaway’s Devil Wears Prada bit with Anna Wintour was clever enough, but it felt safe. The Bridesmaids reunion? Wasted on a clunky sketch that nobody asked for. Even the jokes about Priyanka Chopra and her Jonas Brother husband felt like they were written by someone’s dad trying too hard.
One Battle After Another Wins, But At What Cost?
Paul Thomas Anderson’s victory for Best Picture was always coming. The man’s been nominated 14 times. Of course One Battle After Another was going to take it. But what made his speech interesting wasn’t the win itself, it was watching PTA completely lose the plot midway through his remarks.
He started strong, shouting out Thomas Pynchon (an Oscars first, probably, and exactly the kind of nerdy reference we expect from Anderson). He talked about writing the movie for his kids, as an apology for the mess they’d inherit. That’s real. That’s vulnerable.
Then he started talking about the 1975 Best Picture nominees. Dog Day Afternoon. One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. Jaws. Nashville. Barry Lyndon. And he just… forgot where he was going with it. Got so caught up in the films themselves that he abandoned his own tribute to his fellow nominees. It was endearing in a way the Oscars rarely are anymore, watching one of the greatest filmmakers alive basically go “wait, have you actually seen Barry Lyndon though?” while standing on stage accepting the biggest award in his industry.
That distraction said more about Anderson than any prepared remarks could have.
The Wins That Actually Mattered
Autumn Durald Arkapaw becoming the first woman ever to win Best Cinematography and the first Black winner in the category felt like the kind of moment the Oscars should be celebrating. She asked all the women in the room to stand up, and meant it. That’s different from a lot of what happens on that stage.
Michael B. Jordan’s Best Actor win for Sinners was genuinely moving. His mother beaming from the audience, his speech threading together history and the present moment. The camera cutting away when he gave a shout-out to Halle Berry was the right call, mostly because we all know what happens when Adrian Brody gets too enthusiastic at these things.
Ryan Coogler winning for Best Original Screenplay capped off Sinners’ massive night in a way that felt earned. The film opened with that blues jam featuring Buddy Guy and Christone Kingfish Ingram, continued through a parade of wins, and ended with the story itself being recognized. That’s coherence. That’s a narrative arc.
The Omissions That Haunt
Then there’s the elephant in the room: the In Memoriam segment that managed to skip Brigitte Bardot.
Brigitte Bardot. Godard. “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” The Woman Who Got Written Into the Culture So Thoroughly That You Can’t Escape Her Even When You Try. And the Oscars just decided not to acknowledge her passing.
The In Memoriam section honored Rob Reiner with Billy Crystal presiding, paid tribute to Diane Keaton through Rachel McAdams, and gave Streisand the time and space to bid farewell to Robert Redford. But Bardot? Gone. No explanation. No acknowledgment. Just a name missing from a list that should have been comprehensive.
They also skipped director Henry Jaglom, but he didn’t carry the cultural weight. Bardot did. She does. And the Oscars just pretended she never existed.
It raises a question that doesn’t have a clean answer: who decides who gets remembered? And more importantly, who decides who gets forgotten?
The Best Picture Joke That Went Over Everyone’s Heads
Here’s something nobody’s talking about yet: Happy Gilmore 2 basically has the same plot as One Battle After Another. A beloved nineties icon who never quite grew up returns to something they abandoned years ago, rumpled and embarrassing to their teenage daughters, but ultimately well-meaning. Adam Sandler playing golf. Leo fighting the revolution. Same movie, different decade, different seriousness level.
That comparison isn’t an insult to either film. It’s actually a compliment. It suggests that something resonates about getting older and trying again, about finding purpose in the wreckage of your own life. The Oscars chose the version with the revolution and the historical weight. Maybe that’s right. Or maybe we’re all just suckers for watching middle-aged men care about something.
What Actually Happened Here
The 98th Academy Awards was a night of genuine highs mixed with genuinely baffling lows. Streisand got treated like an afterthought by an orchestra that should have known better. Michael B. Jordan got his moment and earned it. Anderson finally won after a decade and a half of trying, then immediately showed us why he’s so fascinating by derailing his own speech into film criticism.
The music was great. The cinematography award felt like progress. The jokes landed about half the time. And the In Memoriam segment felt bloated and managed to screw up something as straightforward as remembering the people we lost.
What sticks with you, though, is that moment with Barbra fighting through the orchestra to finish her song anyway. She didn’t let them stop her, even though they tried. That’s not really an Oscar moment. That’s something bigger than that.
