Santa Clarita Diet (Netfix series, debuting 2.3) is a zombie comedy from creator-producer-showrunner Victor Fresco (Better Off Ted) and costarring Drew Barrymore and Timothy Olyphant. (They presented an award on last night’s Golden Globe telecast.) The single-camera series, debuting on 2.3, will consist of 13 episodes. The basic deal is that Drew and Timothy are Santa Clarita real-estate agents, except Drew has just died and been reborn as a zombie. I’m sorry but how is that even a little bit funny? Question #1 (and it’s a big one): Why allude to a diet of any kind when you’re talking about eating human flesh? Tom Hanks: “There’s no crying in baseball!” Jeffrey Wells: “You can’t lose weight eating meat, organs and eyeballs!” Why not just call the show Santa Clarita Zombies?

A couple of days ago Heat Street‘s Tom Teodorczuk asked me to tap out a piece about a now-dormant issue that might have caused trouble for Casey Affleck, but didn’t. Here it is — the freelance gig I alluded to yesterday afternoon.

Last night’s post-Golden Globe Amazon party, held inside the Starlight penthouse on the eighth floor of the Beverly Hilton, was one of the best Hollywood parties I’ve ever been to in my life. Really! I mean, it was wonderful to just stroll around and say to yourself, “I’m here, this is it, right now, as good as it gets”…”look at these women, ain’t nothin’ like ’em nowhere“…and then to stand on the east-facing balcony and feel the cool night air and look out at the sprawling, humming city in all its moistness and faint fog. Take a moment, be happy, savor the wonder.

Awesome vibe, great air conditioning, creme de la creme attendees (the Manchester By The Sea gang plus Ben Affleck, Billy Bob Thornton, Amazon super-honcho Jeff Bezos, a nattily-dressed Scott Foundas), great sounds from The Roots along with a superb DJ-ing by Questlove, the prettiest women (most in their 30s and 40s, some 20s)… every element was on a level 9 or 10.

There was a horrible, mile-long line in the Hilton lobby just to get into the Amazon-bound elevators [see video clip after the jump] but Hollywood Elsewhere and the loyal and resourceful Svetlana Cvetko are not line-waiters. We knew what to do! Picked up our wristbands, found a staircase, took a deep breath and walked up the eight flights (i.e., 16 staircases divided by a landing). Ingenuity, lung power, determination, aching calf and thigh muscles.

You can’t just go up to Casey Affleck or Matt Damon without an opening line, and the only one I could think of last night (even though I’ve spoken to them both two or three times) was “hey, guys, Jeffrey Wells…longtime worshipper of Manchester By The Sea going back to Sundance and more particularly a guy who’s been filing left and right (as well as quoted by the Guardian Rory Carroll) about how everyone…uhm, well, I just love the film.”

Svetlana and I spoke to Goliath‘s Billy Bob Thornton for the requisite two or three minutes. (As soon as you start talking to a celebrity at a party like this, a little 120-second kitchen timer is wound up and released….tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick…90 seconds left!…tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick.) BBT told us that he’s looking to shoot a comedy- western later this year about “the first psychiatrist to set up shop in the Old West.” Great idea!

Jimmy Fallon‘s tribute to La La Land‘s musical freeway number, which opened last night’s Golden Globe Awards telecast, was beautifully done — hats off, seriously, to the team behind this. Perfectly done. Not easy to get this stuff right.

Casey Affleck and Emma Stone did well with their acceptance speeches, I thought, which will certainly help as far as the Academy fence-sitters are concerned. Huzzah for La La‘s seven wins. I was sorry about Manchester being blanked except for Casey (Kenneth Lonergan‘s screenplay is absolutely the pick of the litter) but “the HFPA guys live in their own little world,” as one guy commented.

The Golden Globe gathering was the happiest, most full-hearted social gathering…actually, the only truly happy and full-hearted family event I’ve taken part in since the 11.8 election. Hundreds upon hundreds of people who “get it,” who walk the walk, who know how to dress (except the 20- and 30something guys who wore shiny plastic shoes), who all behaved in a well-mannered and super-considerate fashion, and who for the most part despise Donald Trump and perhaps (if they think like me) the mostly downmarket, dull-witted low-lifes who voted for him.

Not everyone, of course. I passed the silver-haired, arch-conservative Jon Voight in the lobby, and I resisted the urge to say “yo, Jon!…you gave some of the greatest performances of the ’70s (Coming Home, Deliverance) and you’re supporting a President who’s appointed a climate-change denier to head the EPA? What’s wrong with you, man?”

