Woody’s name is muddy
January 12, 2009
What’s happened with Woody Allen? Ok, he ran off with his adopted daughter, or something like that (don’t hold me to anything lawyers, I’m just riffing on dubious memories), but that was years ago, and Hollywood’s always quick to forgive (take Kiefer Sutherland, done for drunk driving, beginning his next 24 hours of hell this very evening). So, assuming Woody’s forgiven, why the cold shoulder at the Golden Globe’s tonight?
Vicky Cristina Barcelona won a Golden Globe. At the Golden Globes. Tonight. For best Comedy or Musical. I’m guessing comedy. I haven’t seen it. And yes, for reasons that must make sense to someone somewhere, comedy and musical are lumped together.
So… VCB, as I’m choosing to call it… I can’t stay up late, I’m flying home tomorrow… VCB gets a Globe and everyone troops up to get it. A bunch of people. I don’t know, six or seven, or five. A little woman stands upfront to do the talking. I don’t know who she is; If I had more time I’d find out- I don’t like being rude. I’ve just realised, it may seem rude me failing to recognise her as a producer or, who knows, Penelope Cruz? But she was short.
Anyways, they troop up, she troops up, and the first thing she says is that she’s nervous. Nervous? What’s this? She starts off by pinching Woody’s shtick! What next? Will she be nauseous? So she speaks, and she speaks, thanks and thanks… and I’m thinking what about Woody? I’ve not seen the film, but he did direct it, didn’t he? And write it? So she gets to the end and says something like “oh, and thanks Woody.” And that’s it! Not even “Thanks Woody Allen.”
The whole thing took place, the film won a major award, and everyone was in denial as to Woody Allen’s contribution. Well, that’s not fair.
Earlier on in my break here in the States I babysat with my mother while my sister and her husband enjoyed a trip to San Francisco. They have Films on Demand here and so I demanded a Woody Allen film. We watched Love and Death.
Sonja, are you scared of dying?
Scared is the wrong word. I’m frightened of it.
That’s an interesting distinction.
I pinched that from here.
Give Woody Allen a break. If you’re going to give him a Golden Globe at least give him a proper name check.
Other Golden Globe trivia…
Well done Mickey Rourke, and nice tribute to the dogs. You’re right, a man alone can always rely on his dogs, or something like that.
Well done Alec Baldwin. Steve Carell in The Office is funny, but you beat him. ‘Cause you’re funny too. Well done 30 Rock. Well done Tracy Morgan for funny speech. Well done other funny people… Ricky Gervais, you had to work but you got there. Shame you’re not doing the Oscars. Sascha Baron Cohen hesitantly delivering some good jokes, but the audience somehow going all coy. Oh, and the guy from the American Office… Excellently following Kate Winslet with “We’re just TV actors” and pointing out that “the English actresses” stole the crying from you.
I’m going to get hard now because it makes me angry. Revolutionary Road, I suspect, will be most excellent. But how can I enjoy it when one of the parts of a work of art let’s down the said work by, well, crying like a big baby. A script doesn’t cry. a prop doesn’t cry. A light doesn’t cry. Actors! Learn your lines, do your job, and then… well, no then. Job done. Oh, Kate! Twice! And the second time I really did think I could see the performance. Is it really that upsetting? Is it really that big a deal? We’re you not just doing your job? Was it not just fun? Working with your husband? Having your kids on set? Could you not just have got up on that stage and, effectively, gone “whoopee! Thanks! Who’d a’ thought! Two!”
I’m sorry to rant. It’s out of place for me. But tonight I was a guest in America and Kate Winslet made me want to grovel an apology. I wanted to run on home.