The 59th Annual Golden Globes!
The Golden Globes are nothing more than a wanna-be serious awards show-and
everyone knows it. When Hollywood starlets win an Oscar, the shiny talisman
sits on the mantle over the fireplace in a display case protected by its
own laser security system. A solitary Golden Globe, on the other hand,
gathers dust on a wooden shelf low enough for the dog to reach. Putting
a G. G. on the mantle means that was as far as they got-they didn't get
an Oscar-they weren't good enough for the real thing.
Thus, the G. G. s provide an actor or movie-maker with nothing more than
delusions of grandeur-at least until March, when the almighty Little Golden
Guy judges his or her true worth. The winners cry and stutter and thank
the Academy. The losers shrug and say, "It was an honor just to be
nominated," which is crap. Their G. G. sans Oscar becomes a torturing
reminder of what could've been. So give it to the dog-and better luck
This past Sunday some lucky people received that symbol of hope-Hollywood's
most precious scratch ticket-the Golden Globe. For what it's worth, I
present some of the highlights from the show.
The obvious conversation piece is that brilliant Aussie Russell Crowe.
He was sporting something awfully close to a mullet, but we'll ignore
that for his sake. His role as the schizophrenic John Nash in A Beautiful
Mind was one of the greatest male performances I've ever seen. Playing
the crazy guy is the surest way to an Oscar, just ask Jack Nicholson.
Crowe has little to worry about come March.
It's thanks to his and Jennifer Connelly's G. G.-honored performance
that the film ended up with the coveted Best Picture-Drama award. Ron
Howard as a director doesn't get anywhere unless he's got some stunning
actors to make his overdramatic storylines realistic. Thankfully, he didn't
get the directing nod-he doesn't deserve it. That one went to Robert Altman
for his exceptional work in the smart social satire Gosford Park-which
is something like Clue with a graduate degree from Oxford, a monocle,
and a generous helping of British accents.
Gosford Park was nominated for a category unique to the Golden
Globes: Best Picture: Musical or Comedy. It faced some tough competition,
particularly from Moulin Rouge, another electrified Baz Luhrmann
freak show, and Shrek, the Disney-bashing animated blockbuster
with a good heart and plenty of laughs. The winner ended up being one
of the most unappreciated good movies of the year: Moulin Rouge.
Some hated it because it was fast, others because it had Nicole Kidman,
and others would rather die than sit through a musical. Well, not only
did it get Best Musical/Comedy, but Kidman, whose dress I want to steal,
also won Best Actress in a Comedy/Musical. So, to anyone who told me it
wasn't worth anything, I say a whiny "I told you so."
I must confess that I was upset that The Royal Tenenbaums, the
year's smoothest intellectual comedy, didn't get the G. G.-but at least
Gene Hackman was recognized. He was so perfect as Royal Tenenbaum, the
ignorant father of a family of geniuses who also happens to be the only
character who laughs.
Thankfully, I was armed with knowledge and appreciation for Sissy Spacek's
award-winning performance in In the Bedroom (which I saw Sunday
afternoon at The Eveningstar-close call). A warning: don't think that
In the Bedroom is some sort of sexual thriller. The title actually
refers to lobster fishing, of all things.
Now that the Golden Globes ordeal is over, the countdown begins to the biggest night in Hollywood-the real thing-the Academy Awards.