When I read this morning that the Producers Guild of America voters had nominated Arrival, Fences, Hacksaw Ridge, Hell or High Water, Hidden Figures, La La Land, Lion, Manchester by the Sea and Moonlight for their Daryl F. Zanuck award (i.e., the equivalent of a Best Picture prize)…well, I nearly fell over in my chair. It’s a good thing I have a few percocets left because I needed something to calm myself down. I was literally vibrating.

Seriously, no one is very interested. You have to report on the various guild noms because you have to, but that doesn’t mean they’re of any special interest.

The only PGA-nominated film worth mentioning is a film not worth mentioning — i.e, the reprehensible Deadpool, which I called “a glib, porno-violent Daffy Duck cartoon” while I reviewed it a little more than eleven months ago. I don’t want to think about why this thing was nominated, not just by the PGA but also the WGA guys.

If the ghost of Daryl F. Zanuck was capable of processing the PGA’s bizarre admiration for this wretched joke of a film, his shrieks would be heard among the clouds. He would curse and punch a refrigerator door and then return to earth in order to confront the membership at the next meeting. “You’re nominating a piece of shit like Deadpool? I know it can’t win but this award has my name on it, dammit!”

Do some people-watching inside any cafe or restaurant or semi-exclusive party and you’ll notice that healthy couples (i.e., unions that aren’t based on the guy being rich and the woman being a gold-digger) always seem to be similarly attractive. If a woman is a 7.5 or an 8 she’ll tend to be with a guy who’s a 7.5 or an 8. Birds of a feather, etc. And so I always react negatively when this rule of thumb is ignored by hip filmmakers because of…you tell me, p.c. guidelines or whatever. Because this is not how it is out there.

Case in point: John Ridley‘s Guerilla, a six-part Showtime miniseries set in ’70s London. Because leading costar Freida Pinto is totally choice — anyone’s idea of an 8.5 if not a 9 — there’s no way I’m buying Babou Ceesay as her boyfriend. Too chubby, not good-looking enough, nope. Pinto and Ceesay are roughly equivalent to Grace Kelly and George Gobel being paired off in a 1954 romance of some kind. Or Faye Dunaway and Allen Garfield in a ’70s flick.

This 42 year-old Mike Douglas Show clip is worn and tattered, but it’s the shit. Really. Because it allows you to meditate upon the great Muhammad Ali and his refusal to embrace liberal inclusiveness as it was known in 1974, and his obstinate, unyielding insistence that the only thing he cared about was the living conditions of black people and that other tribes need to fend for themselves. (What would the young Ali be saying now about Donald Trump?) Sly Stone was obviously stoned or drunk. Congressman Wayne Hays, who would resign two years later over the Elizabeth Ray sex scandal, offered many of the positive sentiments that mainstream neoliberals were saying back then. Theodore Bikel was his usual moderate, sensible self. Here’s the whole kit and kaboodle.

In nominating Jeff Sessions as Attorney General, Donald Trump was saying “this is another expression, people, of where I’m coming from and what my election was all about — the resurgence of whiteness and white cultural dominance, and a modest but effective suppression of the multiculturals. We’ll try to put a happy face on it, but these folks are not going run the show as much, trust me. The Obama years are over, and we’re not gonna take any shit.”

Do I, Jeffrey Wells, have the courage and conviction to rant during a confirmation hearing and get myself tossed out and maybe arrested? If past behaviors are any indication (and they are), the answer is “uhhm…well, not really.” I’ve always run alongside the action, staying close but mainly as a cautious observer, like Robert Redford would have behaved in a ’70s movie about street protests. I’ve never been thrown out of anything, never been punched or billy-clubbed by a cop. I take potshots from the side.

It seemed as if Mel Gibson and Vince Vaughn, sitting at their Hacksaw Ridge table during last night’s Golden Globes telecast, were not enthralled by Meryl Streep‘s anti-Trump speech, which basically castigated the President-elect for his “instinct to humiliate,” coarse manners and generally bullying manner. Even if you didn’t know Gibson and Vaughn are righties, their expressions said it all. At least two news orgs have noticed — Media-ite and London’s Daily Mail

The 2017 Sundance Film Festival has added a rather shady-sounding documentary about Donald Trump‘s presidential campaign, TRUMPED: Inside The Greatest Political Upset of All Time, which will screen at the tail end of the festival on Friday, 1.27 and Saturday, 1.28. There will apparently be an earlier press screening somewhere in Park City on Monday, 1,23.

Why the shade? Partly because TRUMPED has been executive produced by Mark Halperin, John Heileman and Mark McKinnon, the trio behind Showtime’s The Circus: Inside the Greatest Political Show on Earth, which tends to emphasize the nitty-gritty horse race aspects of political battles without focusing much on the ethical or historical underpinnings, which indicates that the basic attitude of TRUMPED may be something along the lines of “wow, what an amazing tactical victory this New York billionaire managed to pull off…gotta give him credit, right?”

Halperin‘s participation troubles me in particular. His reputation, after all, is not just that of a savvy political commentator and author but also, at least in terms of the ’15 and ’16 campaigns, as a Trump shill and lapdog.

Halperin’s Wiki page mentions that last October Washington Post columnist Dana Milbank called Halperin’s analysis in the Presidential race “soulless” and “amoral.” A headline for an 8.9.16 Media Matters story by Jared Holt called Halperin a “bonafide Trump apologist.” A headline for a 10.26.16 Media-ite story by Justin Baragona complained that Halperin is “Trump’s Biggest Cheerleader.” An 11.18 Crooks and Liars story by Karoli Kuns noted that “for the past year, Mark Halperin has served as nothing more than a shameless Donald Trump apologist.”

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.