On Sunday, I covered my fourth (fifth? It’s all getting a bit fuzzy in my mid-30s) Golden Globes , and let me tell you, it was wild! I laughed with George Clooney, bro’d out with Michael Fassbender, ogled Michelle Williams’ trophy up close, and capped the night off with Diddy and Lindsay Lohan. I also was in bed eating a piece of cheesecake from room service before midnight. All of these things are true. Such is the bizarre event the Hollywood Foreign Press puts on every year. You’re a sketchy odd bunch, but you throw a hell of a party, guys! Thanks for the memories.
I’ve been lucky enough to cover the Oscars and the entire awards-show circuit the past few years at MTV News, and it is a fantastically glamorous and surreal bubble filled with moments that bend the mind (it’s like “Inception” if everyone were pretty. Huh?). It’s also a job — meaning it’s filled with massive frustrations and insults, just as anyone experiences in their 9 to 5. Unfortunately for me, when I start whining about “Glee” star Cory Monteith racing by me at a party, ignoring my request for an interview, most people want to punch me in the face. I get it. I really do. But I can be as miserable as the next person (actually, I think I can be more miserable than the next person), and no one is going to take away my right to bitch about a pushy publicist who gives me an earful about her client I’d be a fool not to talk to. Nobody!
I couldn’t bring you all with me to the Globes, unfortunately. Well, come on, where would I have put you? Really, be sensible! But I can give you a peek into some illuminating/ absurd/ just plain odd moments I experiences in my strange gig.
George Clooney and I are best friends!
George Clooney and I are not best friends. George Clooney doesn’t know my name. George Clooney is not inviting me to Lake Como. My wife and I are not going on a double date with him and his Amazonian girlfriend (seriously, was she in Avatar?). But George Clooney sure is good at seeming like you’re his best friend.
I interviewed George a couple days ago at the Critics’ Choice red carpet (most notable for me calling him old and him taking my microphone away). And a few days before that, we talked to him in New York at the National Board of Review red carpet (’tis the season). When the Cloonster (I can call him that: We have an understanding) saw me Sunday night, moments before his Best Actor win, he said he was relieved I was wearing a tie tonight but I still need to do something about the scruff. Dreamy, right? BFFs!
Actually, he’d combined me in his memory with a fellow MTV News-er, whom he’d talked to at the NBR in New York without the tie. It’s all good, George. You have a lot on your plate. See you at the Oscars.
The night belonged to Fassbender’s member
That doesn’t rhyme does it? I’m waiting for my flight home to New York (Al Roker is here!) and it will just have to do. Though Michael Fassbender didn’t win a prize for “Shame” Sunday night (see previous item on the Cloonster), he was a big topic in my red carpet interviews. Before I get to the silly stuff, let me just echo many by saying he delivers an awesome performance in “Shame” that should not be missed. Not good for a date night though. You’ve been warned.
Anyway, Fassbender is an all-around cool guy in my experience. Exhibit A: When I sprung an impromptu After Hours on him a month ago wherein he had the task of identifying celebrities based solely on photos of their penises (he did really well!). Last night, he told me friends have been giving him grief for being a “penis expert.” Later in the night, Fassbender’s genitalia came up (so to speak) in my conversations with Ewan McGregor (of course) and Paris Hilton (er, also of course?). Let it be known that Paris has not seen “Shame” yet but seemed quite excited when I told her what she was in for.
Lindsay Lohan and Diddy have odd ideas about interviews
Where would one run into the likes of Ewan McGregor and the star of “The Hottie and the Nottie”? (I tease: Paris actually couldn’t have been sweeter). Why the Weinstein afterparty! Also Meryl Streep and Kim Kardashian. America really is a melting pot! The Weinstein party (er, the carpet heading into it — I never went in) was a festive one and why not? Harvey’s flicks dominated.
Uggie, the dog from “The Artist,” seemed thrilled to be there. As did the whole gang from “My Week with Marilyn,” celebrating Michelle Williams’ win. But it was the random folks that were most fun to talk to. Why look, it’s Chris Tucker! Say, it’s a real housewife! And then there was Diddy swaggering as only he can down the carpet. I practically threw myself in his path so we could talk. He stopped, but he didn’t exactly talk. Instead he had his “spokesman” (Swizz Beatz by his side) answer all my questions. Whatever works, Diddy.
And then there was the last interview of the night. Truth be told, it wasn’t much of an interview. Just as we were packing up our troubles, there she was: the one, the only, Lindsay Lohan. “This is it!” I screamed to no one in particular. Lindsay raced by, only to reconsider. I was going to get something good. Cloonster was but an amuse-bouche. This is what it was all about. Tears would be shed. Confessions made. That weird stripper movie of hers would be dissected. “So, I hear you’re playing Elizabeth Taylor soon?” I began. She smiled and grabbed my arm. And without a word, she was gone. Thank you, Hollywood Foreign Press. Thank you.