In recent years, every Oscar ceremony has been crammed with a nostalgia for the old days, so dreary that people can't help but yawn.
Even Jack Nicholson, that old white male, feels sleepy.
The old rascal wears his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes behind the black lenses, seemingly enjoying the ceremony, whilst already dreaming away.
As the camera pans over, Martin kicks Nicholson in the foot.
Nicholson doesn't move and opens his eyes to ask, "Are you about to go on stage to receive an award?"
Martin whispers, "Can you please show some respect for the Oscars?"
Leonardo chimes in, "You were almost snoring just now."
"I'm not angling for any awards, nor do I have any need from the Academy, why should I give them face?" Nicholson couldn't care less, "It's the Oscars that need me now, they have to send out a formal invitation every year, asking me to show up."
Leonardo falls silent.
Martin can't help but shake his head; Nicholson just radiates nonchalance.
