After the two oddest years in the history of the red carpet, when Covid restrictions saw stars accepting gongs from their sofas via Zoom, glitzy prizegivings as we (used to) know them are back. Last night’s BAFTA ceremony, from the Royal Albert Hall, marked the opening salvo of a two-week run-in of the biggies, as the Oscars follows at the end of the month. It was, reassuringly for fans and teeth-grindingly for detractors, the customary heady cocktail of self-absorption and virtue-signalling, along with acknowledgment of some very fine pieces of cinema. As well as Kenneth Branagh’s Belfast.
In recent years, awards ceremonies have tied themselves in all sorts of knots over their hosts. Straight white men are most definitely out and women are the preferred dish of the day, with women of colour the equivalent of a triple-word score. Yet no one with a memory could possibly argue that Australian comedy actress Rebel Wilson, BAFTA’s MC this year, was an improvement on the suave and erudite elegance of previous long-time favourite Stephen Fry.
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