As many of you know, due to scheduling conflicts, Zer and I were not able to watch the Golden Globes when they aired on Sunday.
By some miracle, I managed to avoid most spoilers, save for Kyle Smith’s review of the ceremonies, featured in the New York Post. I don’t know if it was the catchy title (Kyle Smith’s take on Globes: Too much estrogen!) or the promise of estrogen overload, but I just couldn’t help myself.
Now that I’ve seen the ceremonies (all three hours of them) I have to say, I am sorely disappointed at how far off this award show was from Mr. Smith’s detailed critique.
Who is Kyle Smith? That’s not important. What’s important is he had expectations of the 71st Annual Golden Globes and they were not met.
His disappointment led to mine, which is where our story begins.
Disappointment 1: I was promised a, “deep dive into a pool of estrogen,” and to put it simply (and family friendly) there were not nearly enough tampons, crying, and glitter for it come anywhere near being worthy of Mr. Smith’s high praise.
Disappointment 2: Like the wordsmith that he is Mr. Smith described the distribution of awards thusly:
…in true girly tradition, like a mom squad making sure every Little Leaguer gets a trophy, the Globes spread its honors around so many movies and TV shows that everyone walked away feeling special.
So imagine my shock when American Hustle took home 3 major awards. Where was my promised trophy for everyone?
Disappointment 3: After reading this constructive criticism of Tina Fey and Amy Poehler’s opening monologue:
Fey and Poehler, in accordance with the tiresome defense mechanism of female nightclub comics to make it all about gender before their hecklers can, lobbed a few feminist joke-bombs, the best of which was the smash hit of the night.
Followed by the aforementioned “best of which” zinger from Ms. Fey:
‘Gravity’ is nominated for best film. It’s the story of how George Clooney would rather float away into space and die than spend one more minute with a woman his own age.
I was greatly looking forward to some epic weeping from Mr. Clooney, who I’m sure had some hurt feelings. Turns out he wasn’t even there. Fail.
I’d blame the messenger, but clearly this man was promised a masculine affair. What a disappointment it must have been.
Who lied to him? Imagine his shock when tuning into the show on Sunday evening, expecting Fight Night and getting a movie and television award show instead.
Although, producers, if you’re looking to inject some testosterone into your telecast, might I suggest determining the winners via hand to hand combat. That would make for some phenomenally exciting television. Not to mention that Philomena would have been a real contender then…if Dame Judi Dench had been able to make it. I bet she can pack a mean punch.
To conclude, I could wallow in my sorrows at the inability of the Golden Globes to live up to the feminist portrait that Mr. Smith so eloquently shared with the world, but I think we all know who is truly deserving of our pity in this instance.
It’s going to be okay sir. There’s always the Oscars.
A teaser from next year’s opening number: