Disappointing show for Brits at Golden Globes

Colin Firth and Christian Bale were the only British winners at yesterday's awards ceremony.

It might have been hosted by a Brit, but that was almost as far as British influence went at last night's Golden Globes, as the British contingent left with only two wins. Despite being tipped for success and gaining seven nominations, The King's Speech picked up just one award, with Colin Firth winning the best actor category. The LA-based Christian Bale was the other British winner on the night, winning the best supporting-actor award for his role in The Fighter.

The night's main winner was Aaron Sorkin's account of the founding of Facebook, The Social Network. Despite being criticised in some quarters - most eloquently by Laurie Penny - for its alleged misogyny (and inspiring a number of spoofs) the film took four awards, including best picture, best director and best screenplay.

The Golden Globe judges agreed with the New Statesman's Ryan Gilbey, who praised the film in his recent review, making it his film of the year.

Following in the footsteps of Helen Mirren and Judi Dench, Colin Firth found that the best way to win was to play royalty. After failing to pick up the best actor gong in 2010, Firth won for his portrayal of a stuttering George VI in this year's surprise hit, The King's Speech.

The other British success story of the night was supposed to be Ricky Gervais. After a slightly shaky reception last year, Gervais made no effort to change his act. With jokes about Charlie Sheen ("It's going to be a night of partying and heavy drinking. Or, as Charlie Sheen calls it, breakfast") and unnamed, allegedly (allegedly!) homosexual scientologists ("Also not nominated, I Love You Phillip Morris. Jim Carrey and Ewan McGregor. Two heterosexual actors pretending to be gay, so the complete opposite of some famous Scientologists then"), Gervais did not water-down his unapologetic comedy.

Gervais certainly seems to be living by his personal comedy mantra, which he revealed to Sophie Elmhirst in an interview in this year's Christmas issue of the New Statesman.

"I don't want to just do anodyne stuff [people] could do themselves. I don't want to go out there and point out the bleeding obvious. I don't want to remember the Seventies and get a laugh - it's cheating."

When asked whether Gervais would be invited back next year, the head of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association who organise the Golden Globes, Philip Berk replied: "No comment."

NANCY JO IACOI/GALLERY STOCK
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There are only two rules for an evening drink: it must be bitter, and it must be cold

A Negroni is the aperitif of choice in bars everywhere from London to Palermo - and no wonder.

The aperitif has the odd distinction of being the only alcohol that can always rely on a sober audience: it is the opener, the stimulant, a spur to the appetite for good food and good conversation. This preparatory beverage is considered the height of sophistication, and certainly nobody labouring in field or factory ever required a pep to their evening appetite. Still, to take a drink before one starts drinking is hardly clever behaviour. So why do it?

One reason is surely the wish to separate the working day from the evening’s leisure, an increasingly pressing matter as we lose the ability to switch off. This may change the nature of the aperitif, which was generally supposed to be light, in alcohol and character. Once, one was expected to quaff a pre-dinner drink and go in to dine with faculties and taste buds intact; now, it might be more important for those who want an uninterrupted meal to get preprandially plastered. That way, your colleagues may contact you but they won’t get much sense out of you, and pretty soon they’ll give up and bother someone else.

The nicest thing about the aperitif, and the most dangerous, is that it doesn’t follow rules. It’s meant to be low in alcohol, but nobody ever accused a gin and tonic or a Negroni (Campari, gin and vermouth in equal portions) of that failing; and sherry, which is a fabulous aperitif (not least because you can keep drinking it until the meal or the bottle ends), has more degrees of alcohol than most wines. An aperitif should not be heavily perfumed or flavoured, for fear of spoiling your palate, yet some people love pastis, the French aniseed drink that goes cloudy in water, and that you can practically smell across the Channel. They say the scent actually enhances appetite.

Really only two rules apply. An aperitif should be bitter – or, at any rate, it shouldn’t be sweet, whatever the fans of red vermouth may tell you. And it must be cold. Warm drinks such as Cognac and port are for after dinner. Not for nothing did Édith Piaf warble, in “Mon apéro”, about drowning her amorous disappointments in aperitifs: fail to cool your passions before sharing a table, and you belong with the barbarians.

On the other hand, conversing with your nearest over a small snack and an appropriate beverage, beyond the office and before the courtesies and complications of the dinner table, is the essence of cultured behaviour. If, as is sometimes thought, civilisation has a pinnacle, surely it has a chilled apéro carefully balanced on top.

The received wisdom is that the French and Italians, with their apéritifs and aperitivos, are the experts in these kinds of drinks. Certainly the latter are partial to their Aperol spritzes, and the former to such horrid, wine-based tipples as Lillet and Dubonnet. But the English are good at gin and the Americans invented the Martini. As for Spain, tapas were originally snacks atop a covering that kept the flies out of one’s pre-dinner drink: tapa means lid.

Everywhere, it seems, as evening approaches, people crave a drink that in turn will make them salivate: bitterness, the experts tell us, prepares the mouth to welcome food. The word “bitter” may come from “bite”, in which case the aperitif’s place before dinner is assured.

I like to think that a good one enables the drinker to drown all sour feelings, and go in to dinner cleansed and purified. Fanciful, perhaps. But what better lure to fancy than a beverage that exists only to bring on the evening’s pleasures?

Nina Caplan is the Louis Roederer Pio Cesare Food and Wine Writer of the Year

Nina Caplan is the 2014 Fortnum & Mason Drink Writer of the Year and 2014 Louis Roederer International Wine Columnist of the Year for her columns on drink in the New Statesman. She tweets as @NinaCaplan.

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times