By Alex Distefano
By Scott Snowden
By Anna Merlan
By Steve Almond
By Jena Ardell
By Jon Campbell
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Tessa Stuart
All the winners were completely guessable, and so was my assumption that Neil Patrick Harris would be a cute host—sort of Hugh Jackman lite—who wouldn't steamroll over the proceedings. At the after-party, I congratulated Harris on the recap finale he sang, and he said, "Originally, I was going to do something about being bitter about not singing." "But Frank Langella did the bitter thing," I chimed in. "He put us over by three minutes with that!" Harris informatively said, grinning.
There was more potential bitterness by the bar, where I heard one of the Billy Elliots asking his father, "How was my tapping? I could hear the music, but not the taps. Was I OK?" "About 90 percent of the time," replied Dad. God, showbiz is rough.
As further proof of that, the wine-cooler musical, Rock of Ages, came away with nothing, but maybe the movie version can nab some Golden Globes next year. They're currently casting it, and as Constantine Maroulis recently told me, "I have a joke that I hope at least I can maybe sing the tracks for Zac Efron or whoever gets the part instead of me." Well, a report just had Efron being courted for the role. Be careful what you joke about!
The David Carradine case is no joke, if I can return to that—in fact, it has set kinky masturbation and/or martial arts back 100 years—but at least the sad saga prompted the instant classic Post headline Hung Fu. (They must have rejected Thaied Up, Bound for Glory, and Well Hung.) Through all of this, the most riveting turn of events has been Carradine's defenders trying to paint him as a vanilla-type guy who was simply murdered by martial arts fanatics! (That's better than being a sexual adventurer, I guess.) And the media low point so far wasn't any bad pun—it was when a guy from Extra told Larry King that it was in atrocious taste for Fox to so quickly air the Mental episode with Carradine as a guest star. Oh, yeah, let's talk endlessly about the rope tied around the man's 72-year-old genitals, but show his actual work? Nah, that would be tasteless.
Please! Let's go party some more and forget. Meet me in front of Retail Space for Lease.