For those of you who didn’t know, like you sir that have gone feral and spend your days eating woodland creatures, or you madam as somebody without the power of sight and hearing, this year’s 70th annual Golden Globes rolled in to a small rural town called California. To be honest I didn’t have any idea that it was taking place until I read some posts on twitter mentioning the sewage, sloshing its way across the red carpet. At first I was unsure what these posts were referring to and automatically assumed that the gathered press were digging their respective claws into the arriving hopefuls, or was Danny Dyer up for an award and had just arrived? Sadly it was neither, just an exploding fire sprinkler and some invalidated mutterings of spewing sewage pipes.
Onto Sky I went and finally located the red-carpet coverage and ensuing ceremony on the E! Channel. For those of you that don’t know where that is, it’s just after the channels that show the Japanese game shows, where smiling buffoons offer up their genitalia for target practice, and it’s just before the plus one version of that channel, where smiling buffoons offer up their genitalia for target practice. As it was on late I decided to Sky plus it, and enjoy it the following day. If I stay up past eleven o’clock nowadays I get so tired I become like a hyperactive toddler, dry-humping the cushions and sticking confectionery in my various orifices. Maybe not the greatest ever definition of a hyperactive toddler you’ll come across, I’ll admit.
The following evening we watched all the coverage in it’s full showbiz glory. Cue lots of actresses posing with one hand on hip followed by some more seductively looking over their shoulder for the benefit of the assembled photographers. Ryan Seacrest was your red carpet host with some other woman whose name escapes me, but I honestly think that my brain has deliberately discarded her details, as she was really quite annoying. Ryan in all his two and a half footed glory was the first to greet and swap small talk with the big named hopefuls, and tried to seem vaguely interested in ‘who they were wearing’, while the unnamed annoying one lapped up all of Ryan’s sloppy seconds. Poor old Ryan was also subjected to the ‘Mani cam’, the single most ridiculous televisual concept since Loose Women. It’s basically a mini runway where you can walk your hand towards a mini camera, showing off your painted nails, and jewelry with diamonds so vast, that entire African villages have been wiped out mining for them. I’m not sure what is more pathetic, the idea of it, or those that willingly participate in parading their pinkies down a miniature red carpet. The Glam cam 360 on the other hand was entirely more annoying. Wow, we can get a 360-degree view of outfits that we can, A. never afford and B. never fit in to. Aren’t we a bunch of lucky plebs? Rumours of the ‘Clam and Ham Cam’ are still unsubstantiated, although who wouldn’t enjoy the sight of Matthew Mcconaughey, plopping out his Cartier bejeweled phallus, and walking it down a mock-up red carpet for the benefit of the home audience?
A slew of attractive people are interviewed, and their outfits dissected before we finally get to the big one.
The completely brilliant Tina Fey and Amy Poehler are our hosts for the second year and set about with gusto the task of belittling our nominees. Once the opening exchanges had been made, my interest waned and I found myself reaching for the fast forward button. Sure, I like to see who won what, but once you heard one over-paid attractive person blubbing about how they ‘owe everything to the director’; you’ve heard them all. Couple that with the fake banter being read off an autocue by those presenting the awards, and I’d had enough. The rest of the show whizzed past in a blur of Ralph Lauren and Mikimoto, with awards for ‘best face’ and ‘The Meryl Streep’ award for the best Meryl Streep performance in a Meryl Streep film (presented by Meryl Streep to herself) until the show finally ended.
I really do enjoy these awards shows but they’d be better off condensing them into an hour show, without all the show filler that you’re forced to endure, and then I wouldn’t find it necessary to reach for the remote. Four hours of coverage is a bit much for most people to sit though, let alone someone like me with the attention span of a fish with a head injury.
The Clam and Ham Cam, coming to an awards ceremony near you! Well maybe not the Children of Courage awards. It wouldn’t be appropriate.
Miserable Musing. 