All hail Elle‘s Isabelle Huppert and Paul Verhoeven, who both won awards last night — Best Actress, Drama, and Best Foreign Language Film.

Hats off and best wishes, in fact, to all of last night’s winners. Except for Aaron Johnson, that is. Yes, I’m sorry but really, I mean this. Sitting through Johnson’s performance in Nocturnal Animals, a no-holds-barred inhabiting of a repulsive scurvy animal of the lowest biological order, was easily one of my most distasteful moviegoing experiences of 2016. And they gave him an award for this? Why? To what end?

Mahershala Ali just before they announced the winner of the Golden Globe award for Best Supporting Actor: “Okay, be cool…it’s happening. You’re on a roll, dawg, and everyone is with you. And your notes are in your inside breast pocket. Be cool, wait for it, any second now…what?”

Meryl Streep let Donald Trump have it right between the eyes last night, deploring his “instinct to humiliate” and more particularly a “performance” he gave earlier this year that “stunned” her, she said, and “sank its hooks in my heart…not because it was good…there was nothing good about it…but it was effective and it did its job. It made its intended audience laugh, and show their teeth.

“It was that moment when the person asking to sit in the most respected seat in our country imitated a disabled reporter,” she explained. Everyone knew what she meant, but for those who’ve been living in a deep cave, the video clip is below.

One of Trump’s tweeted responses put Streep down as an “over-rated” actress. Really? Of all the retorts in all the gin joints in all the world, that‘s what he went with?

8:01 pm: Moonlight, to my surprise, beats Manchester By The Sea for Best Picture, Drama. I respect Moonlight but I politely and respectfully disagree with this decision. But this is America, folks. We like what we like and love what we love. Barry Jenkins: “Tell a friend, tell a friend, tell a friend.”

7:58 pm: Isabelle Huppert wins Best Actress, Drama — the second big upset of the night! (The other being Mahershala Ali‘s shutdown.) What happened to the Natalie Portman movement or groundswell or whatever? Best Actress Oscar Advantage: Emma Stone.

7:51 pm: Manchester By The Sea‘s Casey Affleck takes Best Actor, Drama…of course. Carved in stone, foretold by the Gods. And they’re playing him off! Casey rambled a bit, but he kept it real. The Fox party is totally in chit-chat, wallah-wallah, have-another-drink mode. Nobody except for myself, Variety‘s Kris Tapley and maybe seven or eight others are actually watching the show. They’re all checking Twitter for the latest.

7:45 pm: Six Golden Globe awards for La La Land with the winning of Best Comedy or Musical Feature, or whatever it’s called. Non-Dramatic bing bang hoo-hah.

Apologies for the cruddy resolution of the below video, but the absence of wifi in the Fox tent means I can’t upload a high-quality version.

Renowned cinematographer and HE wifi-provider Svetlana Cvetko.

7:35 pm: Emma Stone wins Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy…of course! I’ll listen to her acceptance speech later! Because I’m surrounded by champagne-buzzed, dressed-to-the-nines 30somethings going “yap yap yap yop yap yap yap yap….who won? Oh, Emmma Stone, whatever…yap yap yap yop yap yap yap.”

7:22: La La Land‘s Damien Chazelle wins for Best Director. Everything falls perfectly into line. Donald Glover, the Atlanta guy, wins for Best Actor in a Comedy or Musical Series. Four Globe awards for La La Land so far — zip for Manchester (wait for Casey) and Moonlight.

7:11 pm: Four well-dressed 30somethings are standing five or six feet away and laughing and cackling and barking at each other (“Hah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah!”) and totally ignoring Meryl Streep‘s remarks. They’re also preventing me from hearing what she’s saying. You guys…you’re so funny! And so well-dressed! Meryl’s against mixed martial arts? I’ll have to watch it on YouTube tonight. Missing most of the speeches and repartee mildly sucks.

7:00 pm: I’ll be able to appreciate the finer points of Viola Davis‘s shpiel when I see the re-broadcast. The sound is too sharp, too thin, too barky. I just heard her say the word “encapsulate.” I watch the flat screen, hear random words, recognize the famous and then check Twitter to see what just happened or what the punch line was. Oh, I see — she’s introducing Meryl Streep and her Cecil B, DeMille award. I’m really hoping Meryl lays into Trump in one way or another. Impressive clip reel.

