And ... action

The true extent to which I am an unapologetic movie tragic is this admission of guilty pleasure - that I sought out and followed live updates of the mildly ridiculous - maybe much more than "mildly" ridiculous - Golden Globes ceremony.  I follow it liveevery year. Hell, I even sometimes enjoy the speeches (although, to be honest, there were fewer gems this year than in years gone bye.)

It strikes me as a bit odd of me that I have opinions about which people or films ought to win.  I mean - in the first and most obvious instance - frankly my dear, [the universe] don't give a damn 'bout what you think Douglas.  And secondly, ever mindful of how Joaquim Phoenix was so brilliantly pinned for pomposity by the hosts, the whole idea of awards ceremonies is so absurd ... and yet.  No less absurdly - one cares.  It's satisfying to me - even though I have nothing whatsoever to do with its making - that The Grand Budapest Hotel was recognised.  I would have liked Ralph Feinnes to have won Best Actor award even though I've not yet seen the winning performance by Michael Keaton in Birdman (and I have very little doubt that when I do see it I shall be no less captivated than were the voters of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association).  Silly, silly Douglas.  No less absurd than the event itself, perhaps more so.

The stars of the evening were, as we had all hoped and expected, the ever-brilliant hosts Tina Fey and Amy Poehler.  My favourite among their many perceptive jokes was their subtle, pointed but still fond dig at Hollywood with George Clooney at its centre.  Hadley Freeman references this joke in her good article in the Guardian Online here:

“George Clooney married Amal Almuddin this year. Amal is a human rights lawyer who worked on the Enron case; was an adviser to Kofi Annan regarding Syria; and was selected for a three-person UN commission investigating rules of war violations in the Gaza Strip. So tonight … her husband is getting a lifetime achievement award”

That and other observations stand in such contrast to the ways the women in the industry, who make hundreds of millions of dollars for the production and distribution companies, are scrutinised, assessed, praised or denigrated on the red carpet.  I doubt that any of the men run such a gauntlet.  But that's the point Hadley Freeman makes better than I ever could.

As absurd as the whole three ring circus may be I'll still seek out the Oscars and, if anything, care about the results more deeply.  I know that not a piece of it all - the Globes, the Oscars, the whole great caravan of movie makers, comic singers, dancers and players amounts to Humphrey Bogart's famous hill of beans (see Casablanca) but - beyond all its absurdity - in this harsh and sometimes hurtful world we live in it somehow matters more than I can say.