"Like many of you, we recall back when Ricky Gervais was a slightly chubby but very kind comedian."
-Tom Hanks
Beyond the fact that we truly have to give me some credit for nailing a chunk of the winners with my predictions, the most enjoyable portion of the Globes was the no holds barred cocktail party atmosphere that only the Hollywood Foreign Press, The Beverly Hilton Ballroom, and Ricky Gervais can provide.
The entire telecast can be encapsulated in Mr. Gervais' introducing Robert Downey, Jr. as a porn-star who is best known for his stints in rehab and prison -- only to have Robert Downey, Jr. (who we know is a borderline messianic figure for me) introduce the Actress - Comedy/Musical nominees as women he has slept with. A true delight. The kind of barb-ish humor that let's a man forget he's trapped amidst the deep cold horror of January with only February and March in sight. Oh, Golden Globes, you're like a warm Caribbean breeze on a night who's low temperature was clocking in at 9 Degrees. That's Fahrenheit, friends.
I was lucky enough to be at the closing performance of Next to Normal and conducted a successful media lock-out despite the endless texts from dear friends and the unbelievable amount of smartphone updating and searching in a room full of entertainment folk. And even despite J.R. doing his best to force me to cave and at least let him tell me a few winners. But no, I made it back to the steam-spitting rapture of my studio where my blessed DVR let me enjoy the broadcast in the wee hours.
The (actual) Globes...
McCue Gets No Support
I wonder if my tumbling through the snowdrifts of the non-plowed New York City streets and surmounting the treacherously icy steps to meet L.P. at The AMC nee Loews nee Sony Lincoln Square is what has tainted my opinion of The Fighter. I'm willing to believe my mood was set by the Cold Mountain-esque journey to a theater of wheezy cold-havers.
But it's just not there for me, folks. I wonder if I should see it again -- but I frankly don't feel the need. The horribly cruel part of me wonders if Christian Bale and Melissa Leo are starting to pick up awards momentum simply because they are actors who deserve awards more than these being performances that demand recognition. But everywhere I look and everything I read places me in the remarkable minority. My dubious nature toward their supporting wins is nigh on a party of one: everyone loves them. I suppose there is something about their playing unlikable people that has left me at an arm's length. This has always been the case with me. It's what I have dubbed my "Scorcese Dilemma" (look for it in paperback wherever imaginary books are sold). Christian Bale is obviously fantastic and I have adored him since Empire of the Sun. Melissa Leo was great in this film and in Frozen River. I suppose I'm supposed to hate them but wasn't given the handle folks like Louise Fletcher and Javier Bardem so happily provided. That... and I'm so jonesing for a King's Speech actor trifecta that we'll have to excuse my lame reaction.
M'Lady Annette vs. The Little Bird That Could
I could stream of conscious a Biskind-size salute to Annette Bening, but I shall rein it in. It is my hope -- given my crazed ways -- that the Oscar Actress category is the prime source of my anxiety from now until the February 27th telecast. 20 years past The Grifters and in a year where Annette's award nemesis Hillary Swank isn't in the picture -- the question becomes whether Mrs. Beatty can convert her Globe into Oscar Glory. Obviously, this is my deep hope. The woman has class. The woman has charm. The woman gave a great performance. And what a classy speech. Annette, you still got it.
But will she sell this house today?
Perhaps because Annette's still got it, it can scare the bejesus out of a Beatty household lover like myself that the fine feathered friend embodied by my dear little Natalie Portman could end up the Oscar winner. Maybe Hollywood thinks that Annette is far from finished and will turn in other great performances -- she obviously will -- and so they don't need to award her for the independent film with a heart that was released during the summer and was chuck full of Oscar buzz when the rest of the country was trying to maximize beach weekends. This is, after all, Natalie Portman -- a girl the world has loved since she weepily befriended a milk-drinking mafia hitman.
I once remarked that I would "'turn' and abandon Jesus for Natalie Portman." I meant it. An Academy with even a sliver of that love could well snub Annette again -- much like Warren's sister, Shirley -- and land Ms. Bening with a trophy for some distant performance instead. Oh ramparts!!!!!
Comedy Actor
What can be said about this category? I have not seen Mr. Giammati's movie, though I know he is a wonderful actor. However, his winning over Kevin Spacey has me wondering who rounds out the fifth slot in the Academy category for actor. I truly thought Spacey would cross in -- if only to acknowledge the passing of Hickenlooper. Much as I love P.G., I doubt he'll be there for the big dance.
Firth, Bridges, Eisenberg, Wahlberg, DiCaprio? There's two names I'm deliberately leaving off this list because there's one name on it I refuse to jinx. I'll make that confession next Tuesday after the noms.
A Brief Remark about DeNiro's DeMille...
My love for Matt Damon knows no limits. Thank heavens the Globes tapped the under-used hilarious side of Damon who has the earned respect and the grinning to summarize one of the greatest screen acting careers with comedy rather than prostrate praise:
"He was literally unrecognizable as a blonde thirteen year-old hooker. He just disappears."
And my congrats to DeNiro for quipping away himself. "Thank you Matt, I loved you in The Fighter." And "You hope the films gross enough to keep your kids in private school." This from the Letterman interview mute.
Look at you, Globes! Being one of the few rare Hollywood Moments to star Pacino and DeNiro.
The Lovely Mr. Firth
"Right now this is all that stands between me and a Harley Davidson." - Colin Firth
To watch Colin Firth play this King of England this way and for it to have swept the world off its feet so completely is hands down my favorite (quiet) media frenzy of recent years. But shush! Let this steady sailing ship coast ever onward across its lovely wake-less sea toward glory! (I gave an extensive speech last night as to why I consider it so damn "lovely" and shall continue to use that word and that word only.) Something about this forward-mover seems so Jenga-like that I am hesitant to say too much. I shall leave it at that and expound on Mr. Firth once the Oscar winner is revealed.
Network Sweep
Fincher. Sorkin. Reznor. Picture.
There's no surprise in The Social Network's unending string of victories. But the uniform sweep of Critics' Circles needs to be hammered home by a Globe win.
You take the director of Se7en, add a subdued score from Nine Inch Nails frontman Trent Reznor, combine with one of the best living screenwriters and the most powerful producers in Hollywood. And what do you expect? Frankly, I don't think this is what people expected -- hence the unending accolades.
We'll see what happens when True Grit is in the Oscar mix. But one wonders if it will be anymore than an L.A. Confidential to a Timely Techie Titanic.
Do it Colfer? Do it Danes?
Well, they damn well done did. Double Huzzahs.
No comments:
Post a Comment