Oscar Night 1980: A U.S. History Cinema Lesson
by Matthew Kasper
These are the facts, class. When Sally Field was nominated in 1980 for best actress based on her role in Norma Rae, no one in the entire country, except for Burt Reynolds, saw this as an act of hostility. Even though they were married, he refused to attend. He must have turned white-hot with rage when she won.
But in the history of cinema, Burt Reynolds was actually not a lunatic. No, far from it. In his heyday, he was as tall, dark, and handsome as a Mahogany tree. Even his black mustache was dangerous: lean, virile, sharp—Eros’s dagger. Everyone fancied a prick. In the 70s and 80s, we all wanted to disappear into his mocha mane. Close your eyes and imagine the ultimate throuple: Burt Reynolds, Smokey, and the Bandit.
No one ever recognized him for his acting ability. As a result, Burt Reynolds suffered. He suffered, because he wanted to be as beautiful on the inside as he was on the outside. He wanted to be an artist. And if people think your talent is elusive, as slimy as the hair spray you inhale for every greasy role you take on, and if this theoretical greasiness occurs just as your partner’s acting career explodes like a mesmerizing Technicolor dream coat? Fluttering so high above you as you inch around with your hairy moth angst? Well. Then, I would argue, class, this is a special kind of humiliation to experience. Which means we can only imagine what Burt Reynolds must have been going through.
Ultimately, I believe history will vindicate him for his actions on Oscar Night 1980. Burt Reynolds later realized that he should have done better. “I don’t know why I was so stupid,” he said in an interview. “Men are like that, you know. You find the perfect person, and then you do everything you can to screw it up.”
It’s true, isn’t it? Men are like that. I can see there are some hands up in the back. I promise to get to everyone soon.
In conclusion, by not attending the Oscars on the most important night of his wife’s career, it clearly demonstrates that Burt Reynolds wasn’t himself, that he really wasn’t thinking very clearly. He did not fully appreciate the kind of Grand Canyonesque distance that would result, a tragic distance between him, and the one person in his life who carried the same dreams.
Maybe because he couldn’t match her success, he wanted her to burn with the same insane heat of desire and resentment he felt every time he got behind the camera? Because this was the only way, in the end, he knew how to love. And only an artist would think like that. Of course, you can disagree with me if you like. Just post your thoughts on Canvas.
When Sally Field heard his “I don’t know why I was so stupid” reflection all those years later, her response was mysterious. In fact, she said she “had no response, really.”
Unlike him, she knew what to do with a bad memory. She wrote about it. “He will be in my history and in my heart, for as long as I live,” she said in her memoir.
She kept her final judgment a secret. The way we all do, baby, in the untamed, Pontiac Firebird Trans Am junkyard of the soul.
Matthew Kasper lives in Baltimore. He has an MFA in Fiction from Pacific University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Bull, Slackjaw, Robot Butt, The Pinch Journal Online, and elsewhere.