So, it goes without saying that I love awards shows. Give me Ryan Seacrest on the red carpet, some uncomfortably long acceptance speeches, and a montage about the “Magic of Sound Editing” . . . and I’m happier than a pig in shit.
The Golden Globes is the official run up to the granddaddy of all Awards Extravaganzas – the Oscars – but they definitely hold their own in the Battle for Award Show Supremacy.
Things I love about the GG's:
1. TV.
Would it be wrong of me to start a religion based on the wisdom and teachings of Tina Fey? Seriously . . . if this lady ordered me to eat Sabor de Soledad chips laced with arsenic, I would. Be my cult leader, Tina!
Ok, that’s disturbing. Moving on . . .
2. Booze.
The Golden Globes differ from the Oscars in that the celebs are encouraged to drink throughout the ceremony, so odds are good that there will be incoherent, drunken awesomeness. Please -- starve yourself for two weeks to fit into a borrowed, couture gown, down an entire bottle of free champagne . . . and then get up on that stage and tell us your thoughts about endangered species / the President / Madonna. Yes! Your public loves you!
The Award for Most Drunken Acceptance Speech of 2009 goes to this cherub:
I’m not familiar with Sally Hawkins -- but she’s British, which means she must be a good time. The highlight of her speech was when she stopped in the middle of her slurred, teary rambling, and shouted, “Emma, where are you?” And the cameras cut to Emma Thompson, who was sitting in the audience, waving frantically and mouthing “Are you ok?!” Oh, Emma Thompson . . . you are mother to the world.
If you cannot hold the trophy and talk at the same time – you might be wasted.
If you decide to go off Tele-Prompter and make glib jokes about your former cocaine addiction – you might also be wasted.
If you get up on stage with a beer in hand and make Holocaust jokes – you are Ricky Gervais, the funniest man alive.
Basically, the Globes prove once again that booze can only make a situation better . . . when it’s not making a situation worse.
3. Foreigners.
The Hollywood Foreign Press reminds us all that there is world entertainment beyond New York and LA . . . and often, it is far superior. Kate Winslet? Slumdog Millionaire? That guy who plays Borat? . . . need I go on? If not for the Globes, I wouldn’t know that movies like this, or this great one about the mafia, even existed.
And now its time for a segment I like to call People I Love to Hate:
Look, Brangelina sent their Madame Tussaud’s wax likenesses to the Golden Globes . . . . oh, wait a minute . . .
Tom’s in a rush – the chloroform he used on Katie Holmes and his freakishly doll-like robot baby will be wearing off soon.
Something about this girl just makes me really angry.
Seriously, Hollywood? I don’t remember the New Kids on the Block ever showing up at A-List red carpet events. Why? Because their fan base was made up exclusively of pre-teen girls who would rather watch Full House than find out who won Best Foreign Film of the year. One would like to assume the same applies to these dudes . . . or has the line between tween culture and regular society really blurred that much? Do people actually take these kids seriously? Miley Cyrus is not a musician or an entertainer, people. She’s the exploited meal ticket of some washed up hillbillies. Sound familiar?:
And now – for the Best Globe-ages of the Golden Globes:
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