The Golden Globes

First, let me say I didn't watch the Golden Globes.  I never would.  I'm not into star-worship.  I don't care who has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.  I don't get all weepy when we lose a Carrie Fisher to cardiac arrest at age 60, or a Debbie Reynolds to intracerebral hemorrhage at age 81.  (I don't mean to sound insensitive; it's just that I'm more affected by losing unnamed children at the hands of a suicide bomber, or innocents waiting for their luggage in an airport baggage claim area, than I am by some celebrity dying of a natural cause at a ripe old age, having enjoyed a full and blessed life.)  I don't scream my angst at 2016 for taking so many stars from us, when so many other lives have been lost.  Think Chicago.

A few days ago, my wife and I watched an excellent film on Netflix, "Spotlight."  I had no idea that it had won Best Picture at the Oscars last year.  I couldn't care less.  Most of the Best Picture winners I've seen have been hot garbage, and I've seen a good many enjoyable films that the Oscars didn't sniff.

It's entertainment, after all, and, like beauty, it's in the eye of the beholder.

However, perusing Facebook the morning after the Golden Globes, I did read of much of the hoopla that emanated from it.  So I feel compelled to opine.  First, with a message for Meryl Streep.  Then, with a message for Hollywood in general.  And finally, with a message for Alec Baldwin.

Ms. Streep: let me first say that more people watch football than have seen your films.  I'm sure that sticks in your elitist craw, but it's fact.  (By the way, you were a cheerleader, so at some point, football was important for you, if only in terms of getting you noticed; while the players on the field did the actual work, you got some attention for doing high kicks and shaking your pom-poms on the sideline.)

Second, let me say that what you do is not "art," it's entertainment.  You started your career in theater - that comes closer to art, and I say that as someone who's been involved in theater, and has seen some wonderful (and disappointing) shows on Broadway, the West End in London, and other venues.

However, you detoured into film - presumably for the money.  I don't hold that against you; greed isn't a bad thing, in my view.  However, if you insist on defending movies as "art," how do you justify "Waterworld?"  "Baseketballs?"  The Freddy Krueger movies?  The upcoming "Fist Fight?"

Ah, you say haughtily, but I would never participate in such films.  Okay, how about "The House of the Spirits?"  "Before and After?"  Or "The Bridges of Madison County," that tribute to the romanticism of marital infidelity?

Sorry, Meryl.  You're no artist.  You're a for-profit entertainer.

And on that note, this is how I feel about entertainers.  You make a ton of money pretending to do what the rest of us do, day in and day out, in real life.  Which you apparently don't have the skills or talent or knowledge to do yourselves.  Sure, you can play make believe.  We've all done that, as kids, when we were growing up.  But then we grew up, and made a positive contribution to our society and our economy, while you continued to play-act, to entertain.

That's okay.  That's your job.  It's what I and other hard-working Americans pay you to do.  So do it, already.  Get on that stage or behind that camera and do what I pay you to do: pretend to be something you could never be in real life, but that I and others can be.  Make us laugh.  Make us cry.  Inspire us.  Entertain us.  Give us an escape from the hard work that we do.

Then shut up.  Get back in your box until we're ready to bring you out again, for our pleasure, to entertain us once more.  Because, you see, you don't exist in our consciousness until we invite you to, by going to a theater.  And once the final credits have scrolled, you cease to exist in our consciousness once again.  You are as unimportant as a book that we'll read, enjoy, then sell in a garage sale for a quarter.  (And the book is always better than the movie.)  You are as forgotten as the popcorn we consumed.

If we want your opinion on world events, the political scene, or any other important issue, we'll be the first to let you know.  Until then, do the job we pay you to do, be thankful that we pay you to do it, appreciate that we forgive your occasional bombs as we enjoy your occasional successes, then keep your views to yourself.  We don't care.  You are our entertainers, like so many monkeys as we grind the organ, and you are otherwise inconsequential.

Finally, to Alec Baldwin.  You are unfunny.  You are at your best when you're in a serious role - Ghosts of Mississippi comes to mind - but apparently Hollywood isn't interested in that from you anymore.  Maybe you're washed up in that regard.  Now, you come across as one of those guys desperately trying to be funny, but missing the mark.  You've been relegated to such roles as providing a voice in a Spongebob Squarepants movie.  How proud of your "art" you must be.  You even sucked in those credit card ads, so much so that Jennifer Garner had to come in and replace you.

As you bash Donald Trump (with the worst Trump impersonation ever - Darrell Hammond was far, far better), we're reminded of those sordid recorded voicemails you left threatening your daughter.  At least Trump loves his kids, even if he's divorced from their mother.

Remember, Hollywood, you are my plaything.  I can take you out of your box and play with you - paying to do so, which provides you with a livelihood, for which I'd like some gratitude - or I can ignore you.  Either way, at the end of it, back in the box you go, until I'm ready to be entertained again, at the time of my choosing.  Not yours.  Why?

Because in the grand scheme of things, you are unimportant.