The Golden Globes have long lived in the shadow of their more buttoned-up siblings, the Academy Awards, but in a pre-pandemic world, they carved out a niche as the rowdy, irreverent after-party to the Oscars’ stiff soirée. This year’s 82nd edition, airing on CBS/Paramount+, was billed as a much-needed return to form after two years of fading into the background of Hollywood’s increasingly sanitized awards season. And yet, despite the million-dollar wardrobes, miles of red carpet, and the requisite gallons of champagne, the evening’s proceedings felt less like a night of glitz and glamour and more like a B-list Oscar ceremony with the life; and laughter; siphoned out.
Host Nikki Glaser, whose razor-sharp comedic wit and unflinching roast skills have made her a favorite at events like Tom Brady’s roast, was the night’s appointed ringmaster. And yet, despite having all the tools to set the stage on fire, Glaser kept her comedic energy more in check than we had hoped for. Gone were the biting jabs at Hollywood egos and the tongue-in-cheek humor that defined the Golden Globes’ glory days. She was far more “perky” than “provocative,” radiating an enthusiasm that felt more stage-managed than spontaneous. The absence of her typical caustic humor left an air of restraint that permeated the night; leaving one to wonder: where was the irreverence that has made this show so beloved?
Perhaps the biggest issue with the broadcast was that it simply felt; too produced. The Golden Globes once thrived on chaotic spontaneity. In years past, the unpredictability of the evening, from Ricky Gervais’s infamous jabs at the stars to an all-out free-for-all of drunken speeches and awkward moments, was its calling card. This year, the show felt like a glossy, calculated version of what it used to be, as if some producer had taken a ruler to the proceedings and measured every moment to the millisecond. Even when the jokes did come, they were packaged too neatly, so much so that even a star-studded cameo from Melissa McCarthy herself couldn’t inject much-needed levity. Instead, the most organic moment came from Vin Diesel. Yes, the least funny person in the room had the biggest laugh of the night when he deadpanned “Dwayne,” nodding toward the off-screen presence of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson; an unspoken acknowledgment of their rumored falling-out. In a room full of comedians, it was the action star who delivered the punchline we were all craving.
It was hard to ignore that the night’s biggest winner; both in terms of actual awards and surprise factor; was The Brutalist. Despite being one of the year’s standout films (and one of my personal favorites), its haul of Golden Globes was unexpected, especially given its modest presence in the pre-show buzz. That said, it wasn’t the only surprise. Wicked, which had seemed primed to sweep, walked away with just a single win for “Biggest Box Office Success,” a category that felt somewhat out of place in a show that is typically more concerned with recognizing artistry than commercial prowess. If we’re talking box-office titans, Deadpool and Wolverine was the real juggernaut of the year, proving that irreverence; R-rated comedy, with all its blood and guts; was still where the cultural pulse lies. Wicked may have enchanted a few, but it couldn’t hold a candle to Deadpool’s unrelenting humor, or the kind of cinematic boundary-pushing that defined 2024.
Another delightful moment, however, was the celebration of The Substance, which garnered some well-deserved love from the audience. Seeing Demi Moore receive her first Golden Globe was a beautiful reminder of the quiet grace and talent that has long defined her career. It was a perfect, heartfelt moment in an evening that too often felt like it was trying to manufacture moments of “heart.” As for the fashion, one standout moment came courtesy of Jeremy Strong, who, in his mint-green velvet suit and wide-rimmed hat, looked like he had just stepped out of a Jamiroquai music video. His outfit seemed to speak to a time when the Globes allowed for playfulness and eccentricity. Alas, it was the rare moment of unbridled fun in a broadcast that otherwise felt locked in a straitjacket.
The speeches, mercifully, were short. There were no extended political rants or grandstanding. Instead, the night moved briskly, but at the cost of any real emotional resonance. Where the Golden Globes once offered a chaotic, delightful smorgasbord of star turns and awkward charm, again, this year’s ceremony played like a bland, sanitized B-movie version of the Oscars. The comedy; long the lifeblood of the Golden Globes; was virtually nonexistent, and the awkwardness that used to permeate the show was replaced by a suffocating air of calculation.
In the end, despite Nikki Glaser’s best efforts, the 82nd Golden Globes never quite managed to reignite the old magic. There were moments of joy; The Brutalist’s unexpected triumph, the beautiful grace of Demi Moore, and even Vin Diesel’s impromptu punchline; but these were few and far between. The night may have moved quickly, but it never felt like it had a pulse. The Golden Globes, at least for now, have lost their spirit of wild, untamed fun. If they want to reclaim their place in the Hollywood pantheon, they’ll need to rethink the entire approach. Comedy, spontaneity, and a little bit of chaos; that was the Golden Globes of yesteryear. Let’s hope next year brings that spirit back.
The MVP of the night? Vin Diesel. A sentence I never thought I’d write.