Back, and Spanx Rules the Red Carpet
Academy Awards are upon us once again. By the time this goes to press we
will all be standing around the water cooler and expressing our shocked
outrage about the no-talent pretty boy who stole the Oscar for The
Best Use Of Optical Flow-Based Image Manipulation. Set the TiVo – I
don’t want to miss a minute!
We are, in
fact, TiVo-ing our way toward the climax of The Season Of
Eye-Watering Award Shows. This is that magic time of year when we
get to watch, transfixed, as every possible subdivision of the
entertainment industry gathers together to honor their members who in
the past year have accumulated the most headlines without actually being
already been through the Golden Globe Awards, which is a sort of dress
rehearsal for the Academy Awards. The Golden Globe Awards are presented
by the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, so the winners get to brag
about their international appeal, while the losers get to say, “Whut do
them-there ‘feriners know about art anyhow?”
the Grammies, in which a parade of strangely-clad musicians troop up to
the microphone to give all the credit for their accomplishments to God,
the sycophants in their entourage and the miracles of pharmaceutical
chemistry. I have heard that the Grammy committee plans to introduce a
lifetime achievement award for the Rap or Hip-Hop artist who has
survived the most drive-by shootings. This will dovetail perfectly with
the honorary awards they’ve been giving out for those who didn’t.
Music Awards are a nice contrast to the Grammies. These performers tend
to be more down-to-earth and, by and large, more indebted for their
success to Jesus and Jack Daniels.
there are the lesser-known shows. My favorite of these is Film
Independent’s Spirit Awards, honoring the year’s finest independent
films. Independent films are officially defined as, “Films with
jack-squat for promotion budgets, so pretty much nobody will ever hear
of them.” Watching the Spirit Awards, you can learn about incredibly
good work by innovative directors, writers and actors. Of course, you
will probably never see any of this good work in a theater unless you
live in New York, San Francisco or Cannes.
The best thing about any award show is the Red
Carpet. This is the part where all the famous people walk into the venue
past interviewers, photographers and adoring masses, and you get to see
what the women are wearing. OK, I know that sounds sexist, but that’s
just the way it is. A male celebrity’s idea of daring attire is wearing
blue jeans with a tuxedo jacket, and Billy Bob Thornton burned that one
out years ago.
The women, on the other hand, are always
finding new and more interesting ways for their outfits to defy gravity
and the censors. Every time a limo door swings open, we are teased with
the tantalizing possibility that a wisp of silk will slip or a sequin
will pop off, and we may get a momentary glimpse of a bit of anatomy
that we could easily see our fill of, just by coughing up $8.50 for a
ticket and another $12.00 for a diet Coke and a bucket of buttered
I’ve always found all of this really
entertaining to watch – purely, you understand, from the point-of-view
of the theoretical physics involved.
I have recently become disillusioned, however,
by the discovery that these women are not really tempting fate to the
extent I had always imagined. It seems that there are clothing designers
who specialize in creating these outfits to look daring, while employing
the latest technological advances in polymer fabrics and two-sided
carpet tape to maintain a family rating for the entire Red Carpet
There is a type of undergarment, called Spanx,
that can hide beneath a whisper, and still squeeze two dress sizes off
an actress who may have got a little too involved with a tub of buttered
popcorn at her movie’s premiere. There are even makeup artists who use
an airbrush to add suntans, eliminate wrinkles, and even (I know this is
absolutely true, because I read it on the Internet) add the appearance
of toned muscles to all those areas that are not obscured by whispers
Oh well. I guess if I wanted reality, along
with the genuine possibility of wardrobe malfunction, I should just
stick with the halftime shows at the Super Bowl.
Copyright © 2007,
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© 2007 Michael Ball.
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