Pop Goes Culture

Readers, can I get real with you for a second? I’m a huge fan of awards shows like the Golden Globes, Grammys and Oscars. But it’s not because of the (usually dull) acceptance speeches or a special guest appearance by the executives from Ernst & Young.

Actually, my love of awards shows stems from my obsession with red-carpet coverage.

Yeah, I said obsession. And I’m only slightly ashamed to say it.

Anyone who knows me knows I am a sucker for both quality TV shows and trainwreck reality TV. Red carpet coverage gloriously offers the best of the both worlds. Like any TV show worth its salt (er, ratings), E!’s red carpet telecasts are all about high drama and comedy, usually of the unintentional or completely awkward varieties.

Much of the drama comes from that first glimpse of celebrities getting out of their limousines, smoothing the wrinkles out of their dresses or suits and molding their faces into the perma-sultry-pout mode.

This is one of my favorite parts of red carpet coverage, and I’m not afraid to say it.

Listen, I dig fashion. I’ve seen both seasons of “The Rachel Zoe Project” and been a devoted viewer of “Project Runway” since its second season, which obviously qualifies me to critique celebrity dresses, hairstyles, jewelry and fake tans.

To my delight, red carpets exponentially up the levels of craziness and/or glamour of celebrity fashion. Who could forget Bjork’s infamous swan dress, or Hilary Swank’s completely backless navy stunner of a gown? Moments like those only come around a few months out of the year.

But dramatic fashion statements are far from the whole red carpet enchilada. To watch this stuff is to get very well acquainted with the various neuroses, faux-feuds and peculiar brands of awkward of hosts a la Giuliana Rancic, Ryan Seacrest and Mr. J of “America’s Next Top Model” infamy.

Within the first few seconds of the Golden Globes telecast, it was clear that Seacrest and Rancic intended to transition between each other with zingers that hit uncomfortably close to the bone, including transparent digs at Seacrest’s masculinity.

Mr. J — poor, platinum-coiffed soul — didn’t know what to say.

Interviews are the bread and butter of red carpet coverage, and Seacrest and Rancic rarely disappoint in asking questions. That’s not to say they’re questions anyone necessarily wants answered; usually they’re either obligatory (“Who are you wearing?”), suspicious (“Talk to me about the film you’re in that’s coming out next week!”) or awkward (“What’s your diet secret?”). Why neither of them ask the really important questions, like “Wait, why are you famous, again?,” is beyond me.

The homemade strawberry jam, if you will, on the bread and butter of red carpet interviews, is all the ridiculous stuff that happens without warning.

Like when Gary Busey kissed a stunned, defenseless Jennifer Garner at last year’s Globes, or when Rancic got snubbed by George Clooney and his new Italian girlfriend and shouted at them in Italian to come back, or any time when celebrities were confronted with a cheesy “HoloGlam” ghost-of-red-carpets-past image. The look of sheer bewilderment on the face of Toni Collette at this year’s Globes said it all — WTF. (Why the face?)

So, yeah, I’m a little ashamed to say that I will drop everything to watch two hours of utterly ridiculous celebrity hobnobbing. But only a little. This Sunday, grab a seat on your couch a little before the ceremony starts. You might just find yourself unable to look away from the crazy train heading straight for the Kodak Theater.