In March 2003, Jack Nicholson, who had recently received his 12th Oscar nomination for “About Schmidt,” invited his fellow best actor contenders to his home on Mulholland Drive. As they sipped scotch and smoked cigars, Nicholson laid his cards on the table. The U.S. had just invaded Iraq, and he wanted the other men — a group that included past winners Daniel Day-Lewis, Michael Caine and Nicolas Cage — to boycott the ceremony with him. But Adrien Brody, the only nominee without an Academy Award of his own, wasn’t having it.
“I said, ‘I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going,’” Brody recounted to The Sunday Times in 2023. “I said, ‘I kind of have to show up. My parents are coming. This doesn’t come around too often. I know you guys are all winners. You can sit it out. But I can’t.’”
Brody’s mind may have been made up, but the war plunged Hollywood into a state of uncertainty as the town braced for the 75th Academy Awards. With bombs raining down on Iraq, A-listers huddled with their teams to figure out the right note to strike. Angelina Jolie, Will Smith and Jim Carrey, who had been booked as presenters, opted to skip the ceremony, and Warren Beatty called the telecast’s producer, Gil Cates, to urge him to postpone. It would be unseemly, they reasoned, to be wearing haute couture and handing out golden statuettes while American soldiers were in harm’s way. Not everyone agreed. For its part, Variety, in an editorial, argued that the show must go on. “The nation’s morale would benefit from a brief show business intermission,” the publication wrote. “Let it happen!”
Ultimately, Cates resisted pressure to move the awards, which would have cost the Academy millions of dollars, but he did make concessions. ABC, which was broadcasting the ceremony, would cut in at various points for updates on the war from news anchor Peter Jennings, and the decision was made to dial down the preshow pageantry. Media would be allowed to photograph stars leaving their limos, but there would be no posing on the red carpet. The bleachers, which were typically packed with fans craning for a glimpse of their favorite celebrities, were also ditched, as Cates pledged something that would reflect the “soberness and seriousness” of the moment. As gestures go, it was fairly meaningless, something that host Steve Martin noted in his opening monologue. “Well, I’m glad they cut back on all the glitz,” Martin said, gazing out at an audience filled with stars decked out in their finery. “You probably noticed there was no fancy red carpet tonight. That’ll send them a message.”
More than two decades have passed since Martin took the stage that night in March, as the entertainment industry held its collective breath, worried that its celebration would seem out of step with a nation at war. This year’s Oscars, the 98th edition, will also unfold with the country at war in the Middle East, but despite that symmetry, rewatching the 2003 telecast today is to be reminded of just how radically the culture of Hollywood has been altered by the political upheavals of the early aughts.
Want proof? Look no further than how Harvey Weinstein, the indie mogul whose fall in 2017 helped trigger the movie business’s reckoning with abuse, loomed over the 2003 ceremony. Miramax, the studio he ruled with an iron grip, scored 40 nominations that year, the most since United Artists racked up 45 nods in 1940. For Weinstein, the haul was vindication after a bruising few months — he was still reeling from a 2002 profile by The New Yorker’s Ken Auletta in which he was portrayed as a braying, bullying vulgarian. It could have been worse for Weinstein; Auletta had heard whispers that the mogul had sexually harassed women but couldn’t get anyone on the record.
Meanwhile, “Gangs of New York,” a passion project from Martin Scorsese that Weinstein had backed to the tune of $100 million, had gone wildly over budget and over schedule, missing its release date by a year. When it debuted in 2002, reviews were mixed and ticket sales were disappointing. But that didn’t stop Weinstein from aggressively pushing the film that awards season, reminding voters that Scorsese, who had directed classics like “Goodfellas” and “Raging Bull,” had never won an Oscar, and arguing that celebrating “Gangs” was akin to a career achievement honor. It worked, and Scorsese’s epic was showered with 10 nominations, just behind “Chicago,” Rob Marshall’s hit adaptation of the Broadway musical that Miramax also produced, which earned 13 nominations. Heading into Oscar night, “Chicago” looked like the frontrunner, but the admiration for Scorsese and the feeling that he was long overdue had turned what should have been a coronation for “Chicago” into a genuine nail-biter.
