Let’s return to Golden era
Sunday. The 83rd Golden Globe Awards. On CBS if you can recall that. Or whatever’s in your unwashed palm. Airing live from the Beverly Hilton Hotel.
America the beautiful. Sweet land of liberty. Of thee I sing. Land where our fathers died. Land of the pilgrims pride. Right.
Once the great CBS with the 18-karat great Walter Cronkite. Dan Rather. Edward R. Murrow. We had stockings then. Panties. Even garter belts. And before mayoral toys like de Blasio and his wife the maybe cashier. And then there was Eric the hirer of friends and our new Crapdammy. Pre him most of us even spoke English.
Back then: Best picture — “Gandhi.” Biggest movie — “Star Wars.” Hotshot movie names — Dustin Hoffman, Peter O’Toole, Al Pacino, Robert Preston, Meryl Streep. And movie theaters like Paramount, Capital, Radio City, Roxy, Loews anything. And today’s biggie film names like “Avatar,” “Zootopia,” “Sponge Bob.” Goes great with popcorn. Cartoons or it’s stabbing, knifing, killing, exploding, setting afire, decapitating, war, Tom Cruise jumping on another train top.
Today’s shloompy moviegoer? Jeans, sneakers, T-shirt, backpack, lunch in a paper bag.
And the fashions 83 years ago? Behinds were actually tucked behind fabric. Boobs were inside dresses. And menfolk were told these items were not permanent places to rest your hands. Also, the balcony was only to Watch The Movie!
Styles were custom-made, custom-fitted, loaned for just that one night designer shmattas. Each returned same night. So tight you couldn’t cough in them: Your last meal had been a week before. Stylists pulled the material off you before you could stain it with the crappy freebee hamburger.
Not so, so, so long ago, it was Halle Berry in Elie Saab, Angela Bassett in Moschino, Jessica Chastain in Gucci, Rihanna in Swarovski, Gwyneth in Fendi, Demi Moore in Armani, forget Lady Gaga who wore meat — not even kosher. To dress the stars designers lined up. We’re talking Givenchy, Gaultier, Thierry Mugler, Joanna Mastroianni, Sonia Rykiel, Missoni, Versace, Chanel, Ralph Lauren, Oscar de la Renta, Halston, Calvin Klein, Vivienne Westwood, Valentino, Nina Ricci, Schiaparelli, Balenciaga, Dior.
Now guys do plaid jackets. Open collars. Sneakers. Earrings. T-shirts. The old, infirmed, aged all have suddenly fluffy purple black scalps. No hair. Just scalp. The crotch on their pants so low it shines their shoes. And hairpieces? Not fitting exactly so when the speaker moves — so do those. And they want their current date to go half on the price of the movie ticket.
Also: Dinner for two beforehand? He expects her to pay for herself. With people living longer it’s often two females going together. Nice. Always comforting before you see a Sponge Bob movie to go Dutch on a shrimp salad.
And whatever happened with leading men? Clark Gable? Robert Taylor? Tyrone Power? Once it was Brad Pitt, who began life wearing a sandwich board advertising food, and almost became an extra after a few rounds with Angelina Jolie on an airplane?
Museum entry now? $30. Brooklyn house back then? $60 a month. Bread, 12 cents. Hermès tie now $350. What folks did on their forever schlep West who knows. I only know they managed to do it without whatsisname Chalamet. If, for nothing else, that’s a true mazel tov.
And the MC? Bob Hope’s working elsewhere so this year’s Golden Globes emcee is a repeat shot from comedienne Nikki Glaser who did it last year. Or maybe it’ll be a trio: Hillary, Comey, Pelousy. Enjoy the Globes.
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