Best Picture hadn't been announced yet.
The entire theater was still holding its breath. The night's ultimate crown was still up for grabs.
Who would walk away as the biggest winner of the year?
The crowd favorite The Curious Case of Benjamin Button? The politically bulletproof Frost/Nixon? Kate Winslet's acting masterclass in The Reader?
One thing was undeniable: Millionaire in the Projects had already racked up 10 Oscars. One more and it would tie Titanic's all-time record.
Everything came down to Best Picture.
Even without it, the movie had shattered history. Joey Grant had become the youngest directing winner, the first woman to ever win Best Director, and the first Asian-American to take home the big prize. Records that would literally never be broken.
The world waited.
Finally, legendary producer Karen Kahler took the stage to present the final award.
The traditional montage of the five nominees played on the massive screen.
Everyone knew the unwritten rule: the film that wins Best Director almost never wins Best Picture. The Academy loves to "spread the wealth." Only absolute juggernauts (movies that dominate the entire year) pull off the double. Titanic, Schindler's List, Forrest Gump, Million Dollar Baby… that kind of royalty.
So all eyes were on Kahler.
She smiled, opened the envelope, and said:
"And the Oscar goes to… Millionaire in the Projects!"
The place erupted.
At that exact second, every outlet on the planet blew up.
The Hollywood Reporter posted their headline before the cheers even died down:
THE UNREPEATABLE NIGHT: 11 WINS OUT OF 12 NOMINATIONS
Tonight America lost its mind. The world belongs to Joey Grant.
"11 for 12. The biggest sweep since Titanic."
"Across the entire awards season: 115 nominations, 79 major wins (Oscars, Golden Globes, BAFTAs, DGA, Critics' Choice, you name it)."
"This kind of domination doesn't happen. Ever."
"Call it whatever you want: masterpiece, miracle, cultural event. Millionaire in the Projects is all of it."
Even the critics who'd stayed quiet out of respect for Roger Ebert's earlier skepticism flipped overnight.
Pauline Kael's spiritual successor, the famously savage reviewer who'd trashed plenty of sacred cows, wrote a piece titled I Was Wrong and I've Never Been Happier to Eat Crow:
"I walked in thinking Benjamin Button had it locked. When this movie swept the Globes I rolled my eyes. Then I saw it. Every last defense I had crumbled. By the final frame I was screaming at my friends: if this doesn't win Best Picture, we riot."
"Joey Grant didn't just make a movie. She filmed her own life. This is her story, and she dared the world to look away."
"She'd been planning this takeover for years. Tonight the throne is hers."
Back on stage (third time tonight), Joey led the entire producing team up for the final prize.
Hughes had stayed home on purpose. Neither of them wanted tabloid headlines about "the billionaire boyfriend on Oscar night." So the speech fell to her. Again.
Three speeches in one night. Probably another record.
She stepped to the mic clutching three golden statues, took a deep breath, and let it rip, no notes this time.
"A lot of people have asked why I made an Asian woman the hero of this story."
She closed her eyes for a second.
"Because for most of my life, I've seen a line. On the other side of that line there are green fields and flowers and beautiful white women holding out their hands to me. But I could never get there. There was no path. That line was unbreakable."
"Then I remembered something Harriet Tubman once said: the only way any woman of color gets the same chance as everyone else is if someone builds a bridge across that line."
"Women of color don't get to be the hero. We don't get to direct the big movies. That's just how it's always been."
"But tonight I want to thank the people who built that bridge for me: James Cameron, Tom Cruise, Jack Hanson, Ms. Gotti… and so many more."
"You gave me a chance. You redefined what's possible for the rest of us."
"Thank you."
The applause was deafening. Half the theater was on its feet again.
From the crowd came shouts:
"Joey, you got this!"
"You're the best, girl!"
"Woman, you were born to win!"
These weren't fans. These were her peers (directors, actors, legends), and they were cheering like teenagers.
This was the American Dream. The real one. The one that finally included everybody.
Headlines the next morning were unanimous:
JOEY GRANT REWRITES HISTORY
THE WORLD BELONGS TO AN ASIAN-AMERICAN WOMAN TONIGHT
"From 16-year-old wunderkind to seven years in the wilderness, to the greatest comeback anyone's ever seen, 13 years in the making."
"She is the miracle."
After the show, Joey got mobbed by reporters at the press backdrop, three Oscars cradled in her arms like babies.
"Director Grant, Variety here: how does it feel to be the first woman ever to win Best Director and Best Picture?"
She laughed, glowing. "I'm honored. I'm shocked. I'm honestly still processing."
"Next movie right away, or are you finally taking a break?"
"Next movie. Immediately."
"Personal life? It's been six years since your last relationship…"
Joey gave an awkward little laugh and tucked hair behind her ear. "Uh… nothing to report right now. If that changes, you'll be the first to know."
"You've cast Henry Cavill as your leading man three times now. Anything there?"
"Oh my God, stop!" She cracked up. "We're literally just friends. Pure as the driven snow."
"Anything you want to say to everyone watching at home?"
Joey looked straight into the camera, waved her Oscars a little, and grinned the biggest grin of the night.
"Keep dreaming. Chase what sets your soul on fire. Have a dream, because dreams really do come true."