My writing partner and I have this running joke. He says that, in the odd event that we ever find ourselves invited to the Emmys, he will stay home and let me handle it all. He says he can't be bothered.
After watching the Emmy broadcast on Sunday night, neither can I.
It's always amazing to me that the show designed to honor excellence in television is usually the worst produced program of the year. And, over the past several seasons, it's been a downward ski slope headed straight for the tree that stopped Sonny Bono. This is the last year of the Television Academy's contract with the four networks and I am wondering if next season's Emmy telecast might be in jeopardy. They may be parceling it out like a Chabad telethon. And, even then, dancing rabbis won't help.
Okay, there was one improvement to talk about. Last year, the hosting duties were shared by the five schmucks who emcee America's "best" reality programs, so the success bar was set very low. Nevertheless, Neil Patrick Harris, who is quickly becoming the host of everything, was terrific. I may even invite him over to handle my guests on Thanksgiving. The guy is immensely talented and injected whatever life he could into the corpse laying across the stage of the Nokia Theater. Every time he walked to the podium, I expected him to hold paddles and yell "clear." He did similar work a few months ago on the Tony Awards, which might even have less viewers than the Emmys. As long as viewership to award shows doesn't dwindle down to the single digits, Neil will always have a job. I would, however, ditch the white dinner jacket. He reminded me of Ricky Ricardo singing "Cuban Pete" at the Tropicana.
In an effort to streamline the Emmys, the producers separated awards by genre or compartments. First, it was comedy, followed by reality, and so forth. It had the look of a high school senior's day. Chemistry, followed by American History, and then it's off to the cafeteria for lunch. It's tough to make this kind of award stuff go faster. After all, you don't enter a donkey in the Preakness.
All throughout, there was a scroll at the bottom of the screen that overinformed you about what was coming next. "Alec Baldwin coming up in 8 minutes." This gave viewers seven minutes warning that they needed to leave the room. Indeed, there were some actors and actresses heralded to arrive in six minutes and several had careers who had barely lasted even that long.
All along the way, it became chic for nominees, winners, and presenters to remind us that the Emmy Award telecast usually sucks. That word was actually even used by Jon Stewart, who is fast becoming as annoying as yesterday's breakfast dishes. Why do you want to advertise your own mediocrity? If you keep telling viewers they're in for a rotten time, they just may have one. And, Mr. or Miss Celebrity, if the evening is so offensive or dull, why do you even bother to show up? You could easily have your Emmy gratefully accepted by LL Cool J on your behalf.
There were other lapses of intelligence. Early on, the nominees for Best Supporting Actress in a Comedy all sported funny eyeglasses when they were shown on screen. Obviously, the entire prop budget for the show was dedicated to a shopping spree at the 99 Cent store. I worried that this would be an idea that carried over for the whole night. A smarter head prevailed and I am thinking there are now a lot of novelty gag items sitting in a dumpster behind the Staples Center.
There were some other loose carpet falls. When they were showing the nominees for Best Actress in a Comedy, some stepladder named Sarah Silverman opted to wear a moustache which made her look like Adolphe Menjou. Ha, ha, funny joke, not. Of course, when she thankfully lost, the camera focused on her again so she could sneer and upstage winner Toni Collette's moment. I was hoping that two things would occur. Toni would bitchslap Sarah on the way to the stage and then use her acceptance speech to explain to me just what show she won for.
They inexplicably used some idiot to do color commentary as winners walked to accept their Emmys. He sounded like one of those tennis announcers who wanted to speak in decibels no louder than Queen Elizabeth. A cute idea, but the factoids they shared were supposed to be funny and, of course, were not.
"This is Jon Cryer's first Emmy win while wearing black Goldtoe socks."
"This is Kristin Chenowith's second Emmy and that surprises us all as she has a voice that is discernible only to small dogs."
"Jessica Lange had a Botox injection yesterday and it held nicely, thank you very much."
When Bruce Gowers won his award for directing "American Idol," he talked about his first television job 58 years ago. This immediately got applause from the crowd. I wondered if the next scroll at the bottom of the screen would read "Bruce Gowers dead in five minutes..." That might have given him enough time to be included in the "In Memoriam" segment which was "coming in ten minutes."
In another inexplicable moment, they showed clips of Obama's inauguration in a montage about TV variety shows. As if the swearing-in of a President could really top an episode of "Saturday Night Live." I'm thinking the inauguration would have locked up the Emmy if they had the Smothers Brothers hold the Bible. Or maybe if Michelle Obama had unveiled her new plate spinning act.
I had precious few nominees that I was rooting for. I'm delighted that Cherry Jones won for playing the President on "24" and I only wish she really had the job. I was sick to death that Jim Parsons didn't score a Best Actor Emmy for "The Big Bang Theory." Parsons lost to that big lummox Alec Baldwin, who won again for "30 Rock." I am guessing he gets Academy votes sheerly on the basis that people are afraid he will punch them in the mouth.
Top show honors went again to "30 Rock" and "Mad Men," two programs that generate even less viewership than a Shamwow infomercial. For me, they should both win "Best Mystery," as I remain completely addled by their critical success. I have tried on countless occasions to get hooked on the shows and I am quickly disengaged. I am not interested in the inner workings of a SNL-like show, so "30 Rock" naturally gets none of my attention. As for "Mad Men," the setting of Madison Avenue during the Sixties should be a grabber for me. But, the show so violently swings between being underwritten and overwritten that the plotlines feel like repeated blows to my head. But, I am apparently in a minority. When "Mad Men" creator Matthew Weiner grabbed the statue, he talked about his great year. "First, the election and now this." So, obviously, he focuses on mad men in all areas.
Sadly, I was waiting for Kanye West to show up and berate the whole festivities. He apparently chose not to attend.
Just like my writing partner.
Dinner last night: Turkey burger and pasta salad.
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