Totally fun and totally (allegedly) drunk, the Golden Globes
show rose to the crazy-high comic level of its hosts, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler.
That isn’t to say it was “good” in the stuffy, self-serious way of
the Oscars. It was loose and as slyly fun as the opening monologue, which at first seemed a bit tame — until you noticed
the edgy lines the hosts slipped in.
Amy on the Cecil B. de Mille award going to Woody Allen, a
few years after having gone to Martin Scorsese:
it is obviously awarded to “the tiniest man with the biggest
Tina on the way Gravity
proves that George Clooney would rather be lost in space “than
spend another minute with a woman his own age.”
Tina on Matthew McConaughey, who for Dallas Buyers’ Club “lost 45 pounds — or what actresses call
being in a movie.” (He went on to win Best Actor in a drama over better
performances from Chiwetel Ejiofor and Robert Redford because — well, losing
weight is pretty foolproof awards-bait.)
Here’s the complete opening monologue:
The night got better and sharper as it went on. Amy acknowledged the voters of
the Hollywood Foreign press and their fake-outlets, including the Polish paper
given away for free on buses, saying
with a straight-face, “Thank you all for your integrity.”
In the most hilarious set-piece, Tina introduced her candidate for Mr. Golden
Globe, her grown son from a previous relationship, Randy — that is, Amy in a
Bieber-wig, wandering into the audience and wondering who her Dad was. Idris
Elba? No. Harvey Weinstein? Hmmm ….
Then there was Emma Thompson walking out to present with her
Laboutin shoes in one hand and a martini in the other.
There is no way to explain the awards themselves, of course.
The Hollywood Foreign Press may or may not be made up of people who write for papers given away on
buses, but they are still a weird little group that decided to award Andy Samberg
as Best Actor and Brooklyn Nine-Nine as
Best Comedy Series. It’s a good sitcom but not inventive and certainly
not better than Parks and Recreation.
But the Globes show itself was the point. Clearly, there was drinking in the audience; the reaction shots of the non-winners caught some of them looking as grim as we know they must have been feeling — rare, inadvertent glimpses of Hollywood honesty.
(I’m guessing Bradley Cooper didn’t expect to lose.)
ar the end of the evening, Tina landed the most
jaw-dropping introduction. She sweetly began, “And now, like a supermodel’s
vagina” — slight pause to let us wonder where she could possibly be
heading — “let’s all give a warm
welcome to Leonardo DiCaprio.” There was a strange blackout on screen,
as if the NBC person with the delay button had gone into shock. And as Leo arrived to
announce Best Actress, he looked calm (he is a good actor) but might have been
more discombobulated than he let on; he pronounced Philomena as Philomenia.
The best part: Fey and Poehler have already signed on to return next year, so good luck if anyone queasy about supermodels’ vaginas
and the guys who date them even thinks about trying to stop the best hosts ever from coming back.
If only the Oscars had the wit to let everyone lighten up.