“Chicago,” with its brassy look at scandal and corruption, ultimately prevailed, winning six Oscars, including best picture and best supporting actress for a very pregnant Catherine Zeta-Jones. But it was nearly derailed — not by “Gangs,” which would go home empty-handed, but by “The Pianist,” a survival story set during the Holocaust. The film was a return to form for Roman Polanski, who drew on his own experiences as a Holocaust survivor to offer an unsparing look at Nazi savagery.
Despite “The Pianist”’s nine nominations, there was no chance that Polanski would be in attendance on Oscar night. He was still a fugitive from justice, having fled to France in 1978 after pleading guilty to having sex with a 13-year-old girl. What he wasn’t — at least not yet — was a pariah. When Harrison Ford opened the envelope to reveal the best director winner, it was Polanski’s name he read, instead of Scorsese’s or Marshall’s. The audience embraced the choice of a convicted sex offender, with Weinstein, Scorsese and Meryl Streep all leaping to their feet while Nicholson whistled his approval.
It wasn’t “The Pianist”’s only moment onstage. The 29-year-old Brody, who had entered the ceremony as an underdog, with most prognosticators predicting that either Day-Lewis or Nicholson would capture the prize, became the youngest best actor winner in history. He bounded breathlessly to the stage, grabbed presenter Halle Berry in his arms and planted a passionate kiss on her lips. Berry, who immediately wiped away his saliva, looked stunned, even horrified, but Brody didn’t seem to notice. He went on to thank his family, as well as Polanski for giving him “the role of a lifetime.” Years later, Berry would confess during an appearance on “Watch What Happens Live” that her initial reaction was “What the fuck is happening right now?”
In 2003, Hollywood was a liberal enclave, but 9/11 had briefly scrambled partisan alliances. Privately, many of the A-listers who crowded into the Kodak Theatre on Oscar night were opposed to President George W. Bush and the invasion of Iraq, struggling to see any connection between Saddam Hussein and the followers of Osama bin Laden who had killed thousands of Americans. Publicly, most of them stayed silent, concerned that questioning the White House’s claims about the existence of weapons of mass destruction would seem unpatriotic.
Onstage that night, a few stars used their time at the microphone to offer mild rebukes of the administration. Presenter Gael García Bernal, one of the stars of “Frida,” asserted that if the film’s subject, Frida Kahlo, were alive, “she would be on our side, against war.” Then “The Hours” star Nicole Kidman used her best actress acceptance speech to note that “since 9/11 there’s been a lot of pain, in terms of families losing people, and now with the war, families losing people. And God bless them.”
But “Bowling for Columbine” director Michael Moore abandoned airy pronouncements to offer a blistering takedown of Bush-ism while picking up his Oscar for best documentary. “We have a man sending us to war for fictitious reasons!” Moore shouted. “We are against the war, Mr. Bush! Shame on you, Mr. Bush!” His speech was met with boos that nearly drowned out the cheers in the auditorium. In 2026, Moore’s calls would have been less divisive, given that 75% of Americans now think the Iraq War was a mistake, but in those early days, sympathy was clearly with the president, with polls showing that 70% of the country supported the invasion.
The morning after the Oscars, the talk was of Weinstein’s triumph — Miramax walked away with a leading nine awards — as well as Moore’s fiery rhetoric. Polanski’s victory and Brody blindsiding Berry with a kiss didn’t generate the kind of condemnation that would have instantly greeted them in the social media era (Facebook was still a year away from launching). Instead, there were calls for Moore to apologize, as well as speculation that his career would be damaged because of the speech. Two days later, Variety reported that instead of retreating from controversy, Moore would make his next documentary about how “the Bush administration used [the Sept. 11 attacks] to push its agenda.” The finished film, titled “Fahrenheit 9/11,” would become the biggest hit of Moore’s career, earning $222.4 million. Weinstein would produce the picture.
After the New Yorker and the New York Times broke the story of Weinstein’s abusive behavior in 2017, some online commentators pointed to the 2003 Oscars, in which Miramax and Polanski were the toast of the town, as a sign of Hollywood’s rot. The Academy, aware of how much its association with both men could tarnish its standing, would ultimately expel Weinstein and Polanski from its membership, saying that the men had violated the organization’s “values of respect for human dignity.” Clearly, the group was eager to turn the page. As for Weinstein, he’s festering in Rikers awaiting yet another trial, while Polanski remains in gilded exile in Europe. They’ve been ostracized from an industry that, for one dramatic night in March 2003, celebrated them as winners.
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