The thing about awards shows is that they’re designed to award achievement in film, television, music, or the stage. People forget that the Oscars and the Emmys aren’t just three-hour events to give people at home an excuse to drink wine. They exist to hand out awards to people who have accomplished something above and beyond the normal. It’s not always the way it works out, of course, but in theory, the Emmys exist so that shows like Veep or Atlanta or Better Call Saul or Game of Thrones or Insecure can be recognized for their achievements. The jokes, the musical numbers, and the fanfare exists so that people will watch, but ultimately, it’s to show appreciation for artistry. It’s adults getting trophies because of their accomplishments, and often those trophies lead to more jobs, and often power to make art that makes a statement.
To those who win them (and lose them), it’s a big deal.
So why not let a couple of guys who don’t give a damn host the Emmys?!
From the L.A. Times:
Are you fond of awards shows generally?
Che: I remember liking the MTV awards when I was a kid.
Jost: Eh. I think most of the time they’re way too self-serious and focused on things that 99% of the country doesn’t care about. At the end of the day, it’s adults getting trophies. Why should that be taken seriously? And remember when movies like “Gladiator” won best picture? Why can’t good, fun things win and not just good artsy things? They’re both good and the fun ones are sometimes a lot harder to make.
“Eh.” I’m just hosting one of the biggest awards ceremonies of the year because it’ll look good on my resume and my parents asked me to. I don’t really care about awards shows.
It’s like hiring guys who only eat hot dogs and TV dinners to host a cooking competition. Ninety-nine percent of the country doesn’t care about fine dining. Why can’t Kraft dinners win sometimes, too!
Is this the kind of comedy we want now? During the Trump era?
Jost added that he thinks the #MeToo movement may not be as dominant of an issue by the time the awards show airs. “I think that by [the Emmys], people are going to be desperate to give men a chance, finally,” he joked. “It’ll probably be #HeToo by then.”
I wrote this two years ago, and it still holds true:
For Colin Jost — who attended a private high school on Manhattan’s upper east-side and later Harvard University — this is the approach of someone who has no real stake in the outcome of the election. This is peak male, white privilege. A Trump presidency wouldn’t affect Colin Jost, because he’s a wealthy white dude from New York, something that Michael Che likes to remind him of at least once an episode.
Che, on the other hand, shares a misogynistic streak with the GOP nominee. Here’s a guy who lectures women on what to do if they are raped, a guy who rationalizes asking if a woman is “on her period,” a guy who stubbornly, defiantly insists that it’s OK to harass women on the street because it’s a compliment. Che’s public comments about women are not that different from Trump’s about Alicia Machado, and even when Che has some salient points to make about black people protesting the National Anthem, he compares the issue to a nagging girlfriend who steps in front of the TV while you’re trying to watch the game.
Che and Jost have the mic during one of the most tumultuous times in America, but instead of using it as a force for good, they’re pretending it’s a penis and writing yellow names into the snow.
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