“So, if you do win an award tonight, don’t use it as a platform to make a political speech. You’re in no position to lecture the public about anything. You know nothing of the real world. You spent less time in school than Greta Thunberg. So, if you win, come up, accept your little award, thank your agent and your god, and (bleep) off, okay?” – Ricky Gervais
I have to confess I haven’t watched an awards show involving the Hollywood illuminati since the 1970s. It was about then that they took to hectoring the public about the abject stupidity, absurdity, and derangement that, to their utter disgust, existed in the world through no fault of their own. Thus, it became standard fare for people in the entertainment industry to use an awards show as a platform for political speech with a distinctly leftward tilt. They somehow thought it sensible to share their wisdom with us—the great unwashed—so that we might come to see the pressing issues more clearly. Or better yet, so that we might come to see their next picture. Sadly, I’ve probably missed a near lifetime of opportunities to learn and grow from their musings. And if so, if I have missed out, I have no one to blame but myself. Alas, I must be strong and carry on.
But I digress.
While I didn’t watch the Golden Globe Awards of 2020 in real time, I did learn of host Ricky Gervais’ verbal broadside into the coiffed, perfumed Hollywood elites in full feather, gathered once again to celebrate their eminence. When I saw the monologue on YouTube a day or so later, I became an instant Ricky Gervais fan. As the camera panned the audience, there sat the vulgar De Niro whose Use By date expired long ago; the uber talented Tom Hanks whose strained expression mirrored that of someone discovering a rat’s tooth in his steak tartare; and, but of course, the lovely Brad Pitt.
There was also Ellen and Jen and Leo and Meryl. Tim Cook from Apple was there. I didn’t see Jane Fonda among the chosen, however. Perhaps she was vacationing abroad. Hanoi, perhaps? And I didn’t notice Michael Moore, who’s about as easy to miss as a Serengeti rhino. The key difference between the African rhino and Michael Moore is that the rhino isn’t likely a single jelly donut away from a cardiac event. Neither did I see Harvey Weinstein, who was such a looming presence in that culture for far too long.
When I did see the Ricky Gervais monologue, I was stunned at first, much like those in the audience. A moment later, I was gleeful, much unlike those in the audience. It was a bit reminiscent of the glee I felt when the amateurs from the USA beat the pros from the USSR in Olympic hockey; or when the ferocious but unassuming Evander Holyfield stopped the bullying Mike Tyson on a TKO; or when the intrepid Harry Truman fired the imperious Douglas MacArthur over the latter’s insubordination. In each case, the exalted were, for however briefly, made to seem less so. And when the hot puffy windbags of Tinseltown were punctured and left lying limp, they seemed so ordinary, so meager. Forgive me, but it was a moment to be savored. And remembered. Just like the other ones mentioned above.
As if that wasn’t enough, Ricky even took a sip of the beer he had brought to the podium. A sort of victory sip, I gathered.
Well then, it’s likewise only fitting to raise a glass and proclaim, “Here’s to you, Ricky Gervais. Cheers, mate. And thank you.”
Heck, I might start watching the awards shows again.
