Act 1 of our Oscar round-up: The Big Night

Happily for the movie stars, though, some of the best things in life are free—literally. Chanel, for instance, had a truck rolling through Beverly Hills days before the awards, visiting the homes of the stars with couture offerings, like Good Humor for celebrities. Academy presenters were "gifted" with toys from Hewlett-Packard, Bergdorf Goodman, Godiva, and more than a dozen other companies. Kickboxing by the pool at the Four Seasons is pretty cheap entertainment too—at least for those watching presenter Sigourney Weaver working with her trainer on Sunday morning.

And, of course, it cost nothing to gossip, an ancient Oscar-week tradition. Among the most circulated rumors this year: that Hollywood favorite Bill Clinton would attend the ceremony (false, although Monica Lewinsky did make an appearance at Vanity Fair's affair); that Roberts would win (true, but duh); and that the famously off-the-cuff actress would make a Jane Fonda-style political speech if she did ("About what?" she incredulously asked reporters backstage. "Mad cow disease?").

Curiously, the only subject not gossiped about at the Shrine was the one nobody in Hollywood has stopped whispering about: whether any of them would be working after June. A few nervous jokes about the strikes were lobbed the day before during the Independent Spirit Awards ("Make sure to eat everything on your plate," Illeana Douglas advised the audience, "it's probably the last decent meal us actors will ever have"), but not a peep was uttered at the Oscars, even as the trade papers were reporting its increasing inevitability. Indeed, mere mention of the S-word made attendees wince.

"The strike has cast a pall over the night," Soderbergh allowed between courses at the Governors Ball, where the most powerful representatives of the Screen Actors Guild, the Writers Guild of America, and the studios all sat down together to dine after the show. "But then, this isn't the place to talk about it. It's not appropriate. This is about the Oscars."

Of course, none of the above—the economizing, the strike jitters—was visible to those watching at home. But then watching the Oscars on TV is a two-dimensional experience. So many subtleties go unnoticed, so many subplots are obscured.

The home audience, for instance, can't observe a rattled Tom Hanks losing wife Rita Wilson at the metal detectors before the red carpet. ("You're not my wife," he said to the woman whose hand he inadvertently grabbed. "Yeah, but I'm available," she gushed.) Or overhear Best Actress nominee Ellen Burstyn complaining about her too-tight shoes on the way to the ladies' room. Or see a ravenous Kate Hudson smuggling hors d'oeuvres back into the theater after an ad break. Or overhear Steven Spielberg's conversation with Best Original Screenplay winner Cameron Crowe at one of the post-awards parties. "I have one piece of advice for you," he told Crowe, then whispered something profound in his ear. "I told him to take the Oscar to bed tonight," Spielberg 'fessed up later. "That's what I did for Schindler's List." Or witness a ticketless Hilary Swank getting stopped by guards on her way back into the Shrine. "Isn't it cool how one year you can win an Oscar and the next nobody recognizes you?" joked the shockingly good sport. "I guess people expect me to look like I did in Boys Don't Cry." Not in that dress they didn't.

In some instances, those at home have an advantage: They don't have to listen to the constant drone of whispered inanities in the audience. "That's Christopher Reeve's father," one tuxedoed authority informed his date when Steve Reeves' face popped up during the "In Memoriam" film. Yeah, and Bob Dylan is Dylan McDermott's dad.

This year's less-is-more approach to the Oscars (even applause was discounted; producers didn't urge the audience to cheer after commercial breaks, prompting Steve Martin to begin one segment by saying "Thank you...thank you for nothing") definitely gave both the home and live audience a much classier spectacle than usual. Certainly Yo-Yo Ma and Itzhak Perlman were a big improvement over Rob Lowe and Snow White. But, in the end, it may have been a case of too much class, too much austerity. The Nielsen ratings proved that sometimes less is just less: Only 42.9 million viewers tuned in, down 7 percent from last year, making it the least-watched Oscars in years.

Which means that next year, after the strikes are a distant memory, we can probably expect a return to the crass, tasteless excess that has always made the Oscars the world's favorite awards show. At the very least, expect Jennifer Lopez to wear even less clothing.

(With reporting by Clarissa Cruz, Sofia Fernandez, Tricia Johnson, Dave Karger, Will Keck, Lynette Rice, Jessica Shaw, Allison Hope Weiner, and Josh Young)