COLUMN: Hollywood Under Siege — When the Oscars Become a War Zone

Detective Arrieta and the Truth on the Sidewalks

LAPD Detective Jerry Arrieta was patrolling the perimeter on Sunday afternoon when he uttered a phrase worth more than any official press release: “There are eyes everywhere.” Four words. No political doublespeak. No legal boilerplate crafted by a public relations department. Just the raw reality of a cop monitoring a film awards ceremony the way one monitors a high-risk area.

And when asked if security measures are different this year, his response is a masterpiece of controlled ambiguity: “It’s the same, because it’s been effective.” Loosely translated: we don’t need to change what’s already working at the highest level. Subtext: the highest level was already in place before Iran became a dinner-table topic.

The Normalization of the Abnormal

This is the phenomenon that should give us pause. Not the concrete blocks—they were there last year. Not the sniffer dogs—they were there, too. Not the double set of metal detectors—they were already in place. What’s new isn’t the security measures themselves. It’s the context in which these measures operate.

When a country at war organizes its biggest cultural festival in the midst of conflict, and the authorities’ main message is “business as usual, move along,” two interpretations clash. Either the security measures were already calibrated for a war scenario—which speaks volumes about the permanent state of U.S. security. Or they are deliberately downplaying the situation so as not to spoil the festivities—which speaks volumes about their priorities.

An alert that is by no means hypothetical

On March 11, 2026, four days before the ceremony, the FBI issued an alert regarding possible Iranian retaliation on California soil. The word “drones” appeared in the alert. So did the word “California.” And when those two words appear in the same sentence of a Federal Bureau of Investigation document, no one in the chain of command takes it lightly.

California is not a random choice. It is the most populous state in the United States. It is home to Hollywood, Silicon Valley, and strategic military bases. Striking California—even symbolically—means striking at the very heart of America’s most powerful global influence: its soft power and its technology.

The Paradox of the Soft Target

The Oscars are, by definition, a soft target turned into a hardened one. A civilian event—actors, directors, technicians—protected like a military installation. And yet, the entire symbolic value of the event rests on the idea that it is NOT a war zone. That the glamour persists. That the gowns sparkle. That the acceptance speeches go on and on.

And yet. A closed movie theater serves as a parking lot. Concrete blocks designed to stop ramming vehicles line the streets. Armed officers patrol among the stars on the Walk of Fame. And a dog sniffs through Chanel handbags in search of explosives. The contrast isn’t subtle—it’s deafening.

The Oscars Have Faced War Before

In 1942, three months after Pearl Harbor, the Oscars ceremony took place amid a spirit of national mobilization. There were no outdoor spotlights—a blackout was in effect on the West Coast. In 2003, during the invasion of Iraq, Michael Moore was booed for denouncing a “fictitious war” from the stage of the Kodak Theater. In 2022, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine prompted blue-and-yellow ribbons on lapels, but no additional concrete barriers.

Every war has its ceremony. And every ceremony reveals how Hollywood manages the cognitive dissonance between its function—to entertain—and the reality knocking at the door.

2026: The War That Dares Not Speak Its Name on Stage

This year, the war between the United States and Iran is both omnipresent and invisible within the Oscars’ framework. Omnipresent in the concrete barriers, the FBI alerts, and the reinforced patrols. Invisible in official speeches, Academy press releases, and interviews with organizers. Raj Kapoor talks about “keeping an eye on what’s happening in the world” as if he were discussing the weather.

That is the genius—or the cowardice, depending on your point of view—of the Hollywood machine. It absorbs the shock without ever naming it. It fortifies its walls while maintaining its smiles. It transforms a maximum-security zone into a red carpet and hopes no one notices the difference.

The Vocabulary That Reveals the Escalation

Reread the LAPD’s press release. “Layered security perimeters.” In French: périmètres de sécurité en couches. It’s a military term. You don’t use it to secure a Taylor Swift concert. You use it to protect a presidential motorcade, an embassy in a hostile zone, or a G7 summit.

“Highly visible police presence.” Again, the choice of the word “highly” is no accident. It means: we want you to SEE the police officers. Visibility is the weapon. Deterrence through visibility. Showing force so as not to have to use it.

