Oscars

Pauline McLean

The alarm clock sounds just as harsh at 630am. But the edge is taken off by the sight of the sun RISING over Sunset Boulevard and the knowledge that today is the day I'm going to the Oscars.

My family have often insisted my performances are worthy of an Oscar but in this instance it's Judi Dench who's up for the honour, for her portrayal of Queen Victoria in the BBC Scotland film Mrs Brown. And I'm here in a supporting role - to cover her big night for BBC Scotland.

It's not going too well though. While the rest of Los Angeles slumbers, we're up bright and early to re-record a piece to camera in front of the iconic Hollywood sign, our camera and footage having been stolen the day before. LA Police weren't surprised- the Oscars are apparently a prime time for the porn industry who see the arrival of foreign TV crews like ourselves as an ideal time to stock up on new technology.

So while starlets across the city are rubbing their eyes and heading for the hairdressers, we're back in Rodeo Drive, re-interviewing the shopkeepers who'll lend out millions of dollars of designerware and diamonds to would be winners.

The city is unbelievable quiet but that's because all the activity is behind closed doors in beauty salons and hairdressers. Getting an appointment anywhere is pretty near impossible - so I swing by the hotel to pick up my frock.

Now I'd love to say it was loaned by some top designer, or better still created especially for me but this little black velvet dress has been chosen for its practicality. Tonight it'll have to withstand Chinese takeaway, a hasty sprint, a clamber over a wall and a dramatic drop in temperature.

But right now, it's bundled up and driven with me in a taxi to the TV studios where we'll be based for most of the day.

It may only be mid afternoon, and we're only a short walk from the Shrine Auditorium but already traffic is grinding to a halt. Minor guests are already en route at 3pm, bigger names won't arrive till 430 and the nominees - well don't expect to see them before five. Even the public benches outside - known as the bleachers because the crowds bake in the afternoon sun - are coveted.

And if you think it's any easier for the media, forget it. Only the top American TV stations get a spot on the red carpet - everyone else has to settle for one of the many parties which happen afterwards.

We have a spot at the Vanity Fair Party at the Beverley Hills Hotel - and although I've miraculously secured a ticket for tonight's ceremony - there's no way I can be at both. So very reluctantly I hand over my golden ticket to BBC Scotland's head of production.

While he'll be wined, dined and even have his own TV double for when he needs to go to the toilet - I'm off back to the studios to watch the ceremony on television.

We all whoop for Jack Nicholson, who skips across the stage avoiding the cracks like his character in As Good as it Gets. The quirky comedy wins several awards - defying the critics who think Titanic is going to swamp everything.

Compared to that Mrs Brown is a minnow - its entire budget the sort of money most Hollywood films spend on their marketing. And there are a lot of people rooting for it. But there's disappointment when Judi Dench fails to win Best Actress. Even the winner of the award - Helen Hunt - admits she's surprised and dedicates her Oscar to Dame Judi.

And then it's all over and we have to avoid the long line of limos and get across town to the after show parties. Our driver knows a shortcut but it's still not enough to beat the traffic. We decide to run the last few blocks.

Being LA, a city where no one walks or runs, it's difficult to find a way into the hotel. Which is why we find ourselves clambering over a low wall to reach our spot on the red carpet.

Then it's survival of the loudest. There are about forty journalists on the red carpet and when a limo draws up the trick is to yell the star's name as loudly as possible and hope they come close enough to do an interview.

Peter Fonda does, so does Matt Damon and Geena Davies. Robin Williams recognises the Scottish shouting and comes over to say hello. We admire his Oscar - for best supporting actor in Good Will Hunting - and he generously hands it over for us for a wee shot.

Dame Judi has promised to look out for us on the red carpet and she's true to her word. She doesn't mind not winning, she's only disappointed her co-star Billy Connolly isn't here to share the evening.

While the celebrations continue, we slip off. It may be late but back home the day is just beginning and we have news reports to edit and send.

By 4am, all we have to do is send the tape back by satellite. But as we slip off our shoes and sip our tea, we realise we've lost the tape. With just ten minutes on the booking, we're ransacking the edit suite, the tea room, the producer's handbag, which is where we find it. We dial the BBC in Glasgow where an editor tells us the fire alarm is going off. "Press record and leave the building," says the producer in the calmest voice she can muster.

And it works. By 6am, we're heading home in a taxi - the prospect of a comfy bed ahead. And the knowledge that each year from now, I'll watch the Oscars on TV in Scotland and think "ahhhh... I was there... .."

Pauline McLean is the Arts and Media Correspondent, BBC Scotland.