By David Himmel

Nothing would have made me happier than Will Smith losing the Oscar for Best Actor at the 94th Academy Awards.

I haven’t seen King Richard. I don’t have much interest in seeing it. I love me some Sisters Williams, which is why a movie about them, their talent, and their eventual rise to athletic dominance and global fame focusing so blatantly on their dad didn’t pique my interest. I know Venus and Serena were executive producers on the film, which tells me they approve of it, so I don’t have any beef with the point of view feeling very, oh, what’s that word… patronizing. To me, it feels like watching a film about the Jackson family and calling it Joe Jackson was a Fucking Prick to His Kids. Or like if a movie was made about Donny and Marie Osmond called, Our Dad Wore Magic Underpants.

I have heard good things about the film and about Smith’s portrayal—his fourth at playing a real person, which is usually a good path toward winning an Oscar. The Academy loves its impressions. The other three realies Smith played were Muhammed Ali (Ali), Chris Gardner (The Pursuit of Happyness), and Dr. Bennet Omalu (Concussion). Smith was Oscar-nominated for Ali and The Pursuit of Happyness. And he was famously not nominated for Concussion, which inspired his wife, Jada Pinkett Smith and he to boycott the Oscars in 2016. They said he was “snubbed.” I saw Concussion. It was fine. Smith was good. Oscar-worthy performance? I dunno. Apparently, the Academy thought not.

So, was it Will’s turn to finally get that trophy? Sure. But I still didn’t want him to win.

As The Fresh Prince, Will Smith was awesome. Loved his albums, loved his TV show. I played Homebase front to back throughout most of 1993. But his movies always left me underwhelmed. The same goes for Pinkett Smith. Full disclosure: I can’t name any movie she’s been in since The Nutty Professor? The whole family’s silver screen performances leave me underwhelmed. And that’s okay. I realize I’m in the minority of those who don’t pledge allegiance to the career of the Smith family. And that may be because Will and Jada have long struck me as smug elitists. Hollywood royalty feeding off their own hype.

So, when Smith walked on stage in front of his entire industry and the world, and slapped Chris Rock across the face for making a subpar joke at his wife’s expense, my desire to see Smith lose intensified.

Chris Rock is not a mean-spirited comedian. I think he’s one of the best standups of our time. However, even the best swing and miss. Rock’s joke about Pinkett Smith’s hairstyle wasn’t that funny. Did I chuckle? Sure. But it was cheap and dated. And Rock knew it. Right after delivering it, he felt the room groan and shift in their seats. Maybe because it was referencing a movie from twenty-five years ago. Maybe because of why she shaved her head—her alopecia. Now, if Rock knew about her condition and her personal struggle with it, then the joke was in bad taste. If he didn’t know—and I have no idea one way or the other—then it was a bad joke. Jada knew that right away.

While Smith initially laughed at it, Pinkett Smith made a disgusted eyeroll so intense I thought for sure it would dominate the rest of 2022 as the most popular meme and gif. Rock must’ve seen it, too. Because he quickly walked it back. With the eyeroll and the groans, Rock, a pro recognizing a bomb, said, “That was a nice one,” then tried to move on saying, “I’m out here…” before Smith got up from his seat. “Uh-oh,” Rock said. I assume Rock was going to say, “I’m out here to present the award for Best Documentary.” But he was interrupted by a bully charging the stage.

Then the slap.

Damn, Rock took it like a champ. Handled it like a champ. Maybe Rock should have played Ali—he might have won the Oscar.

In a setting like the Academy Awards, jokes—good and bad—are made at the attendees’ expense. It’s all in good fun. Even the vitriol Ricky Gervais threw at Hollywood during his Golden Globes hosting stints had an essence of I’m just kidding. There are very few circumstances where I can justify slapping someone in the face for making a joke. The Academy Awards is not one of them.

If Jada was that offended, the look and body language, and the groan of the audience was enough to send a clear message. And even if it wasn’t clear, which it was to Rock as we all saw, her husband charging the stage and assaulting Rock was an absurd choice. I’m all for defending your family, but Jada’s an A-list celebrity and outspoken on her own terms. She can defend her own honor. Will ripped away his wife’s agency and made an ass of himself in the process. He put Rock, the academy, and, arguably, Questlove—winner of Best Documentary for Summer of Soul (…Or, When the Revolution Could Not Be Televised) in a strange place.

Will Smith out Kanye’d Kanye.

And then there was the acceptance speech when Smith ultimately took home the statue his wife was so sure he deserved six years ago.

A blubbering mess of emotions, excuses, and self-aggrandizing reconciliations to make himself look and/or feel better for acting like a brute. He knew what he did was absurd. An overreaction to a lame joke. But Will Smith can do that kind of crap and get away with it. Or so he thought.

He is, after all, Hollywood royalty. And royalty—with all its status, money, influence, and charm—can do what it wants when it wants. The Academy Awards are a gathering of the King’s Court. Rock was the jester, Smith, the prince. And the prince will be God damned if the jester thinks it can upstage the prince and the princess.

Smith displayed the most overused and exhausted Hollywood trope in real time in real life: toxic masculinity. Swooping in to defend the honor of his fair maiden. There was nothing valiant about it. Maybe Jada thought so, but the rest of the world didn’t. So maybe it’s best to keep their antiquated gender dynamics in their bedroom.

Not since Brett Kavanaugh has there been a more vibrant and engaging display of regretful toxic masculinity. “See these tears? They mean I’m really a gentle person and not an unhinged man’s man. Forget what I did because these tears are what matter! I’m crying because I’m sad. I’m crying because I’m angry. I’m crying because I’m just a hurt little boy who doesn’t know what to do with ALL OF THESE EMOTIONS!”

Slow down, dear reader. I’m not comparing what Kavanaugh allegedly did to what Smith absolutely did. Better to be assaulted with an open hand than assaulted with an open zipper, for sure. But their behavior is cut from the same cloth. It’s a material known as distorted self-exceptionalism.

The difference lies mostly that Kavanaugh never apologized. And up until twenty-four hours after the slap, Smith didn’t either. Oh, he apologized to his pals and the bosses at the Academy, but not to the person he owed the apology to—Chris Rock. Until he found the calm or the time, or the realization that his Court was turning on him, to do so via Instagram. You know, the way adults apologize.

Will Smith is an overrated Oscar-winning actor. His wife has a non-life-threatening, but unfortunate, condition. They both take themselves too seriously and that was on display at the Oscars the other night. And because of it, Chris Rock took a slap to the face, and we got to see Will Smith audition for the Brett Kavanaugh biopic.

We’ll see if the Academy nominates him for it.