Are you an ardent masochist? If so you would’ve LOVED this weekend’s 63rd annual Golden Globe Awards. LOVED. Though the show was relatively streamlined, the train wrecks came fast and furious from the very beginning. The icing on the self-flagellation cake by far was the celebrity arrivals coverage. Amid a long tradition of embarrassingly bad red carpet “specials”—Kathy Griffin, Star Jones, Billy Bush, Joan Rivers, need one go further—this one truly took the prize. The hour-long nightmare landscape of fake air kisses, “what it is, girlfriend”s, and, inexplicably, Dean Cain, nearly led me to put out my eyes and eardrums with blunt pencils. It was a true delight. Insipid, shallow, minute-by-minute coverage begins below.8:05pm
The details of the red carpet coverage are best left unspoken. I must point out, though, the true high point of the atrocities, which was the song that bridged the gap between the celebrity arrivals and the start of the actual awards. If you think you’ve heard bad lyrics before, think again. This was probably the worst two minutes of television I’ve seen since that time Nancy Reagan showed up on Diff’rent Strokes.
Appropriately, the opening drumroll coincides with a sudden closeup of Queen Latifah‘s formidable bustline. She herself turns out to be the first presenter. The audience is a little unresponsive, with the sure-fire Martin Luther King Jr. mention only tepidly received. You’re supposed to CLAP, you Nazis.
Natalie Portman and Adrien Brody come out to present. Ms. Portman looks like a little pixie straight from Audrey Hepburn Camp. They announce Best Supporting Actor in a Motion Picture, which goes to George Clooney for Syriana. He gives a nice little gracious speech before ruining it with a lame Jack-(Abram)off joke. Stick to political DRAMAS buster, not comedies.
The same pair presents Best Supporting Actress in a Motion Picture to Rachel Weisz for The Constant Gardener. Normally luminous—though by no means Laura Linney luminous—Ms. Weisz channels the Bride of Frankenstein with her upswept hairdo, beyond-the-grave eye makeup, and random flap of mummy fabric sprouting from her cleavage.
Jessica Alba comes out with Luke Wilson, who looks like he needs to make the switch to husky-size jeans. Thanks to an audience shot we learn that Barbara Hershey has decisively usurped the Botox World Championship from Kylie Minogue, its previous holder.
“Sure, my boobs may be sagging. But my face? TIGHT AS A DRUM, BITCHES!!”
Best Supporting Actor in a Series/Miniseries/TV Movie goes to Empire Falls‘ Paul Newman, who wisely chose to skip this event altogether.
Teri Hatcher and Brandon Routh step onstage, only to be overshadowed by a quick cut to Camryn Manheim‘s nearly 14 hectares of glitter-covered buxomness. Best Supporting Actress in a Series/Miniseries/TV Movie goes to Sandra Oh for Grey’s Anatomy. Excellent! Only she can’t find her way to the stage. It’s probably because the liquor’s been flowing for all of twenty minutes and she’s already sporting the notorious Asian flush. Excited and effusive, she forgets nearly everyone’s name except for one special mention—”My rock, Margo.” Ah, if only I had a rock named Margo. Then I could go places.
Not a half hour in and we already have worst dress of the evening—Drew Barrymore. The best way to approximate this look would be to give Peter Pan double-D breasts, no bra, and a strong, cold headwind. Drew, my dear, you can see those pointer sisters from two miles away.
“I do so love flying, Wendy, even if it gets a bit nippy”
Poor Emmy Rossum is saddled with the most boring and pointless task of the night: explaining and justifying the existence of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association. She fails, as have all others before her.
Jesse L. Martin and Nicolette Sheridan come onstage. Is it just me or is this woman SCARY AS SHIT. Anyway, they present Commander in Chief‘s Geena Davis with Best Actress in a Drama Series With Special Recognition for Beauty Marks and Milky Décolletage. She gets a good laugh by telling a lengthy and ultimately false story about a little girl who was inspired by her portrayal of a female president. Ms. Davis chuckles as she notes that she had the child shipped off to Guantánamo.