6:50 pm: Claire Foy, whom I don’t know or, to be perfectly honest, have a lot of room in my head for, has just won a Best Actress award for The Crown, which I’ll probably never see. Just being honest. The Crown just won another award for Best TV Series, Drama. Okay, maybe I’ll give it a looksee when I get a break.

6:48 pm: The Night Manager‘s Tom Hiddleston beats The People vs. O.J. Simpson‘s Courtney Vance for Best Actor in a Limited Series, etc. Hiddleston is quite good in this Netflix series, which I didn’t frankly get around to watching until just recently, but every time I see him I think of that basketball T-shirt he wore with the words “I Love Taylor Swift” visible from a distance.

6:36 pm: Paul Verhoeven‘s Elle wins Best Foreign Language Film Award. HE approves! I can’t even remember if I predicted this, but I believe I might have.

Two days ago I agreed to tap out a 600-word piece for another outlet, one that had to be sent by late tonight at the latest. So I figured it made sense to get it done before heading out to the Golden Globe awards later this afternoon…wait, I have to leave in an hour. HE’s own Svetlana Cvetko and I are hitting the 20th Century Fox viewing party, which starts around 4:30 pm Pacific, which will turn into an after-party after the show ends around…what, 7:30 or 8 pm? There’s also an Amazon after-party I’m invited to, not to mention three or four others.

I did this last year and can report that the best part is when you’re just arriving. The space is fresh and spotless and freshly-vacuumed with nine or ten elevated flat screens showing the red-carpet interviews with various hors d’oeuvres being served and everyone greeting everyone else and feeling great about being there. Then the show kicks off, and the next two or three hours are diverting. Then it ends and a huge crowd streams in, the partying begins and the noise levels rise and rise higher, and after an hour of this I’m ready to bolt. Okay, 90 minutes. Here are my Golden Globe predictions.

Hollywood Elsewhere and producer Victoria Wisdom happily schmoozed at two pre-Golden Globe parties today — a La La Land soiree at Ciccone’s West Hollywood followed by a Paramount gathering at the Chateau Marmont. La La attendees included Emma Stone, Ryan Gosling, director-writer Damian Chazelle, composer Justin Hurwitz; the only headliners I noticed at the CM were Arrival‘s Amy Adams and Paramount honcho Brad Grey, although I heard Florence Foster Jenkins star Meryl Streep was around. Then I got back and assessed the photos, and I have to say I’m getting fed up with the occasionally cruddy quality of my iPhone 6 Plus technology. I looked at a Canon Powershot G5X a couple of days ago at Samy’s on Fairfax — a better device than the old Powershots of five or six years ago, for sure, but $700 and change? A tax deductible purchase but I flinched all the same.

(l. to r.) Ryan Gosling, La La lyricist Justin Paul, composer Justin Hurwitz, producer Marc Platt, Emma Stone at Ciccone’s — Saturday, 1.7, 4:35 pm. (Murky, muddy, nowhere near sharp enough — fail.)

Damien Chazelle, Victoria Wisdom. (Very unhappy with photo quality.)

Chazelle, La La Land costar John Legend. (Ditto.)

Chateau Marmont men’s room.

Victoria Wisdom, Tom Hiddleston.

(l. to r.) Paul, Hurwitz, Stone, lyricist Benj Pasek.

Jimmy Fallon, who will emcee tomorrow night’s Golden Globes award telecast, will be on Hollywood Elsewhere’s shit list for the foreseeable future (forever?), and I’ve mentioned him in this context so many times I don’t think I need to explain it again.

Suffice that I agree with a 1.7 Toronto Star article by columnist Vinay Menon, titled “Frat Boy Jimmy Fallon’s Bland Charm Is Rapidly Wearing Thin“:

“[Perhaps] you already know what to expect [tomorrow night]: a star-studded opening number with ambitious tracking shots, singing, dancing, costumes, impressions, fawning odes to the nominees, silly audience play, and scattershot jokes in which the punch lines are never more than gentle pokes.

“This instinct is coded inside Fallon’s DNA. He’s the host of NBC’s The Tonight Show. He’s the ratings leader. He’s a television star in his own right. But more than anything, he is Hollywood’s No. 1 fan, a man-boy saddled with a pop culture obsession who believes life is a karaoke machine inside a frat house where everything is awesome and everyone plays board games before pounding back midnight shots from the fountain of youth and declaring mad love for one another.

“In this cloud of arrested development, Fallon is the affable ringleader. He hugs. He high-fives. He giggles. He claps like a trained seal. He never offends.