Did anyone watch this thing? I did. And in the past I thought it was kind of fun. Light. Silly. With perhaps too much time extolling the virtues of independent films, but still. OK.
sigh. Not last night. This particular rendition was, in one word, a horror. Seth Rogen set the tone with a painfully delivered execution of embarrassingly unfunny material. There are certain words, ‘fuck’ is a prime example, that can be used to great comedic advantage when used sparingly and in unexpected moments. The word itself carries no humorous connotations and can’t be expected to bear the weight of dead wit for 15 minutes. Painful. Did I say painful?
This viewer went from dismay to disappointment to irritation to embarrassment to disgust as Rogen, realizing his material was falling on the audience like a catafalque, turned to insults. In his desperation he spared nothing, not the backdrop, the location, the tent, the clothes, the actors, the independent films themselves. And certainly not Mel Gibson (whose small film The Beaver was, as you know, one of my favorites).
Like the victim of a train wreck, after 15 minutes of Seth there was little hope for the show’s resuscitation. Lying there, barely breathing and bruised to the bone, the show continued with presenters awkwardly stumbling through material as though they were playing an untuned piano. Two moments when the patient seemed to rise from the death throes: Christopher Plummer and Michelle Williams. They were the only examples of accomplishment in the 2 hours. After Miss Williams in her shorty shorts left the stage one could hear the death rattle. And then the silence.