Ah, Melanie Griffith, what to say, what to say. As the years pass, she looks more and more like Tammy Faye Bakker. She giggles nervously and introduces tonight’s “Miss Golden Globe”—her daughter Dakota Johnson, who looks either thoroughly drugged or utterly bored. She reminds me of a mini Leelee Sobieski, only with a half-ounce of charisma instead of zero.
Queen Latifah and Matt Dillon come out to present. Each of her breasts is bigger than his head.
William Petersen and Pamela Anderson, who looks to be wearing a trash bag, present Best Actor in a Comedy Series to Steve Carell of The Office. He presents a mildly amusing speech ostensibly written by his wife, Nancy Walls.
Isn’t hepatitis supposed to kill you? Last time I let you get my hopes up, CDC!
Tim Robbins‘s hair and posture make him look like a giant 6’5″ toddler. Susan Sarandon, please take action now.
It’s Ray Charles, I mean, Jamie Foxx. Golly, he still gets me every time! He pontificates extensively before presenting Best Actress in a Motion Picture Musical/Comedy to Reese Witherspoon for Walk the Line. She WILL NOT SHUT UP about her husband—it gets to be like that “have you seen my fiancé” scene from Seinfeld. Fortunately, a pack of yippy little dogs tears Ms. Witherspoon apart before she can go on for too long.
Chris Rock reminds everyone that it’s MLK Day but that you only have to be nice to black people for two more hours. Aww, don’t tease Trent Lott, it’s still three hours til midnight here on the east coast, and for him every minute of this is like a lifetime. Mr. Rock presents Best Actress in a Comedy Series to Mary-Louise Parker of Weeds, who beats all four nominees from Desperate Housewives. Though missing her famously childbirth-enhanced boobs from last year, she remains very cute. She also expresses a desire to make out with her female cast members, which causes Marcia Cross‘s animatronic ears to perk up ever so slightly.
Unlikely as it may sound, best podium appearance of the night goes to Emma Thompson, who is clearly shitfaced. Though ostensibly onstage to introduce Pride and Prejudice, she just makes a bunch of sweeping gestures and nonsensical statements before tossing off the best line of the evening—”It’s lovely to be here, and at least it’s, you know, no effort.” Exactly.
Presenters Eric Bana and Kate Beckinsale are the most attractive couple so far, in sharp contrast to the audience shot of Ron Howard, who each year looks more and more like a child molester.
“Hey kids! There’s a pony in my pants!”
Jonathan Rhys-Myers wins Best Actor in a Miniseries for Elvis, but the bizarre clash of his thick Irish accent with the fact that he played ELVIS seems to baffle the audience. Next, the award for Best Actress in a Miniseries goes to S. Epatha Merkerson for Lackawanna Blues. Aww, we love her. She gives a funny, moving speech that includes gratitude about getting her first film lead at age 53, self-deprecating menopause jokes, and even a sassy “Y’all stop” to the pit orchestra. Well played, well played.
Virginia Madsen comes out with Harrison Ford, who’s utterly humorless as usual. Nice earring! NKOTB hangin TOUGH! They present Best Screenplay to the writers of Brokeback Mountain. Jake Gyllenhaal leans a little closer toward Heath Ledger for some celebratory frottage.
It’s Josh Duhamel and Jill Hennessy! His voice is deep; hers, deeper. Surprisingly, Desperate Housewives wins Best Comedy Series. Must be all that great writing!
Living in France seems fun til they make you glue your pubes to your face
Taking the pelo enorme prize for the evening is Penélope Cruz, whose hair helmet rivals even New York news anchor Liz Cho‘s. The producers make sure to give Ms. Cruz a lot of H-words to say, which come out like A-Bob A-Hoskins and Mrs. A-Henderson Presents. A-whatsa-happenin, a-hotstuff? J-Unit, who loves girls who can’t speak English, melts.
Now it’s Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew McConaughey of the new movie Failure to Launch, which has to be the worst title since The Taking of Flight 847: The Uli Derickson Story. They present Best Foreign Film to Palestine’s Paradise Now.
