The Oscars, the credit crunch, and reality

I'm cynically amused to read how Hollywood went about preparing for the Oscars.

The scene: a party at the Chateau Marmont on Sunset Boulevard, three days before the Oscars.

Despite the fact the world is in financial meltdown - and, as one film producer shouted in my ear: 'There are middleclass Americans living in their cars!' - the place is packed.

Cristal champagne is being downed as though there's no tomorrow. It's a good job most of the people here are size zero or I'd never have squeezed my way to the bar.

. . .

I ask various women whether the recession has been affecting their lifestyle. 'Of course! It's scary,' says one. 'I now only wear vintage.' You mean your own, old clothes, or you buy vintage? 'Um, oh, I buy it.'

She asks whether I've heard of fashion store H Lorenzo, located in the paparazzi vortex of Robertson Boulevard.

'You so have to go there! It's solar-powered, with reclaimed cabinets, totally green labels and a paperless bathroom. Seriously, Victoria Beckham loves it.'

The big new movement here is called 'spiritual consumption' - i.e., it's still OK to go shopping as long as what you buy has a green angle.

On Thursday afternoon, I go to a party at model Normandie Keith's mansion in Beverly Hills where I'm able to have eyelash extensions, a psychic reading, learn yoga courtesy of Maya Fiennes - the sister-in-law of actors Joseph and Ralph - and drink disgusting spirulina juice, all in the one place.

So I ask a screenwriting friend who is considering buying a meditation stool: are the women of Beverly Hills letting it all hang out, foregoing the grooming just a bit?

I had, earlier that day, been able to get a last-minute appointment at the legendary Frederic Fekkai hair salon with no problem. 'But have you tried to get Botox for your armpits, or a colonic to lose weight in time for Sunday's ceremony?' my friend says. 'You won't get either for love nor money. These are basics we won't give up without a fight.' Hollywood women, it seems, are finding it hard to get to grips with anything approaching restraint.

The Heath Ledger bash segued into one hosted by Uma Thurman, and I overheard a woman asking a waiter how long a bottle of champagne had been open 'because I can't drink it if it's been more than five minutes'.

At the lobster lunch hosted by Jimmy Choo founder Tamara Mellon on Friday at hot new restaurant Cecconi's (with attendees including Elton John and actress Debra Messing), the women who could be bothered to delve into their goody bag were disappointed to find it contained only a $100 voucher, to be spent, of course, at Jimmy Choo. 'Do you want it?' one young underwear designer asked me ungratefully. 'I only wear Louboutins.' It was all a little schizophrenic.

There was a lot of talk the week before about how the big bashes were positively meagre this awards season, but this was largely propaganda. Friday night's Mont Blanc dinner in aid of Unicef was lavish in the extreme. Vanity Fair's post- Oscars bash was billed as an intimate affair, but it was still held at hot hotel Sunset Towers, with - wait for it - 'recycled décor', which makes standing around drinking champagne OK, then.

The general feeling in town is that the recession will just go away. 'People here are blind,' my movie producer friend told me. 'They believe that, as in the Thirties, the industry is immune.' Unfortunately, it's not. The box office boost usually expected from an Oscar nomination has not materialised this year: Warner reported a 9 per cent fall in revenue, Fox a 30 per cent drop. I wandered in and out of the stores on Rodeo Drive, and it was quiet, to say the least. Barneys was like a mausoleum.

Many spring-summer collections already have 30 per cent off, and stores including Ghost, Sergio Rossi, Agnes B and the long-established Tracey Ross boutique have closed down. The only fashion brands bucking the trend are those with green credentials, such as Santa Monica-based TOMS shoes which, for every pair sold, donates a pair to a child in the developing world.

. . .

... all the big brands were out in force last week, taking over suites at hotels including the Peninsula, the London and the Thompson, displaying their wares in the hope the key stylists (Jessica Diehl who dresses Kate Winslet, Jennifer Rade who styles Angelina Jolie, and Cristina Ehrlich who dresses Penelope Cruz) would choose them.

I ask a fashion PR whether she has ever heard of a fashion brand paying a star to wear its clothes?

'Abso-f***ing-lutely!' she says. 'This is the industry's shop window to the world. It's too important to leave to chance - now more than ever.' While the 92,000 Swarovski crystals sewn on to the blue curtains at the Kodak Theatre (which played host to the Oscars) were over the top, and the countless freebies laid out for the presenters and nominees afterwards might seem so, too, let's just be glad the Academy decided not to skimp on the cost of flying the entire cast of Slumdog Millionaire to the ceremony.

Maybe the sight of those children who have nothing will finally bring La-La Land to its senses.

I read this, and I shake my head in bewilderment. How is it possible for the entertainment glitterati to be so divorced from the reality that is America today? And then I think . . . no, wait a minute, it does make sense. They never see anyone outside their own privileged circle. The sets for movies, TV sitcoms and dramas are almost always upscale, showing families and young people living in luxury they could never afford on a regular, real-world salary. Even their acting environments - not to mention the scripts! - don't mimic reality: so how would these people ever learn of it?

No wonder I haven't set foot inside a cinema for over twenty years . . .

Peter