So last night was pretty wild.
If you didn’t see it live, you’ve heard about it by now. Comedian
Chris Rock, onstage at the Oscars to present the award for Best Documentary
Feature, made a joke at Jada Pinkett-Smith’s expense, saying he couldn’t wait
to see her star in G.I. Jane 2, a reference to the actress’s shaved head. Her
husband, Best Actor nominee (now winner) Will Smith laughed along
with the crowd initially, but Jada did not, and after seeing his wife’s
expression, Will took action. Striding onstage, Smith marched up to Rock,
slapped him across the face with an open hand, returned to his seat, and twice bellowed
at Rock to “keep my wife’s name out your ****ing mouth.” A jarred Rock finished
the award presentation and the show went on.
Watching live, it wasn’t totally clear at first what we’d
just seen, in part because ABC bleeped more than thirty seconds of the audio due to Smith’s cursing. The audience, both in the theater and watching on
television, seemed uncertain whether they’d just watched a staged bit or
whether it was what it looked like. But as information started to trickle in
from the theater and online, it became clear that it was exactly what it looked
like: in Rock’s own words, “Will Smith just smacked the **** out of me.”
It was a surreal thing to watch live. And I’m not going to
lie, it was incredibly entertaining television, especially when everyone
collectively realized Smith would likely be back onstage making an acceptance
speech before the end of the night. But it was also ugly—and perhaps indicative
of some bigger problems we see in our own, non-Hollywood lives.
Let’s start with Chris Rock and the joke he made. Smith
defenders were quick to add context to his and his wife’s outrage—Pinkett-Smith
made public last year that she suffers from severe alopecia, so her shaved head
is the result of a medical condition, not a fashion choice. Rock’s joke, Smith
fans cried, was a low blow, an undignified cheap shot on what should be a
celebratory night.
Sure, Rock’s defenders replied, but Chris Rock is a
professional comedian. His job is to make jokes, often at people’s expense. And
Oscar presenters have been making roast-style cracks at the expense of movie
stars since the days of Bob Hope. Whether Rock knew about Pinkett-Smith’s
condition or not, it was certainly no excuse for Smith’s behavior. It was just
a joke.
Wherever you fall, this much is true: Chris Rock made a mean-spirited
joke about a colleague’s appearance. And things escalated from there.
Which brings us to Will Smith. His defenders and his
attackers alike have been speculating ever since the slap about the state of
his marriage to Jada Pinkett-Smith. Through a variety of interviews and talk
show appearances, the two Smiths have made clear that their marriage is not traditionally
monogamous and that neither has been entirely faithful to the other. What’s
more, Smith grew up in an abusive home where he witnessed his father hit his
mother and felt powerless to stop it. Oh, and for what it’s worth, Smith was preparing
for the biggest moment of his professional life, the culmination of decades in
show business. So there was a lot of emotional baggage, a swirling mixture of
pride and shame and ego, that carried into his decision to leave his seat and
take matters into his own hands.
But whatever his motivation, Smith chose violence. Instead
of letting it go, instead of waiting until after the show to talk to Rock,
instead of consoling Jada, Smith chose to publicly assault and
scream at the man who’d mocked his wife.
And then, upon winning the Oscar for Best Actor and being
given a platform to say whatever he wanted in front of millions, Smith
abandoned whatever speech he’d prepared and spent six minutes verbally
processing what he’d done. He apologized to the Academy and the audience—but not,
crucially, Chris Rock—and rationalized what he’d done as “defending his family.”
What comes next, only time will tell.
So let’s talk for a second about Chris Rock and Will Smith,
two men who have reached heights of fame and fortune that most of us can only
imagine, yet who—in entirely different ways—showed just how fragile modern
masculinity can be.
Rock showed us what petty, mean masculinity looks like. The
kind that makes snide cracks at other people’s expense and, when called on it,
puts its hands up and says, “Geez, can’t you take a joke?” The kind that finds
value in cheap laughs instead of hard-won respect. The kind that lifts itself
up by tearing others down.
Smith showed an even uglier, more dangerous version of
masculinity. The kind that responds to not getting its way with a tantrum and without regard for the setting. The kind that escalates conflicts from verbal
to physical. The kind that sees violence as an outlet and a solution at the
same time, responding to emotional distress with physical aggression. The kind of
caveman masculinity that says I will beat you into submission. The kind that refuses
to apologize because it can’t abide the thought that it’s done wrong.
Both versions of masculinity—the cynical, snide, petty troll
and the self-righteous, angry, violent narcissist—are tremendously prevalent
these days. So many men, confused and threatened by the rapidly changing world
around them, are responding by lashing out. So many men, obsessed with the appearance of control, are trying to show their strength by inflicting it on others. Whether
with jokes or with fists, so many men are trying to heal themselves by hurting others.
But at the end of the Oscar ceremony, we were shown a
different kind of strength, courtesy of the final presenter, pop star and Oscar
winner Lady Gaga. She came onstage with show biz legend Liza Minelli, who is
clearly ailing at age 76. Minelli was in a wheelchair, fumbled her lines, and
seemed confused and flustered by all that was happening around her, laughing
more than she spoke. Gaga, after graciously introducing Minelli, gave her the
spotlight only for it to become apparent that Minelli might not be able to
handle it. In a masterclass of helping without condescending, Gaga allowed Minelli
to reach the end of her thought before stepping in to finish the presentation.
Then, in a moment captured by a hot mic, she leaned over and softly told Minelli,
“I've got you.” A grateful Minelli whispered back, “I know, thank you!”
That is strength. Lifting others up with kindness instead
of raising yourself up at their expense. Responding to chaos with kindness and
grace instead of bitterness and aggression. Being a servant instead of a star.
I wouldn’t have guessed I’d learn so much about masculinity
from the Oscars. I wouldn’t have guessed that an awards show would become such
a parable about strength. I wouldn’t have guessed that the strongest person onstage
would be Lady Gaga.
But then again, I wouldn’t have guessed that the Almighty
would become a baby, that the Alpha and Omega would wash feet, that the King of
Kings would become a Suffering Servant. I never would have imagined that the
Creator of the universe would save the world as a Crucified Christ.
Strength looks so much different than men like me think it
does. We still have so much to learn.
