The MTV VMAs is a cultural phenomenon. It’s like the Oscars took the Grammys on a blind date where they had a few too many vodka tonics, did a couple lines off a dirty toilet seat, dance-battled a gang of cross-dressing robots and then had a slew of unprotected sex. (I call it “Tuesday.”) Normally, the annual awards show produces a bevy of “WTF?!” moments and awkwardly amusing celebrity interactions. This year was, for lack of a better term, “eh.”
The show opens with Eminem in an Eight Mile-ish setting where all I want to do is chant “spaghetti…spaghetti..” a la Dave Chappelle. He is good, I suppose. Enter Rihanna. Hey, Rockstar, Madonna called and said unless you’re gonna roll around on the ground in that outfit and make pop culture history, she wants it back. She also said you’re a horrible live singer. Sorry, Ri-Ri, Madge speaks the truth. I did, however, enjoy the back-to-back Olan Mills ending pose. Tia and Tamera Mowry would be proud.
Most people, at least most people who are reading this, were pretty pumped about Chelsea Handler hosting. Her entrance is hilarious. She comes down from the heavens amid a crowd of “Bad Romance” dancers with an architectural model-sized house on her head. A fucking house. Amazing.
Some other stuff happens. It is boring.
Gaga wins one of many awards. I pray that a little person will appear from beneath her oversized dress ruffles during her acceptance speech. It doesn’t happen. But she does cry, something that I haven’t seen her do before. She thanks the gays once again. The gays rejoice.
This article appears in Sep 9-15, 2010.