It’s not a heavily sedated Kathleen Turner, it’s just Catherine Deneuve. Remain calm.
Julian McMahon and Rosario Dawson come out to present Best Original Score. Boringly, it goes to John Williams for Memoirs of a Geisha. Mercifully, he himself is bored by the number of awards he’s won by now, so he remains brief.
Mariah Carey emerges, indeed looking quite calorically emancipated. Best Song goes to the one from Brokeback Mountain, which shockingly is an Emmylou Harris number, not the Madonna-Cher-George Michael collaboration one might’ve expected.
“You’ve got me feeling emotions… and eating chocolate Ã©clairs”
Gwyneth Paltrow‘s appearance ushers in the pale, horribly dressed portion of the evening. Really, what is she doing with that dress. It’s like the St. Pauli Girl gone all schmutzig. She’s there to present tonight’s lifetime achievement award recipient, Anthony Hopkins, whose name we’ve all apparently been mispronouncing this whole time, since she keeps saying “Antony.” And Gwyneth would know, mind you.
A cowlick-afflicted Clint Eastwood presents Best Director to Ang Lee for, as Mr. Eastwood says it, Brokeback M-m-mm-mmountain. Aww, Ang Lee is the cutest awkward Asian guy ever—he’s like a high-class Rupert Jee. Though seemingly a bit nervous he gives a nice speech.
John Travolta greets everyone with a hearty “Good evening, and good luck.” Sssssooo close. He gives special recognition to all the men in the acting categories tonight, then offers them keys to his steam room for a “private function” after the show. He presents Best Actor in a Motion Picture Musical/Comedy to Walk the Line‘s Joaquin Phoenix, who looks like he’d rather have his fingernails pulled one by one, Syriana-style, than actually go up to the podium. He does, however, remember to thank Johnny Cash and June Carter, unlike that ungrateful wench Reese Witherspoon. Since Mr. Travolta appears pretty eager to take Mr. Phoenix backstage, the producers wisely cut to a quick commercial.
Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice
In the token nod to the red states—newsflash to NBC, those people tuned out hours ago—the next presenter is Tim McGraw. Chris Rock looks baffled. Mr. McGraw mumbles most of his speech out of the side of his mouth, perhaps angling for the role of Heath Ledger’s long-lost brother in Brokeback Mountain 2: All in the Family.
Renée Zellweger looks miserable but at least relatively well-dressed. Best Motion Picture Musical/Comedy goes to Walk the Line.
The Will & Grace cast comes onstage for their last, final, ultimate, one-night-only, get-your-tickets-now appearance at the Golden Globes. Thank god they’re finally putting that show out of its misery. Incidentally, Lost wins Best Drama Series.
Dennis Quaid introduces the clip from Brokeback Mountain. Actually it was Randy Quaid who was in Brokeback Mountain, but why split hairs. In any case, Scarlett Johansson is ELATED, I mean you’ve never seen anything like this, to see Mr. Quaid onstage.
“Why is nobody else laughing? I love dick flicks.”
Mr. Quaid then provides a stunningly insightful synopsis of Brokeback Mountain—”Let’s just say it rhymes with chick flick.”
If you can’t get a single laugh out of an AUDITORIUM FULL OF DRUNKS, you’re not a comedian, so sit down.
Best Actress in a Motion Picture Drama goes to Felicity Huffman for Transamerica. She’s as flattered and gracious as one can be when one wins a Best Actress award for playing a man playing a woman.
In a sly segue, Hilary Swank emerges to present Best Actor in a Motion Picture Drama. The winner is Capote‘s Philip Seymour Hoffman, whose wardrobe and hair by Derelicte belie his tidy and professional acceptance speech.
Now I see what Jack saw in Ennis
Right on schedule, Denzel Washington presents the final award of the evening, Best Motion Picture Drama, to Brokeback Mountain. Ah, one can only imagine what Elizabeth Taylor would’ve done with a moment like this. “It’s a movie about COOOWWWWWWWBOYS!!!! But did you know they’re GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY?!??!???! GLAAAAAAAAAAAAAADIATOR!!!!!!”