Award Ceremonies

I can’t stand award ceremonies. Not only that, I simply can’t understand why anyone would want to watch something like the BAFTA awards on television. I was flicking around for Match of The Day 2 last night and that image that is the award ceremony flashed onto the screen, after overcoming the momentary paralysis my thumb thankfully found the 5 button. What I saw for a fraction of a second is what has been shoved down people throats for decades, little more than a congratulatory exercise in shameless self promotion.

The scene starts with a TV personality in a tuxedo, probably the loveable but twatish Jonathon Ross, making a couple of lame jokes about George Bush or Pwince Charles. He will of course openly prompt the audience for a laugh by indulging in a cringworthy self deprecation, probably involving an inane grin. As cheeky side kick, Davina McCall will be stood on the other side of the lectern laughing hysterically with the audience, that is before ‘Wossy’ cracks another hilarious belter about being stuck in the BB house with her.

Davina will then tear open the envelope, stopping momentarily to grin ironically at the camera, before shouting “DAME JUDY DENCH!!” far too loudly into the microphone. This being a cue for the audience to leap to their feet and begin a frenzied chorus of whooping, crying, insane cheering and fist shaking.

“It’s Dame Judy! Oh, it’s Dame Judy!!”

The camera pans round as soap stars and BBC types gaze lovingly at the stage, as just like every other year, the old girl is wheeled out for whatever award BAFTA have invented for Dame Judy. That’s probably what happened but as I didn’t watch it you have to imagine the same scenario existed with Ricky Gervais giggling childishly into the mic before handing out yet another gong to that dribbling git, Bill Fucking Nighy. Or Billy Connelly and his stupid red beard wittering on about the Dame before handing over to someone like Katie Melua or Jamie Cullum. The proceedings have that oily gloss about them, as if making the inanity shiny is recompense for its dreary and mind numbing content.

And that’s pretty much the scene for the rest of the night, hour after hour of sycophantic arse licking and shots of people like Sonia Jackson going all dewy eyed as Pauline collects a well deserved accolade on behalf of the cast and crew. Then the next morning the papers will be lovingly adorned with pictures of the Dame, or whatever Middle Class folk hero has made a, ‘Touching and provocative piece’ about growing up in Rotherham Children’s home with no mouth.

The worst thing about this whole debacle is the presumption that the viewing public actually doesn’t mind paying for to watch actors and TV personalities congratulate each other on their achievements. This kind of patronisation is so engrained into the entertainment industry, to a point that they don’t even question the whole idea of making TV programs about how great people are that make TV programs.

The BBC has never been short on self congratulation, but it is the insulting and moronic nature of the award ceremony that really takes the piss out of the paying customer.

Even if I don’t watch it, this is the kind of television that will turn me into Micheal Ryan.

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