We all heard the rumours; danced beside the whispers, caught glimpses of the secret handshakes and felt more than witnessed the subtext behind every ‘what will you be wearing this Sunday’ question.
We all wondered what form Hollywood would take in the face of such tumultuous times; it’s no secret that this is an industry, an institution and beast that has a history of staring the little man in the face and barrelling through newly attempted paths toward inclusivity, sensitivity and equality, like a beautified-silicone-kale-eating-mammoth-ghoul from a Brian Singer flick… (shady boots I am…) while farting furiously into the winds of change.
We stared daggers at that red carpet, waiting, pitchforks and torches at the ready, breaths bated and eyes watering… and what a carpet it became. Like beauty spots on the face of a young ingénue, or rather, dark freckles on an exotic model, the world’s most beautiful people occupied the iconic Beverly Hilton with the bravado of a well trained army and the finesse of a flock of flamingos in Kevin Spacey’s backyard…(oooh shade).
There was something rightfully dramatic about the entire thing; how everyone marched across that carpet looking like something out of a Woody Allen funeral scene…(light shade)
It was beautiful, not so much the dresses, but the solidarity; to witness, in my time, the world’s elite using their bodies, not just their publicists, wallets or whimsical words, to stand in protest against the ugly face of sexual harassment, on a stage and platform where the world has no choice but to watch and listen.
The sentiment was as resonant as the cries of women and men brave enough to take a stand and shout out into the faces of their accusers and those that protect them; Time’s up.
The time for silence is up, the time for being a spectator and not speaking or acting against such crude behaviour, is up and the time for complacency is up.
The fat cat’s time’s up.
Hollywood used the 75th Golden Globes to stand on the shoulders of the many women that have tried to speak up before them, and they used that opportunity to lift the voices of the many who could not speak, who will not speak and who want to speak, but have either been shut down, violently silenced, further victimised or disregarded.
I mean the actual show wasn’t as exciting as I would have liked it to be; save for Amy Poehler being the absolute best, and Ms Oprah Winfrey doing what Oprah Winfrey does best as the future president of the world, the event lacked the kind of forward feeling diversity this industry has made a vow to honour. However, this is a discussion for another day.
Today, however, I take my hat off to an industry famed for its aloof and tone deaf stances in the face of a rapidly awakening social audience that demands more than pretty faces and perfect teeth. Maybe it has something to do with the fact this didn’t come from the top, more from the men and women who we’re slowly realising aren’t above the world, but are a part of it too.