Put Brienne of Tarth on the Iron Throne and let’s be done with it. She’s clearly the baddest bitch in all of the 7 kingdoms. At last night’s final season premiere of Game Of Thrones in NYC, Gwendoline Christie brought both the fire and the ice to the red carpet. Instead of relying on Oathkeeper as she does on the show, Gwen relied on what her momma gave her to slay the competition. Brienne of Tarth must have had Cersei Lannister so shook she didn’t even bother to show. However, Gwen’s shine didn’t seem to intimidate Kit Harington one bit.
Advance apologies to our British readers, but I don’t know who any of your “celebrities” are unless they are Dames, Sirs, Katie Price or Idris Elba. I may have no idea who Rita Ora is, but ya’ll sure do know how to put the “F” in Fashion (if the F stands for “fuck is this?”). The Brit Awards, Britain’s equivalent to The Grammys, were last night and apparently, the theme for the red carpet was “Party at Party City“. There were enough pinatas, clown suits, vinyl tablecloths, crepe paper ruffles, and discounted Halloween costumes on display to stock every single party store in Britain for the next millennium. Above is noted (somewhere) fabric sculptor and designer Daniel Lismore, who’s ready to serve as the punch bowl at your next Luau/Red Wedding themed get-together.
It would have been a nearly all-black fashion show at the BAFTAs in London last night, in honor of the Time’s Up movement. But the class average was brought down by Duchess Kate (who was prevented from wearing black by royal no-politics protocol), and Frances McDormand (who just didn’t feel like it and showed up in pink-on-black instead).
For mostly everyone else, it was a multitude of black. Or black with a random kick of not-black, like Allison Janney. And by random, I mean a satin choker bolero on top of a Bibhu Mohapatra dress. It looks like a shirt made from the bottom half of Roger the Alien from American Dad that was put on backwards and upside down.
I almost watched the People’s Choice Awards last night, because there’s something about seeing the few A-listers there making faces that say, “I really need to fire my goddamn publicist for making me go to this shit,” while surrounded by extras from The CW shows and shameless spotlight humpers (see: Frankie Grande). But I shat on that thought and decided to watch the condensation on my water glass for 2 hours instead.
Besides attention whore flamingo Frankie Grande showing up looking like a Great Value version of Caesar Flickman from The Hunger Games (more like The Thirst Games), other stuff actually happened. Sensitive thumb Vin Diesel cooed out another musical tribute to Paul Walker and Melanie Griffith’s daughter made a joke about her tits. But the moment that really made the rounds was the sad re-creation of Kanye West’s “Imma let you finish…” stunt.
Many of us cynical old whores believe that Jennifer Lawrence’s graceful “Cinderella at the ball” fall at the Oscars was created with help from 3 publicists, a team of choreographers, a pair of knee pads and a stage fight coach. Many of us SWEAR we could see Jennifer Lawrence mouthing to herself, “…And 1…2..3…FALL.” Miss Pissy Hands fell again the next year at the Oscars and last week, she tripped again. I’ve been waiting for JLaw to dye her hair Lucille Ball ginger and marry a Cuban dude since she’s obviously the new Wacky Slapstick Queen of Hollywood! But Jennifer Lawrence was on The Tonight Show last night and she told fellow clumsy bitch Jimmy Fallon that her falls are organic and real and she doesn’t like to talk about them, because she doesn’t want anyone to think she’s faking that shit. That is so something a STUNT QUEEN who fakes her falls would say!
The BAFTAs happened in London tonight and they’re just like the Oscars except after the ceremony ends the losers are escorted to THE QUEEN’s dungeon where they’re turned into Corgi food.
All award season long (yes, I hate myself for typing that too), the ginger goddess of perfection that is Julianne Moore has mostly dressed like a kindergarten art teacher who fell onto the craft table after the kids made Valentines for their parents and tonight she finally brought the glamour. For once, people weren’t asking her, “Who are you wearing,” because they wanted to make sure to never buy shit from that designer. Julianne, who won Best Actress at the BAFTAs tonight, is giving me “torch song singer at a club where mobsters hold their meetings” glamour. I’m surprised that carpet didn’t turn a bright shade of green when it saw Julianne because it was jealous over her wearing the color red better than it.
I know, I’m not right for choosing a picture of Julianne looking like she’s trying not to wet heave, but it was the only picture where you could see a peek of her shoe (you’re welcome, Quentin Tarantino). She’s probably just gagging on her own glamour. The only way these pictures of Julianne would be hotter is if a naked Prince Hot Ginge was doing jumping jacks behind her.
I’m going to post more from the BAFTAs, but in the meantime here’s some pictures of others including Dianna Agron (I guess Britain is importing seat fillers from America now), the Bond Girls and Rosamund Pike.