No, Shane, thank God
you're here.
Poor Killeen didn't fare much better from there on in, with her (apparently self-penned) material going down like a cup of cold sick and greeted by a flutter of golf claps, whether it was her descent from the heavens on a "cloud" that looked more like an amateur theatre company's vision of an epileptic fit at a cotton-wool factory, or her culminatory 'meet the people' jaunt into the audience, which found her painted in an uncomfortably Mrs Robinson manner (hi, Saxon!) as she interviewed the Most Popular New Talent boys. Both Simmone Jade Mackinnon and Stephen Curry could bee seen wincing in the background. The nominees just looked like they wanted their mums.
In truth, I don't know if she miraculously pulled out a winner by the end of the night and got the audience back on-side, because I gave up with about a quarter of an hour to go, and simply couldn't endure the wait for the Gold Logie announcement. After all, no one was bringing me a bottomless glass of champers or asking "beef or chicken?" in my house.
But it wasn't just Gretel who made this year's Logies, like most others, an interminable groanfest. There were the prepackaged 'Road To Gold' video interludes, which started out genuinely funny and plateaued to mildly amusing. There were the confusingly-chosen musical performances. There was Rove's utterly bewildering spot with Rachel Griffiths in which he insisted the cause of her pregnant stomach "wasn't me" (yes, because we all think you're such a raging sex fiend, Rove).
And
then there was the "comedy", faxing in some leftovers from mid-'90s
Hey, Hey! courtesy of The Umbilical Brothers. Gosh, that's fresh! Who's on next? Tokyo Shock Boys, The Amazing Jonathon and Wogs Out Of Work?
There were only a few moments of respite (including the classy Bill Collins' accepting the Hall Of Fame induction, and Dave Hughes' presentation-cum-standup-routine), with one clear highlight, and that was Myles Barlow's review of The Logies themselves - and what a highlight (listen for the trademark Pomeranz giggle):
Unfortunately for everyone else, this eight-star video package only served to highlight the rest of the night's shortcomings.
In truth, it's not even just the Logies that can't seem to settle on a winning formula - when was the last time you watched and really enjoyed any Australian awards ceremonies, be they ARIAs, AFIs, IF Awards, Walkleys or ASTRAs? But for the sake of argument, because it's fresh in our minds, let's talk Logies - and let's start with the host(s).
Mismanagement of talent is a Logies hallmark; witness, a few years back, the appealing and very funny Hamish & Andy relegated to toiling in the Laboratoire Garnier green room while a cavalcade of beige took the stage proper. But there's one question that keeps coming back (at least in my living room) year after year: why don't we just give the whole thing to Bert?
Most years, Bert Newton makes an appearance, whether to present an award or simply to present himself, and each time he wipes the floor with the hours preceding him. Mildly blue, usually off-script, wildly self (and everyone else) deprecating and totally hilarious, the question of why Moonface hasn't just been given the Logies hosting gig for the term of his natural life is madly confounding.
After all, there's a reason why the Oscars have repeat hosts like Billy Crystal and Whoopi Goldberg, because they manage to make the night
entertaining. And really, there's no reason why an awards ceremony
should be entertaining, at least to anyone other than the nominees, eventual winners, and studio/label execs whose bonuses are relying on bringing home a basketful of paperweights. But, sometime back in the dawning age of network television, someone decided that we did want to watch the damned things - and in the case of viewer-voted awards like the Logies, televisation (yes, I just invented that) is nigh on mandatory.
So, if we're going to be stuck with awards shows as Event Television, then for god's sake, is it too much to ask to make them watchable?