As the crane cameras swoop around the Kodak Theatre at the Academy Awards on
February 25, it is unlikely that they will linger on Anacleto Medina. A
small, stooping man in his fifties, with straggly grey hair and a plaintive
gaze, Medina has not been nominated for anything. But as those ranks of
golden figurines are delivered into pair after pair of manicured hands, he
will be looking on with a blush of paternal pride.
Since arriving in America from his native Mexico almost 40 years ago, Medina
has worked as a hand caster for R. S. Owens, who since 1982 have forged,
polished, inscribed and plated every Oscar statuette that has been awarded.
Each year, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences sends Owens a
pair of the hottest tickets on earth, which the company then pass on to one
of their staff. This is the lucky year for Medina and his wife, Maria, who
also works at the factory. “It’s going to be a very nice experience!” he
beams as he pulls on his protective apron and gloves.
R. S. Owens are good at what they do. They must be, because they are based not
in California but in the grey northern suburbs of Chicago, meaning that each
Oscar has to travel more than 1,700 miles between factory and podium. The
West Coast bigwigs clearly appreciate their Midwestern meticulousness.
The company was established in 1940 by Owen Siegel, the son of a Romanian
immigrant, who started out making trophies for guinea-pig competitions. The
workforce is now 160 – many, like Medina, have been there for decades – and
the bulk of their business comes from manufacturing corporate awards,
although they also make trophies for the Emmys and the MTV Awards. They won
the Oscar account when the previous incumbents ran into financial
difficulties and recommended them.
Each statuette takes ten people and more than five hours of labour to make.
“Though we could probably do it quicker, we take six to eight weeks to make
around 50 statuettes beginning in December and shipping in February,” says
Noreen Prohaska, the company’s Polish-American spokesperson, during a tour
of the factory.
Prohaska ushers us back as Medina dips his ladle into a vat of molten
britannium – an alloy of tin, copper and antimony similar to pewter – which
bubbles away menacingly at 500C. He pours a steaming scoopful into a steel
mould, which he then leaves to cool for a couple of hours. The Oscar mould
has changed once in its history, when extra detail was added to the face.
Unlike his average recipient, Oscar has just had the one facelift.
Other than that, and a streamlining of the base, the design remains the same
as the one concocted in 1927 by MGM’s art director Cedric Gibbons and the
sculptor George Stanley. It’s a knight holding a crusader’s sword and
standing on a reel of film whose five spokes symbolise the Academy’s five
branches: actors, directors, producers, technicians and writers.
When they are not being used, the moulds are locked in a safe, although
Prohaska insists that light-fingered employees are not a problem. “It’s a
trust issue, isn’t it?” she smiles. “This Oscar only belongs to the
Academy,” Medina adds earnestly. “This company does the right thing for the
Oscar. Very confidential. Very careful.”
Once cooled, the britannium statuettes emerge from their moulds a dull silvery
grey. After stray metal flakes, or “flashings”, are removed with sandpaper
they are then brought before the hulking Eladio Gonzales, another Mexican,
who spends 45 minutes polishing each to a mirror finish with an industrial
sander. Gonzales, an Owens veteran of 35 years, has no complaints about his
working environment. “They treat me good,” he growls. “The money’s good –
I’m making $15 [£7.70] an hour.” He seems less starstruck than his
colleagues, insisting, “I’m not interested in going to the Academy Awards. I
got a family to support. It’s kind of hard leaving the kids in the house,
with me having a good time at the Oscars.”
No such qualms for Louise White in the engraving department. She attended the
2003 ceremony with her husband, whom she met at the factory. “It was
phenomenal!” White gushes as she inscribes a statuette with a serial number
that allows it to be traced if it goes missing. “We went to the Beverly
Hills Hotel and ran into Colin Farrell and Patrick Stewart. And we went to a
cocktail party before the ceremony and met Sean Connery and Mickey Rooney.”
After the ceremony, White receives a list of the winners’ names, which she
inscribes electronically on to brass plaques. These are then sent to Los
Angles and screwed on to the statuettes, temporarily retrieved from their
owners. White brandishes a copy of a plaque which must have taken a while to
do: “Honorary Academy Award to Peter O‘Toole, whose remarkable talents have
provided cinema history with some of its most memorable charcters.” She
grins from ear to ear: “I witnessed Peter O’Toole receiving that award. I
was so proud.”
Under the eye of another huge Mexican, Nunzio Gigan-ti, the figurines are next
loaded on to racks and electroplated in four separate tanks containing
copper, nickel, silver and 24-carat gold in solution. After each bath the
statuettes emerge a different colour. “The copper conducts electricity, the
nickel seals up any imperfections, and the silver helps the gold stick
better,” Prohaska explains.
Both Owen Siegel and his son Scott have maintained a dignified silence on
Oscar’s value. “I believe the Oscar contains more gold than any other famous
award,” Siegel Sr said in 1988. “But the Academy wants them to be considered
priceless.”
Each figurine is stamped with the legend: “This statuette may not be sold,
conveyed or otherwise transferred other than pursuant to requests without
first being offered to the Academy.” Some have disobeyed this edict and sold
their awards, although Steven Spielberg and others have bought several back
at auction and sold them back to the Academy for the traditonal price of a
dollar.
After being sprayed with a scratch-resistant lacquer, the statuettes are
screwed into their spun-brass bases. Each is now at its fighting weight of
3.85kg (8½ pounds) and measures 34cm (13½in) from head to stand. They are
packed up and loaded into a security van bound for the air-port, and Oscar
1, a specially chartered United Airlines flight.
This is the last the factory will see of this year’s Oscars – unless they need
repairs. After her award for The Accidental Tourist was damaged in
an earthquake, Geena Davis sent it back to Chicago to be repolished and
replated, but gave strict orders for the dents to be preserved.
Now is Prohaska’s moment in the limelight. “I have been Oscar’s custodian on
three flights to LA,” she reveals. “I usually get a first-class seat with
Oscar. I get him out and walk him around the plane and everybody gets to
touch.”
In LA, the cargo is handed over to the president of the Academy, not to emerge
in public again until they are presented to their winners on February 25.
Wouldn’t it be great if this year’s blizzard of thank-yous included the name
Anacleto Medina?
The Oscars will be screened live on Feb 25 on Sky. Red-carpet arrivals
start at 11pm on Sky One. Sky Movies will then broadcast the live ceremony
from 12.30am
