Monday, September 18, 2017

The 2017 Emmys Review: Brief and Mean

Hollywood and I are breaking up.

I’m waiting for the right moment to tell it since, after last night’s Emmys, I realize we have nothing in common. Other than Carol Burnett, that is…we're both still pretty gaga over her. 

But that’s no longer enough, Hollywood…we are through.

When, during a three hour award show, the classiest woman to be found is RuPaul, in full regalia, pretending to be an Emmy Statuette, you know you’re in trouble. No, you cannot count Emmy Rossum no matter how good she looked because, thanks to "Shameless," we've all seen her boobies more times than I can count and even Alexis Bleidel, looking more like a baby deer caught in the headlights than ever, is disqualified after her recent participation in the unnecessarily atrocious (as in it could have been wonderful) revival of “The Gilmore Girls.”

Last night’s women, who illustrated -- en masse -- that the fashion statement of the evening was matching the colorful gems in their borrowed Chopard earrings with the gem in their borrowed rings, were the tackiest bunch of potty mouths I have experienced since I was caught in traffic on the George Washington Bridge. But I was alone and not on live TV.

And, if they weren’t discussing peeing, or expressing their interest in owning a vibrator or naming their boobs (Dolly Parton is guilty of both of these crimes), they were actually getting bleeped by the network censors. And censors are relatively chill these days.

...there are no good roles for women
out there.

Several also spent their camera time bleating about how grateful they are that Hollywood is finally beginning to provide good roles for women. What in the name of Scarlett O’Hara are they talking about?

Have they forgotten about Vivien Leigh, standing in the ravaged fields of Tara, shaking a gnarled carrot at the sky? Or, Vivien, again, depending on the kindness of strangers or Merle Oberon on the English moors with Heathcliff, Bette Davis experiencing a “bumpy night,” Joan Crawford in Mildred Pierce or, more recently, Cate Blachette, Kate Winslett of Whoopie Goldberg showing us all how it’s done?

Oh, Archie.

But, since this was a night about the “small screen,” how about Diahann Carroll as the independent Julia, Maureen Stapleton’s “Edith” who showed up the small–minded Archie almost every week with her innate wisdom and dignity or Mary Tyler Moore who proved to women everywhere that you don’t need a husband to be successful or content. Roles for women? Where have Nicole Kidman, Reese Witherspoon and others, been hiding? If Cecily Tyson had been alive last night, she might have had a sharp word or two for them.

Not in favor of inclusion.

Inclusion was also a big theme. I’m all for it. But if I’d been a member of any of the groups specifically mentioned again and again, I would have been cringing by the night’s end. If any group needed defending last night, it was whatever birds gave their life for the second fashion statement of the night-- feathered dresses. Those birds had zero representation based on the look of things.

It only got uglier. Literally. 

Enter the misguided trio of unfortunate surgery--Lily Tomlin appeared with very oddly shaped cheek implants that were so low I nearly mistook them for breast implants. Her companion, Dolly Parton, looked as pumped up as the mutant chicken breasts I avoided in Stop ‘n’ Shop last week but the worst offender was Jane Fonda, fresh from her lastest alteration. Her gleaming face was so tight that her odd braying laughter and wink to the audience were barely achievable. These two brilliant women, plus Jane (have you actually seen her act?) should have the gravitas of years of combined experience. Instead Dolly made bra jokes.


For me, there were a few highlights: Donald Glover made me want to binge watch “Atlanta: asap, I love Dave Chappelle almost unconditionally and Alexander Skarsgard needs only to Alexander Skarsgard to make me smile. Speaking of smiling, I’m happy when Kate McKinnon is happy and I love (and am a little afraid of) Ann Dowd although she was far better in “The Leftovers” than in “The Handmaid’s Tale” for which she won her Emmy. I also want to thank Debra Messing for forgetting to pack her dress but improvising with not one but several shower curtains ripped from the rods of a local Ramada Inn.

I was also very happy for newcomer Riz Ahmed who won for his break-out role in “The Night Of.”  And, for the record, I also wish that someone would help Viola Davis find a pair of shoes she can actually walk in. 

Welcome to the dark side, baby....
Rumor has it that Alec Baldwin’s current wife was surreptitiously passing out notes requesting that people “Please help!” her and that the man pretending to be Dennis Quaid last night has been taken into custody for kidnapping the real Dennis Quaid. Dennis, why? At least he and his ex, Meg Ryan now look equally terrifying thanks to unfortunate choices in cosmetic surgeons.

Over all, the night was dismal but I have yet to acknowledge the absolute worst of it….his name is Steven Colbert. Self-satisfied and predictable showcaser of his self-perceived gift for comedy, he ran the show the same way he hosts the formerly excellent “Late Show.” It’s all about him…no, really. 

I just love......ME!!!
He and Jimmy Fallon are tied for who can focus less on their guests and more on themselves. The generations who loved Johnny Carson (and even Leno and Letterman), understand that it’s the guests who are there to shine and the hosts responsibility to make sure that happens. Or at least it used to be. Colbert is unequaled for smugness and self appreciation. Feh.

I may finally be done with award shows.

Hey, wait a minute...I WAS there last night!!!!!


  1. I'm with you sister! Didn't even bother watching, knew it would be a train wreck.....

  2. I'm so glad you sat through it. I watched briefly - just to see the pretty dresses really - must have missed them all. I quickly changed to my favourite House and Garden channel and soothed myself by shouting at the people who 'couldn't possibly share a bathroom with their one child' (aged 3). The world is going to hell in a hand cart. SIGH.

  3. I love your commentary. I went to bed early so I could get up and workout my frustrations :)