I've always thought of the Academy Awards as prestigious, but their selections are not always particularly entertaining movies. When Clint Eastwood's Unforgiven won Best Picture, I was as happy as if it were my own movie—so happy, in fact, that I couldn't sleep. I chortled in bed, even though Clint Eastwood was no acquaintance of mine, and I gained nothing personally from the prize. Why was I so happy? Fans are strange creatures.