Jeremy Renner alluded to it when it was his turn to partake in those cringe-ridden award-presenting duties, with Jennifer Lopez. My mum more than alluded to it, sitting next to me in front of our high definition plasma screen, who's clarity of picture, only served to reinforce our fast-growing assumptions. I also found that as a red blooded, alpha male (if in any doubt see my cropped profile shot above), my wavering eyes beheld a truth; concurrent with both mother and Mr. Renner.
I am, of course referring to Hollywood's leading ladies; boastfully flaunting their bosoms in classless demonstrations of cleavage. It was a conveyor belt of boobies, leaving little to the imagination. At one point I though Mrs. Lopez's nipples would pop out; certainly the highlight for me, of a particularly drab awards ceremony.
Tina Fay and that other woman tried their best to engineer humour on the back of a chilling week's worth of news; no easy feat this writer acknowledges. They even tried to insert some light relief by joking about Bill Cosby (the American Bruce Forsyth, who is battling sex abuse claims), which fell like a lead balloon. It's risky business making jokes about someone half the room probably knows intimately. That said; there is one man particularly good at striking that balance. I couldn't help feel this was a night for Ricky Gervais; who's brash, abrasive and shameless wit, could have guided us through a protracted evening of glorified brown nosing, whilst making fun of it all.
Back to the female midriff he says unapologetically.
Renner told Lopez, "You've got the globes too," referring to her overly exposed dress. It was a witty line seemingly delivered off the cuff, perhaps the only one on the night. Presenters bantered off each other in over-rehearsed, under-planned skits. Winners typically thanked God, their spouses, baby children and an enormous, cumulative list of people we've never heard of, nor care about.
Benedict Cumberbatch acted as weird as Prince looked. Second rate celebrities sat in the poor seats at the back of the room, suffering the ignominy of walking past the real celebs on their way to collecting an award we zoned out about several minutes before. So much of this night was predictable and formulaic, that my mother's commentary on female breasts soon became the highlight. And there was much to chew over in that regard. It's moments such as these, where we mourn the loss of Joan Rivers, who you sense- would have had a field day!
This evening wasn't necessarily an occasion to ask the Hollywood's leading ladies, 'who are you wearing?' Perhaps a more pertinent question would be 'who are you not wearing?'