Golden Globes: I’d Prefer Being Waterboarded

To put it mildly, watching the Golden Globes telecast was even more excruciating than waiting for your dentist to stop drilling a back tooth.

First, after all the glowing publicity about talented Tina Fey and Amy Poehler doing some biting, topical comedy, it didn’t happen. Their too brief moments on stage were simpering, subdued and couldn’t overcome hours of pure boredom.

The parade of my-cleavage-is-lower-than-yours women, and my-tux-is-more-idiotic-than-yours men did nothing to pep up the yawnathon. It was painful watching the miopic presenters, who were drunk and/or buzzed when they lamely squinted at the cue cards. And why must the winners always need to gush on and on naming those who should remain nameless?

The self-important event was produced by the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, or HFPA. (Translate: How Foolish People Act). Of the thousands of reporters, gossipers and sycophants who cover Hollywood, there can’t be more than a dozen or so from other lands.

How did those feckless foreign flacks get so self-important that they have their own major awards show? With the ever-growing number of such meaningless drivel, maybe next year we’ll see prizes voted by the International Brotherhood of Plumbers.

This very old movie fan has one fading wish. When they broadcast the Academy Awards program next month, I can dream it will be hosted by a hologram of the late Bob Hope, who’d be considerably more lively than Sunday night’s walking dead.


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