incidents of blindness from
glowing pearly teeth
last night, emmy night
the use of bronzer was just
so out of control
that mariska h?
looked like she just stepped out of
I have to admit, the Emmy’s have never kept me as rapt as the Oscars (except maybe when the X-Files was nominated). Yet, somehow I’m drawn to watch all 17 hours of the Emmy broadcast, even though I haven’t seen hardly any of shows for lack of cable.
So last night, just like ever other Emmy night, I sat back in my comfy chair, hollered for silence, and then struggled to stay awake as I watched the boob tube illuminati pat themselves on the back and generally celebrate their overall superiority over everyone else. And that’s cool. I mean, it’s an awards show, why not go a little crazy with self-indulgence?
It was interesting, though, to see the uncomfortable shifting in seats that ensued when Garry Shandling (the overly bronze host) brought out two regular ol’ people to give out the Emmy for best reality contest show. The two regular people were brought out onstage, blindfolded and wearing giant earphones, so that they presumably had no idea where they were going. When it was unveiled to them where they were, well, they freaked. The dude started to cry, proclaiming that all of his favorite people were in the audience. And the girl went a little apeshit about Brad Pitt being so close to her. At first, I hated this. I thought it was kind of making fun of regular people, putting their stupidity on display so that the TV illuminati could laugh at them (much like playing the piano for your high school talent show after the cheerleaders come out and wiggle their butts).
But what happened was that the illuminati were made to feel very uncomfortable. Here a lot of them were, sitting there in their uncomfortable dresses and suits and shoes thinking, “God, when is this going to be over so I can go get smashed at the after party?” When, lo, regular folk – folk that make it possible for the illuminati to have jobs – were on stage flipping out at the extravagance and the specialness of the evening. I think it brought some of the stars back to earth for a minute.
Or maybe not.
Anyway, as a whole, the show kind of sucked. Why give Garry Shandling and Ray Romano five minutes to perform inane schtick from the men’s room instead of letting the winners have a measly 30 extra seconds to thank people? There were a bunch of irritating moments like that, but I guess without them it wouldn’t be an awards show.
I did like the fact that writers seemed to get a lot of extra props this year. They were thanked a lot, and the thank-you speeches they gave were generally better than everyone else’s – it was exciting to watch. And when Terence Winter, the writer who won for the Sopranos, talked about having written for the New Adventures of Flipper, I found myself wishing for a crap TV writing job so that I could be on my way to becoming one of the illuminati that I love to make fun of.
Ah, well. I enjoy being part of the story-time and dance class illuminati. And I enjoy working my way towards being part of the “I have a published novel” or at least “I have a literary agent” illuminati. So who needs bronzer and botox and a sweaty dress worth a gazillion dollars? Not me. But I would like one of the presenter gift baskets.