After next Sunday, a breather

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized


               The Academy Awards ceremony on 7 March is the last in a ridiculously long line of awards ceremonies, at least until the autumn, when the Emmys and a whole slew of MTV-related shows for film, music, TV, video, and any other classification they get the backing to televise, get their airtime. In between, America will show several different country music awards shows, seemingly making sure that every country artist who’s had a top ten record over the previous year wins SOMETHING! How utterly boring! No matter what the theme of the ceremony, how interesting can it really be to see flavors-of-the-month hoping to get a prize which then increases their profile, drawing power, clout, bank account, ability to get prime tables at any posh restaurant, and any number of other perks? What do we, the viewers, get out of that? Well, unless we bet money on the outcome, nothing. 

                  I must confess, I’ve won THREE awards. My former act, Rick & Ruby, was a favorite among the San Francisco cabaret scene, and for about 5 or six years, they held an annual Bay Area Cabaret awards show, which was usually attended by some 500 people. We were nominated four times for “Best Comedy Group,” and the one time we all showed up at the ceremony, we fucking lost! When the winner was announced, I reacted much the same way Faith Hill did at a country awards show a few years ago; as the camera panned on all five nominees for Female Artist of the Year, and former American Idol winner Carrie Underwood won, the camera stayed on Hill just long enough to catch her giving a look as if to say “What the fuck!” I registered the same shock, as I’ve always been a bit of a sore loser, then proceeded to get drunk and obnoxious. Thus began my lessening interest in awards ceremonies of any kind. By the way, I have no idea whatever happened to my awards, having moved to four different places in LA, then to San Francisco, and three places in London.

                    For the longest time, there was only the Oscars, but in the 1950s there came the Emmys, Grammys, and Tonys, the latter two ceremonies not being televised until the 1970s. Now you got Golden Globes, all the MTV awards shows, and in Britain the BRIT’s and last week’s BAFTA’s. Oh and there’s  all those specialized ones, like for comedy, country music, R&B et al. Have they come up with the Polka awards yet? The Mime awards? Somehow in lieu of keeping track, I decided to boycott them all. 

                     There’s also untelevised film award presentations like Directors’ and Writers’ Guilds, and others within various unions. I got to go to two Directors’ Guild award ceremonies in the early 90s because my then father-in-law was a member. That particular one gets no major push except that it has followed that nearly every winner for best picture there usually takes the big prize at the Oscars as well. I was there the year Hollywood wanted Kevin Costner’s babies for “Dances With Wolves.” Had to at least give him some credit for showing up, since that one’s only attended by a few hundred. But just like all the rest, it was still primarily a schmoozefest. I went on consecutive years, and noticed how all these guys my dad’s age were with girls possibly of legal age. But the next year I went, and very few young devotchkas were there, as this time, which my pa-in-law pointed out, the guys all decided to bring their wives. 

                      So will I watch the Oscars? Maybe, since it is the grandaddy of them all, and although I’m gigging that night in London, the UK telecast doesn’t start until after midnight, just about when I’ll be getting home. It’s been a while since I watched, the last one being when Chris Rock hosted. I thought he did fine, especially when his jokes about Jude Law pissed off Sean Penn enough to compel him to disparage Rock in Law’s defense.  But do I want to see James Cameron give another “King of the World” speech if “Avatar” wins? Only if I also fancy eating three-week-old sushi that’s been cross pollinated with raw hog jowls. 


One Response to “After next Sunday, a breather”

  1. Deb Says:


    Join the ranks of all the other men I know who would rather watch anything on TV than an award show. It’s all about marketing from the red carpet on!

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