Who’s afraid of Robin Williams?

Alessandra Stanley’s piece today in the International Herald Tribune is a reassuring reminder that no matter how domesticated the Academy Awards may have appeared Sunday night, plenty of inquisitive minds are still alive and well. An inexhaustible fuel sustains such dissenters, their sharpest tool a keen sense of humor.

Stanley makes a reference to the five-second delay, which serves as a cushion for network self-censorship should any unacceptable spontaneity occur during the live awards ceremony. However, other forms of “editing” take place behind the scenes at the Oscars, as was the case with presenter and comedian Robin Williams.

Williams made his entrance with a piece of tape covering his mouth, which he ripped off in order to present the award. Stanley reports that a song Williams had prepared to sing at the Oscars had been censored by ABC executives as well as producer Gil Cates:

“Williams, the presenter of the Academy Award for best animated feature, decided last week that his one minute on stage would be a prime time to lampoon the conservative critic James Dobson, whose group Focus on the Family last month criticized the character SpongeBob SquarePants for appearing in a video about tolerance that the group called ‘pro-homosexual.’”

Williams called upon composer Marc Shaiman and writer Scott Wittman for material. The first draft included the lines:

“Pinocchio’s had his nose done! Sleeping Beauty is popping pills!
The Three Little Pigs ain’t kosher! Betty Boop works Beverly Hills!”

When Cates advised Shaiman to make the song “less political,” Shaiman directed the lyrics away from politics and toward gossip:

“Fred Flintstone is dyslexic, Jessica Rabbit is really a man, Olive Oyl is really anorexic, and Casper is in the Ku Klux Klan!”

Shaiman’s efforts weren’t enough. Last Thursday ABC’s broadcast standards and practices officials objected to the “sexual tone,” potential offensive remarks toward minorities, and suggestions of the “glorification of drug use” in the revised lyrics, as in the line “the Road Runner’s hooked on speed.”

Rather than cutting 11 of the song’s 36 lines, Williams, Shaiman and Wittman decided not to present the song at all. Williams remarked at an interview on Saturday,

“For a while you get mad, then you get over it. We thought that they got the irony of it. I guess not.”

It turns out that the perfect accessory to an Academy Awards tuxedo is white tape.

—Michaele Shapiro