AceShowbiz - There was a distinct chill permeating Los Angeles during this year’s Oscars weekend, not from the weather but from the relentless air conditioning that chilled every home, building, and vehicle to near-morgue temperatures. This coldness felt symbolic, reflecting broader unease in Hollywood: the unstoppable consolidation of the industry, the ever-present shadow of artificial intelligence, and the ceremony’s unusual theme of “humanity” — a word that now seems more an aesthetic choice than a natural condition.

On Saturday afternoon, I attended the Oscars rehearsal. Outside, the temperature was a warm 78 degrees, yet inside the venue I shivered in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, feeling the stark contrast of the climate-controlled environment. Access was tightly controlled; instructions were delivered inside a velvet-lined elevator, emphasizing strict confidentiality. Any leak of the script, presenter details, or staged comedy bits would bring swift consequences — “We will come after you,” warned an Academy representative with a smile.

What I can share is that Adrien Brody rehearsed wearing a black T-shirt emblazoned with the word “Hollywood.” He practiced his segment multiple times, even kneeling on the stage to ask a producer which joke version landed best, all while a large screen nearby displayed a close-up of Jessie Buckley crying dramatically. Meanwhile, Rose Byrne, Maya Rudolph, Ellie Kemper, and Kristen Wiig stood onstage in towering heels, laughing as they rehearsed a reunion sketch reminiscent of Bridesmaids. Wiig even suggested a camera delay to capture a subtle in-audience conspiratorial glance during the bit.

Javier Bardem appeared in sleek black sweatpants to present an award alongside a woman portraying Priyanka Chopra Jonas. Afterward, he mingled with Academy executives, jokingly asking, “Am I fired? I’ll learn the lines!”

The rehearsal itself was a staged version of the Oscars, complete with fake winners delivering surprisingly heartfelt speeches. One impersonator of composer Alexandre Desplat thanked his mother for giving birth to him, while another fake winner of the band The Sinners was abruptly cut off by music mid-thank-you, visibly frustrated. Academy CEO Bill Kramer stopped by the press area to emphasize that this year’s ceremony was designed to feel “human — organic, calm, Zen.” On social media platform X, fans fondly compared the stage’s look to a P.F. Chang’s restaurant. When asked what he was most excited about, Kramer highlighted Conan O’Brien’s opening as “epic” and the performance by The Sinners as equally remarkable.

Unlike last year, I skipped the spray tan to avoid the odd skin discoloration I experienced previously. Instead, I focused on mastering three types of boob tape — nipple covers, double-sided tape, and lifting tape — spending Sunday morning in my hotel room figuring out how to blend seamlessly with the crowd’s impeccable, sculpted appearances. At 2 p.m., I took an Uber to the Dolby Theatre, only to get lost in the labyrinth of blocked-off streets, a now-traditional obstacle for Oscars attendees.

After walking several blocks in uncomfortable DSW heels, the roar of helicopters overhead reminded me of last week’s anxiety over potential drone disruptions at the event. A passerby holding a sign stating “Forgetting God = Hell” caught my eye, prompting a moment of reflection.

Two security guards, noticing my struggle, kindly offered me a ride in their massive SUV. “This is a first for us,” they said as we sped down a closed street. “That walk would have been very long.” In a surprising twist of fortune, I was dropped right in front of the theater entrance — also a first for me.

Inside, a long line of attendees queued for photos beneath an enormous Oscar statue. I passed notable figures like Glennon Doyle and Abby Wambach, then Tig Notaro and Stephanie Allynne, followed by musicians Sara Bareilles and Brandi Carlile, who briefly formed a lesbian supergroup. Nearby, Mckenna Grace from Regretting You asked her father to take her photo. I settled near the theater entrance on a staircase, overhearing a man describe the coveted red carpet selfie spots as “wars of attrition.”

Domhnall Gleeson livestreamed on TikTok with Andy Richter, who was winning this selfie battle. Emma Stone expressed fondness for Andy but didn’t stop to chat, while Kathy Bates warmly engaged in conversation. A stranger asked if Conan O’Brien had an issue with someone’s presence; another replied, “It was sketchy.”

Joe Alwyn passed by, sporting a rare tan. Amid the crowd, a non-celebrity accidentally stepped on the back of Demi Moore’s feathered dress, leaving a lone feather trailing Behind her on the carpet. The feather slowly drifted across the floor for about 30 minutes, growing increasingly withered. Demi appeared slightly annoyed but pressed on quickly. Pedro Pascal walked past in a small laughing group, entertaining his companions with a story. David Sedaris pulled out a tiny notebook to jot down a personal observation, which I discreetly recorded on my phone.

A woman stopped me, asking, “Did you get out of a car and walk here? I saw you.” By the time I entered the theater, the feather had mysteriously disappeared, likely fallen through a hole in the floor where Nicole Kidman was conversing with Steven Spielberg.

The hole itself was a curious sight, a metaphoric and physical gap beneath the theater floor that fascinated many attendees.

Just five minutes before the show commenced, I dashed to the restroom to replace a piece of boob tape. Mid-change, Goldie Hawn confidently emerged from the stall ahead of me. Inside the auditorium, announcer Matt Berry humorously dubbed the Oscars the “Winter Ozempics,” encouraging attendees to enjoy themselves with the reminder, “You work in Hollywood. Your whole life is a lie.”

Conan O’Brien’s opening monologue was well received, but as a journalist, I was seated far from presenters and nominees, prompting me to leave my seat early and head to the downstairs bar — predictably cold.

Emma Stone and Kate Hudson soon joined, with Emma’s husband, Dave McCary, offering to get drinks. Emma ordered white wine with ice but dashed off to the bathroom mid-order. Meanwhile, Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn clustered around Kate for an impromptu family update. I greeted Kate, whom I had interviewed weeks earlier. She explained they had gone to get noodles. Goldie calmly took my hand as we discussed Kate’s dress, while Kate searched for Emma, who was still in the bathroom — a detail I must keep confidential. Feeling like a cautious time traveler, I avoided interfering with any moment that might alter future events.

Emma soon returned, looking for Kate. After Dave poured her iced wine into a portable cup, the trio headed back to the theater.

Nearby, Kirsten Dunst, Jesse Plemons, and Alicia Silverstone embraced before heading off to their respective restrooms. Nicole Kidman exited the theater on her phone, wandering into a side room. Jessie Buckley emerged chatting about snacks. Ed Harris looked momentarily lost, asking if he could reenter the auditorium — he was allowed back in. Lola Kirke had taken off her shoes and was enjoying a Mexican Mule cocktail. Alicia Silverstone returned with a drink, watching the ceremony on a large screen near the auditorium door, asking, “So do we just stand here?” The answer was yes.

The bar’s atmosphere was a mix of reluctance and urgency: some seemed unwilling to reenter the auditorium, others desperate to get back in quickly as if their careers depended on the timing of their return. Joel Edgerton hurried past me into a bathroom, while Jack O’Connell dashed by balancing four bottles of water. Meanwhile, Kevin O’Leary, known as Marty Supreme’s Kevin O’Leary, took a more leisurely approach, ordering a glass of red wine and showing me a rare Kobe Bryant basketball card hanging around his neck.