By Rifan Muazin 
The interior of the Dolby Theater on a sweltering Saturday afternoon offers a stark contrast to the polished, high-octane glamour that the world expects from the Academy Awards. Inside, the air conditioning is dialed to a frigid, industrial hum, cutting through the unseasonable Hollywood heat that lingers just outside the heavy stage doors. This is the workshop of the gods, a place where the magic of the 98th Academy Awards is currently being assembled, piece by painstaking piece. Amidst the frantic movement of dozens of crew members—gaffers adjusting light gels, stagehands marking floors with neon tape, and producers whispering into headsets—the atmosphere is one of focused, high-stakes rehearsal. It is here that Adrien Brody, a two-time Oscar winner whose career has been defined by a singular, brooding intensity, is currently fixated on a "note."
Brody is not merely walking through his marks; he is dissecting the rhythm of his presentation. The veteran actor is part of a cherished Oscar tradition that has seen a resurgence in recent years: the practice of having former Best Actor and Best Actress winners return to the stage to pass the torch to the new class of victors. This "Five Legends" or "Successor" format requires a delicate balance of reverence and brevity, and Brody, a perfectionist by nature, is struggling with the timing of a specific "bit" he intends to execute. His presence, alongside that of Mikey Madison—the breakout star of the year whose performance in Sean Baker’s Anora has made her a central figure in the Best Actress conversation—suggests that the Academy is leaning heavily into the theme of lineage and the bridging of cinematic generations. Madison, watching from the wings, represents the vibrant future of the medium, while Brody remains an anchor of its prestigious past.
The labor behind the Oscars is often invisible to the millions watching at home, who see only the finished, shimmering product. However, for those inside the Dolby days before the telecast, the reality is one of repetition and refinement. Famous faces drift in and out of the theater in "civilian" clothes—jeans, hoodies, and baseball caps—stripping away the artifice of stardom to reveal the craftsmen underneath. There is something surreal, almost jarring, about seeing A-list icons in plainclothes, moving through the cavernous space like commuters in an airport. Yet, the moment Maya Rudolph takes the stage, the mundanity vanishes. Rudolph is a master of the live environment, a veteran of Saturday Night Live who understands that the key to a successful Oscar bit is not just the script, but the delivery.
Rudolph’s rehearsal is a highlight of the afternoon, serving as a cornerstone for a highly anticipated Bridesmaids reunion. To mark the 15th anniversary of the seminal R-rated comedy that redefined the landscape for women in film, the Academy has brought together the original powerhouse ensemble: Rudolph, Melissa McCarthy, Kristen Wiig, Ellie Kemper, and Rose Byrne. Byrne, who is also a Best Actress nominee this year, adds an extra layer of prestige to the grouping. As they run through their segment, the chemistry that made the 2011 film a cultural phenomenon remains palpable. Even in a room filled with jaded publicists and stressed Academy officials, the group’s comedic timing draws genuine, belly-deep laughter. Their "gag," which remains a closely guarded secret for the telecast, is designed to be one of the night’s viral highlights, a testament to the enduring legacy of Paul Feig’s masterwork and the undeniable power of female-led comedy.
The 98th Academy Awards seems determined to leverage nostalgia not just as a marketing tool, but as a narrative thread. Beyond the Bridesmaids celebration, the production is leaning into the silver anniversary of another cinematic landmark. Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman are slated to reunite on stage to honor the 25th anniversary of Baz Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge!. When that film debuted in 2001, it revitalized the movie musical and challenged the conventions of film editing and production design. Seeing McGregor and Kidman together again, decades after their characters’ tragic romance captivated the world, serves as a poignant reminder of the passage of time and the immortality of the roles they inhabited. Their rehearsal session was marked by a quiet, professional shorthand, a reflection of two actors who have shared one of the most transformative experiences of their respective careers.
Adding to the theme of family and legacy is a planned appearance by Bill and Lewis Pullman. The father-son duo represents a rare kind of Hollywood continuity. Bill Pullman, the quintessential American leading man known for his roles in Independence Day and While You Were Sleeping, has watched his son, Lewis, carve out a significant niche for himself with standout performances in Top Gun: Maverick and Lessons in Chemistry. Their rehearsal for a joint presentation was described by onlookers as a "crowd-pleaser," utilizing their natural rapport to inject a sense of warmth and authenticity into the proceedings. In an industry often criticized for its nepotism, the Pullmans represent a version of the "family business" that feels earned and respected.
At the center of this whirlwind is Conan O’Brien, returning for his second consecutive year as host. Following the success of the 97th Oscars, where O’Brien’s quick-witted, self-deprecating style was credited with stabilizing the show’s tone, the expectations for his "sophomore" outing are immense. While O’Brien’s opening monologue is being kept under lock and key, snippets of a pre-taped skit have begun to leak through the internal monitors of the Dolby. The skit appears to be a brilliant, meta-commentary on one of the most iconic movie sequences of the previous year—a nod so obvious and clever that it elicited immediate approval from the production staff. O’Brien’s strength as a host lies in his ability to bridge the gap between the high-brow aspirations of the Academy and the irreverent sensibilities of the modern viewer. His presence suggests a show that is "locked in," confident in its identity and willing to take creative risks.
Perhaps the most striking element of the 98th Oscars, however, is the physical environment itself. The set design for this year’s ceremony is, in a word, arresting. While past years have experimented with everything from thousands of Swarovski crystals to minimalist digital projections, the current stage feels like a radical departure. It is a massive, structural feat of engineering that demands attention the moment one enters the theater. In person, the scale is overwhelming, creating a sense of intimacy within the vastness of the Dolby. There is a lingering question among the crew about how this physical grandeur will translate to the two-dimensional constraints of a television screen, but the consensus is that the Academy has prioritized a "live" experience that feels monumental. The stage is not just a backdrop; it is a character in its own right, designed to frame the winners in a way that feels both classic and futuristic.
As the rehearsal day winds down, the intensity does not wane. The "over-air conditioned" room remains a hive of activity, a reminder that the Oscars are as much a feat of logistics as they are a celebration of art. The meticulousness of performers like Adrien Brody, the infectious energy of the Bridesmaids cast, and the seasoned professionalism of host Conan O’Brien all point toward a telecast that is striving for perfection. Whether the actual winners align with public expectation or spark controversy, the production itself appears to be in capable hands.
The 98th Academy Awards is positioning itself as a bridge between eras—honoring the 15-year and 25-year milestones of beloved films while spotlighting the new vanguard of talent like Mikey Madison. It is a night designed to validate its own existence in an age of fragmented media, proving that there is still something uniquely powerful about the "big room," the golden statue, and the collective breath held by an industry before a name is called. As the sun sets over Hollywood and the Saturday rehearsals conclude, the stage is set for a show that promises to be more than just a list of awards; it is a carefully choreographed love letter to the endurance of cinema.