Instagram as a Security Communication Channel

The fact that the LAPD chose Instagram to publish its security statement is a detail worth noting. Not a traditional press release. Not a press conference. An Instagram post. Because in 2026, security communications are aimed first and foremost at the public—not the media. The message isn’t intended for newsrooms. It’s intended for the millions of people who will be watching the ceremony from their couches and wondering: Is it safe?

The LAPD’s response, translated from institutional jargon: “Yes, it’s safe—look how many of us there are, look how well-armed we are, look how prepared we are.” And above all: “Keep watching the show.”

A country living in a constant state of alert

The most revealing statement in the entire New York Times article comes from Detective Arrieta: “It’s the same because it’s been effective.” ” Let’s rephrase that: the level of security enforced in wartime is the SAME as that enforced in peacetime. This means that America lives in a state of permanent security-driven war—the declared war has merely brought to light what already existed in the shadows.

Since September 11, 2001, major American events have been secured like military operations. The Super Bowl. The State of the Union. Political conventions. And the Oscars. Twenty-five years of normalization. Twenty-five years of concrete blocks, checkpoints, dogs, detectors, and layered security perimeters. The war with Iran hasn’t changed the security apparatus—it has changed the narrative we superimpose on it.

Celebration as an act of resistance—or as denial

There are two ways to interpret the decision to hold the Oscars in the midst of war. The first: it’s an act of cultural resilience. The show must go on. Democracy celebrates its artists even when its soldiers are in combat. American soft power refuses to bow down.

The second interpretation is less flattering. It is an act of detachment. While airstrikes are being carried out in the Middle East, while the FBI warns of possible Iranian drones over California, the entertainment industry hands out golden statuettes and applauds acceptance speeches. The concrete surrounding the Dolby Theater is the visible seam between these two realities—the one that protects the dream from the war that threatens it.

What the Academy Isn’t Saying

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has not issued any specific statement regarding the war with Iran. No declaration of solidarity. No mention of the conflict in the ceremony’s official communications. The showrunner speaks of “keeping an eye on the world.” The LAPD speaks of “extensive” security. But the institution itself—the one that awards the prizes, writes the opening speeches, and selects the musical segments—remains silent.

This silence is a choice. A calculated choice, likely approved by lawyers, communications professionals, and strategists. To name the war is to politicize the ceremony. And to politicize the ceremony is to risk dividing the audience, the advertisers, and the studios.

The Ukrainian Precedent and Its Lessons

In 2022, the Academy had invited President Zelensky to speak via videoconference during the ceremony. The gesture was praised by some and criticized by others as “political theater.” In 2026, no Iranian leader, no American general, and no refugee from the conflict was invited. The lesson learned from 2022 seems to be: the less you say, the better off you are.

And yet. The concrete blocks speak. The sniffer dogs speak. The two metal detectors speak. The entire setup screams what the press releases merely whisper.

What if the target wasn’t the theater?

All security communications are focused on the Dolby Theater. The perimeter. The entry points. The searches. But the real vulnerability of an event like the Oscars isn’t the physical location—it’s the symbol. Striking a blow against the Oscars doesn’t necessarily mean striking the building. It means striking the image. It means striking the broadcast. It means striking the signal.

The drones mentioned in the FBI alert are not cruise missiles. They are vectors of disruption. A drone flying over Hollywood Boulevard during the ceremony would likely not kill anyone. But it would destroy something even more precious to Hollywood: the illusion of normalcy.

The cyberthreat—the blind spot

None of the official statements mention cybersecurity. Not a word about protecting the television broadcast. Not a word about internal communication systems. Not a word about the perimeter’s Wi-Fi networks. In 2026, an attack on the Oscars could take the form of an interruption to the live broadcast in front of tens of millions of viewers. The psychological impact would be devastating—and not a single concrete block could do anything about it.

The LAPD provides physical security. The FBI monitors drones. But who protects the signal? This question remains unanswered by the public. And its absence is, in itself, an answer.

