Mary Hart presents the Best Motion Picture Award, musical or comedy, to Sweeney Todd at the Golden Globes in Beverly Hills, California.
By RICHARD CORLISS
It’s not an awards show with the vibe of an all-star party; it’s a party masquerading as an awards show. That’s the Golden Globes when it’s in full, fulsome flower. For one night, the TV viewer gets up-front gawking privileges, a chance to see George and Johnny and Julia and Jodie act, not like actors, but like movie stars — looking great, cracking wise, radiating celestial glamour. That’s why the Golden Globes is the third-highest rated of these annual bashes, after the Oscars and the Grammys.
The point was proved last night when, because of the actors’ union’s support of the writer’s guild strike, the Globes show limped onto the small screen as a brief “news conference” covered by four networks instead of the usual three-hour bash on NBC. The Beverly Hilton Hotel was a mausoleum, no sexier than a high-school auditorium stage; and the reading of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association’s awards had about as much zazz as the principal’s speech on fire safety.
The import of the awards was also reduced. Typically they are seen as leading indicators for the Oscars. This time, who knows? Will Atonement, deemed Best Drama, and Sweeney Todd, the Best Comedy or Musical (we say Musical), even be nominated by the Motion Picture Academy? And if Hollywood grandees don’t ornament their big dinner, isn’t the HFPA revealed as, let us say, one of the lesser critics’ groups? Without the star-stacked, televised party, they’re just 82 schlubs with funny accents.
For the record, the main winners in the dramatic acting categories were Daniel Day-Lewis (in There Will Be Blood) and Julie Christie (Away from Her). Johnny Deep (Sweeney Todd) and Marion Cotillard (La Vie en Rose) won for comedy or musical. The Supporting prizes went to Javier Bardem (No Country for Old Men) and Cate Blanchett (I’m Not Here). For you xenophobes keeping score, yes, that’s five foreign winners — two Anglos, a Frenchwoman, a Spaniard and an Aussie — and an American who lives in France. All these winners are shoo-ins for Oscar nominations. So is Juno, the indie comedy that has that Little Miss Sunshine sheen and has already topped Sunshine’s total box-office gross.
The foreign-language film award went to The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, made in France by New Yorker Julian Schnabel, and Ratatouille, set in France but made by Pixar, was the animation winner. Schnabel was named Best Director, and Joel and Ethan Coen got the Screenplay nod for No Country for Old Men. Somehow, NBC —whose president Jeff Zucker has been a belligerent voice against the striking writers — didn’t find time in its vacuous hour-long show to mention the writing award.
In other years I’ve parsed the portents of the Globe awards, and applauded or derided the winners’ speeches. This time there was no star wattage; the announcers on the channels I watched all sank into a sea of blandness and blondness. As for hints of Oscar triumphs and upsets… honestly, does it matter? It’s my job to care, and I don’t. Movie audiences may feel similarly indifferent toward Feb. 24 Oscar show — and not just because, if the strike lasts, it too will be hobbled. Deprived of their usual chance to suck on the helium of the Globes’ star quality, filmgoers may be less eager to catch up with the Oscar nominees when they’re announced Jan. 22.
Last night’s starless show underlines how much the awards hoopla, and the Globes as a free, high-rated showcase, mean to the “little” films that get nominations. The HFPA may have lots of stars, and several blockbusters, among their finalists; but like every critics’ group it wants to remember the neediest, to reward the little movies that could. Producers of indie films often factor the “Globes bump” into their production and marketing budgets. Exposure on the Globes program puts their product in front of millions of new eyes and can mean millions at the box office.
But what happens when the worthy film that people haven’t seen depends for its promotional push on an awards show that people didn’t watch? Multiply this negative number by the missed opportunities for stars’ late-night flackery on Leno, Kimmel and The Daily Show — all being boycotted by the actors’ union — and the result may be a big, mass-audience yawn that will hurt the indie films’ chance to make a few bucks.
The HFPA has taken heat for being a club of undistinguished foreign newsmen, desperately avid for access to the stars. Show business reporters for some top newspapers (The Times of London and Le Monde, for example) are not among its members (though others, including The Daily Telegraph and Rome’s La Reppublica, are.) But the important point isn’t the pedigree of the journal; it’s the job of the journalist. And the job of most HFPA members is to cover the entertainment industry, not to write film reviews. They should be voting on Most Cooperative Actor, Least Obstructive Publicist, Best Free Hors d’Oeuvres (Premiere or Junket).
Actually, the parasitic relationship of the HFPA to the movie industry is part of its raffish charm. The group was founded in 1945, the same year as the United Nations, and in the spirit of postwar amity its first awards list included a citation for Best Film for Promoting International Good Will. But the Association soon found a way to distinguish itself from the Oscars: by giving prizes for people who don’t win Oscars. In 1950 it instituted a Most Promising Newcomer award. (What the young actors had to promise the members remained vague.) This was the category that, 22 years later, brought scandal on the HFPA when shady businessman Meshulam Riklis invited the gang to Las Vegas to meet his young wife, Pia Zadora, then gracing a turkey called Butterfly (Diving Bell not included), and, presto, she won the prize.
Through the 50s, the HFPA found inventively silly ways to honor celebrities who might never grace an Academy Award stage. Guy Madison was named Best Western Star (for acting in horse operas, not visiting the hotel chain). A category called World Film Favorite could be roughly translated as: a famous person who’ll come to our party. Early winners here included Marilyn Monroe, Kim Novak and swimming star Esther Williams. In 1956 Williams received a second honored: the Hollywood Citizenship Award. (Only two of these were handed out, Ronald Reagan winning the other one.) Zsa Zsa Gabor was named Most Glamorous Actress in 1958, the year she starred in the no-budget sci-fi farce Queen of Outer Space. Considering that Zsa Zsa was mainly famous for her many marriages (now 90, she’s been wed nine times), the citation was really kind of a Wife Achievement Award.
Some of the HFPA’s goofier inspirations have stuck, like the Miss Golden Globe designation, begun in 1963 in homage to the sweet young thing of the moment. The honoree usually comes from Hollywood royalty (Tippi Hedren’s daughter Melanie was Miss G.G. in 1975, and 31 years later the slot went to Griffith’s daughter Dakota Johnson). It’s one more way of guaranteeing that one more proud parent, who just happens to be a movie star, will show up.
This year, though, nobody showed. Blanchett graciously issued a thank-you statement anyway. Schnabel watched the show on an airport TV set, and told a reporter he was pleased. The rest presumably saved their acceptance speeches in hopeful anticipation of delivering them on the Oscar show — if there is one. I have to say that, for all the flak the usual Globes dinner takes, I missed the parade of the elite, the witticisms and platitudes, the stars chatting one another up, or stuck in traffic or the bathroom. I can forgive the Hollywood Foreign Press Association almost anything, so long as, next year, they lure their famous guests back to their party.
