I turn on the radio in semi-sleep mode in order to hear the news on Radio Five Live. The station isn’t what it was, having descended into Talk Radio country with endless unofficial phone-ins, away from the rolling news station it used to be. For all that, it’s still better for me than stuffy Radio Four and the Today programme’s startlingly anti-Brexit tone. This morning, it turns into Hello!
Endless handovers to Colin Paterson on the red carpet reminds me that it’s the dog end of Oscars night in Hollywood. Paterson’s job is twofold. First, to tell the world who has won the awards and second to get drab, bland interviews with luvvies. “Elton, Elton!” he cried as the veteran songster jumped the long queue to get into the Vanity Fayre party, which is presumably (because I don’t actually know) a gathering of post show luvvies. Understandably, Elton ignored Paterson’s shouted Scottish ramblings, although the reporter did manage to tell us what the old boy was wearing. Who is interested in this stuff?
Not me, that’s for sure. I never understand the point of media award shows at the best of times, especially when I have not seen any of the films or shows upfront or awards. Rami Malek won a gong for his part in the Freddie Mercury tribute film Bohemian Rhapsody and Olivia Colman won something for appearing in something else. Okay. And? Who is to say who the best actor is, which is the best screenplay or best song? Surely it’s all in the ears and eyes of the beholder?
Sometimes, I get the distinct impression that media organisations assume there are things we want to see, rather than what we actually like. The head honchos must be thinking, “What would those pleb listeners enjoy more than a hastily assembled and instantly forgettable chat with Richard E Grant?” I suppose there must be someone who would have become quite orgasmic and Mr Grant politely spoke about nothing at all. Happily, I don’t think I know anyone like that.
And that ‘red carpet’, those ‘VIPs’. Do me a favour. They’re just actors with more money than god. They’re not better than me. I won’t be doffing my cap as they pass Colin Paterson on their way to the Vanity Fayre party, and why? Because I just don’t care.
The Oscars is for luvvies doting after more luvvies. In these days of multichannel TV, couldn’t someone set up a station for them and their followers in order to broadcast the celebrity tat and the worship of false idles, whether they be actors or minor royals? It’s not just me that doesn’t give a toss, is it?