When the Parking Lot Says More Than the Program

The most striking detail in this whole affair is neither the sniffer dogs, nor the FBI alert, nor the Academy’s silence. It’s the closed movie theater being used as a parking lot. A place designed to project dreams, repurposed as a parking lot for those who go to celebrate dreams. The irony of this twist is so profound that even Hollywood’s best screenwriter wouldn’t have dared to write it.

This closed movie theater is a microcosm of America in 2026. A country whose cultural industry is the most powerful in the world, yet whose theaters are closing one after another. A country that celebrates cinema in a heavily fortified theater while neighborhood movie theaters are turned into parking lots. A country at war that organizes parties and secures those parties as if they were wars.

The Question of Cost—Financial and Symbolic

How much does security for the 2026 Oscars cost? The LAPD isn’t releasing the figure. Neither is the Academy. But estimates from sources close to event organizers in Los Angeles put the security budget for a ceremony of this scale at between $5 million and $10 million in a normal year. In a year of war? Multiply that.

That money comes from somewhere. From Los Angeles taxpayers. From the Academy’s budgets. From insurers. And every dollar spent on concrete and metal detectors is a dollar that isn’t funding an independent film, an educational program, or a relief fund for film industry workers affected by the wildfires that have ravaged Los Angeles in recent months.

What the World Sees When Hollywood Puts Up Its Defenses

The Oscars are broadcast in more than 200 countries. Every shot of the red carpet, every image of the security barriers, every mention of “layered perimeters” sends a message to the world. And that message isn’t: “America is strong.” That message is: “America is afraid.”

Not fear in the sense of panic—fear in the sense of institutionalized vigilance. A structural, methodical, budgeted fear. A fear that has its procedures, its detectors, its dogs, and its concrete blocks. A fear that doesn’t say its name and is called “security.”

Iran is watching—and taking note

From Iran’s strategic perspective, the mere fact that the Oscars require a war-like security apparatus is already a symbolic victory. Without firing a single shot, without launching a single drone onto Hollywood Boulevard, Tehran has managed to insert itself into the narrative of America’s biggest cultural ceremony. The FBI’s alert did the job. Fear did the rest.

This is the asymmetric logic of modern conflict. You don’t need to strike to instill terror. You need the target to protect itself. You need that protection to be visible. You need that visibility to become the narrative. And you need the narrative to replace the spectacle.

When Security Becomes the Show

There was a time when the Oscars were all about the gowns, the tears, and the surprises. In 2026, the show begins in the parking lot. The show is the armored bus. The show is the sniffer dog. The show is Detective Arrieta saying, “There are eyes everywhere,” with the ease of a man who’s said that line a hundred times.

The real show of the 2026 Oscars isn’t on the stage of the Dolby Theater. It’s in the space between the closed theater and the secure entrance. In this gray zone where America at war and America celebrating coexist—separated by a metal detector and connected by an unease that no one will name.

And tomorrow

Next year, will the security measures be the same? Probably. With or without war. With or without Iran. Because Detective Arrieta said it: “It’s the same because it works.” And because the America of 2026 no longer knows how to tell the difference between a state of emergency and a permanent state of emergency.

The concrete blocks will remain. The sniffer dogs will remain. The two metal detectors will remain. And somewhere, in a closed movie theater converted into a parking lot, a car will wait patiently for its owner to return from the party—that strange party where people celebrate the dream behind walls designed to stop nightmares.

What This Sunday Teaches Us

On March 15, 2026, Hollywood did what Hollywood does best: maintain the illusion. The gowns sparkled. The speeches flowed. The statuettes changed hands. And outside, in the Californian night, men in uniform patrolled among the stars on the Walk of Fame, their gaze fixed not on the celebrities but on the sky—that very sky the FBI had flagged as potentially hostile four days earlier.

America at war, hosting the Oscars, is a country watching a movie while its house burns—and posting guards at every exit, just in case the fire comes in through the front door.

The Final Image

If you’re looking for an image that sums up America in March 2026, don’t take the photo of the Best Picture winner. Don’t take the selfie of the most beautiful dress on the red carpet. Take the photo of the closed movie theater filled with cars, a few blocks away from a heavily guarded theater where the seventh art is being celebrated.

That photo won’t win any Oscars. But it says more about the state of the world than all the nominated films combined.

Signed, Jacques PJ Provost