The Golden Globes awards confirmed two things: (a) there will be no sweeping victory by anyone or anything come Oscar night, and (b) the Globes are getting a bit staid and tidy — almost Oscarish in their decorum. Once upon an ass-time the Globes were regarded as a kind of alcoholic, loosey-goosey fuck-all thing, but there was almost no snap or rudeness or exhilaration in any of it. No real verve, raunch…no extraordinary pocket-drop eloquence… the pulse refused to race or even swerve. The winners, the speeches and the patter were almost all mid-tempo; ditto the parties.

The stuffed-shirt Oscars are going to be even more so, of course. (If only Sarah Silverman was set to host the show along with the Spirits!) The idea of getting out of town tomorrow night and starting in with the Sundance Film Festival , which I’ve done almost no preparation for, suddenly feels like some kind of fresh-water antidote. Clean out the detritus, bring in the ’07….up and away.
The best part of my evening was sitting in a plush Beverly Hilton hotel room as I watched the show live-time, and then attending the Paramount after-party. Lots of warmth, affection and contentment — only one discordant note involving a big-name actor and a big-time producer that I’m not going to relay in detail, but seemed indicative of an extremely strange bend in the personality of the actor.
The only bolt moment for me was when Babel took the Best Drama trophy — deserved, no question, but a surprise because the spirit voices were constantly saying Departed, Departed, Departed over the last few days. (Maybe I need to get down with different spirits.)

Paramount Pictures chairman/CEO Brad Grey, Warren Beatty

If it hadn’t been for the “balls” motif in two speeches — Sacha Baron Cohen‘s acceptance and Tom Hanks‘ tribute to Warren Beatty — and the occasional flubs (Eddie Murphy almost forgetting DreamWorks topper Stacey Snider‘s name, Jamie Foxx relaying the outdated information that Dreamgirls was playing on 800 screens), I would have been bored silly.
After the Paramount party the coolest place to be was the Beverly Hilton lobby. It was the nexus that everyone passed through on their way to and from the various soirees — passing along info on where they’d been, were going, how crowded the last bash was, etc. Plus there was no music to get in the way of conversation, and no-drink-in-the-hand felt like the right thing.
The Little Miss Sunshine team captains — co-directors Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris, screenwriter Michael Arndt — were lobby-hanging when I happened to walk by. Easy-time vibes all around. (I firmly believe that the Best Picture Oscar race is between LMS, The Departed and maybe The Queen.) We laughed about the pork-pie hat item I wrote a few days ago, etc.

Exterior of the Paramount after-party

I don’t know that Dreamgirls has a new lease on life exactly, but I presume last night’s Best Motion Picture, Musical or Comedy win will give it a shot at the box-office, and that’s good. (Babel, also, will presumably benefit from its win in the Drama category.) As one player was heard to say, “If Dreamgirls hadn’t won last night, we would have been fucked…the wolves would have all ganged up on the gazelle…snarling neck holds, But that didn’t happen, thank God.”
By the way: before the show started I saw a SWAT guy on the roof of the Beverly Hilton with what looked like a high-powered rifle with a scope.