I'm glad Meryl Streep turned the Golden Globes into a Trump-bashing political event – without that it would just be a few people in dresses

Trump’s tactic will be to set the Golden Globes up as his own ‘basket of deplorables’ filled with 'liberal movie people', and in a very real sense, it is. Take Lola Kirke’s hairy armpits or Evan Rachel Wood having the audacity to walk the red carpet in trousers

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The Independent Online

Nominees should always raise hell during awards ceremony speeches. Not just Meryl Streep yesterday, accepting her Cecil B DeMille award at Golden Globes with her erudite castigation of Donald Trump. No, all award ceremonies should contain at least one person "gone rogue" with a microphone, foisting slender concealed bile on an audience of ‘oh’ shaped mouths. Without a ‘Meryl’ moment, award ceremonies are merely seal-clapping, uncomfortable frocks and bad wine.

Of course Streep is right to remind a global audience of Trump’s impression of Serge Kovaleski, a New York Times journalist with a congenital condition that makes his right hand curl towards his chest. Trump’s current day-to-day hoopla on Twitter of channelling a dim but dramatic TOWIE character – Snakes everywhere, hun! – does much to confuse his decriers. Trump makes himself so easy to scorn, scattering handfuls bait, it’s impossible to stay focused. Streep is entirely right to draw us back to Kovaleski. Because the sensitivity to avoid mean impressions of anyone with a tick, stutter, limp or other miscellaneous "extra" is something a well raised seven-year-old should know. There was dark, unintentional comedy in Trump’s people, aiming to diffuse this situation by claiming his flappy hands, tongue-on-roof-of-mouth gesture was merely something Trump did for anyone he mocked.

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Essentially, they seemed to say to me, Trump has the social skills of that boy called Lee in your 1981 regional British schoolyard laughing himself silly about Blue Peter’s Joey Deacon. Except Lee grew up. Times changed. They didn’t like Lee’s Joey impression in the workplace. Meanwhile Trump is taking his curled hand shtick right to the highest post. “Disrespect invites disrespect, violence invites violence,” said Streep, “When the powerful use their position to bully others we all lose.”

As I write, Trump has been remarkably reserved on Streep’s speech, in so much as he has given only one interview to the New York Times denying the Kovaleski incident and calling the actress a “Hillary lover” (and one Twitter tantrum calling her an overrated actress) and saying that he has been attacked by “liberal movie people”.


Trump’s obvious tactic will be to set the Golden Globes up as his own “basket of deplorables”, because in a very real sense, it is. Take for example Lola Kirke’s sporting hairy armpits in her floral gown, or Evan Rachel Wood, Kathryn Hahn and Octavia Spencer having the audacity to walk the red carpet in trousers. None of these women appeared to care about being a “piece of ass” or “a ten”. Last night also saw plaudits for actress Isabelle Huppert for her portrayal of a rape survivor in Elle, as well as a prize for Viola Davis in Fences, a movie about an African-American family in 1950’s America. Neither of these films could one imagine Donald and Melania requesting for the White House in-house movie theatre.

Multiple prizes also went to Donald Glover for Atlanta, which features an all-black cast exploring ideas around masculinity, the wage trap, hip-hop, trans issues and the news agenda. In fairness, this makes Atlanta sound aggravatingly worthy and stiff when it is in fact silly, surreal and deeply loveable. Glover’s take on throwaway debate shows, targeted advertising and trans-politics during the "B.A.N" episode is just perfect. Trump should possibly watch it, but I sense he is more of an Anger Management with Charlie Sheen sort of viewer.

Although I’m sure Trump would enjoy the Netflix, now multi-Golden Globe celebrated series The Crown. Personally, I lost the will to live during the “Oooh it’s foggy” episode and pulled the plug amidst the low-octane drama of Philip’s flying lessons, but, here is a drama full of skinny women with tiny waists and blokes in suits working tirelessly to uphold an Empire. The first five episodes are about a completely out of their depth new ruler with a ridiculous spouse, planning a signing in ceremony that is transpiring to be a massive headache. Trump wouldn’t find The Crown remotely relaxing, but I think he’d understand.