“In life there are two tragedies,” Oscar Wilde once said. “One doesn’t get what he wants. The other gets it.” The second tragedy was the one I saw last night at the Kennedy Center Honors.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with the Kennedy Center Honors, a bizarre Washington-based entertainment awards show where four celebrities you’ve heard of (and should have) wear medals, sit in a special box at the Kennedy Center with the president, and receive some form of artistic tribute. Unlike other awards shows, which honor current celebrities, these celebrate a lifetime of achievement. When they’re good, they’re very, very good (think of Adam Lambert’s transcendent cover of “Believe” for Cher, or Aretha Franklin performing for Carole King). When they are strange, they are very, very strange (we think of the homage to Francis Ford Coppola in which everyone was seated at the table).
Are the Kennedy Center Honors important? At this time? Even a little? Absolutely not. Have I wanted to attend it all my life? Absolutely. You can have the Grammys! You can have the Oscars! These are my everything. There’s at least one other person who feels exactly the same way: the President of the United States. And last night we were both there.
Imagine that you have wanted to welcome the Honors your whole life. Now you’re getting there. The winners are several of your favorites. Gloria Gaynor, singer of the 1978 hit “I Will Survive.” Michael Crawford, who originated the role of The Phantom of the Opera on Broadway and won the Tony for it in 1988. Sylvester Stallone. George Strait. Kiss.
But there is something disabled. The whole evening has the characteristics of a wish made on a monkey’s paw. You wanted the Four Seasons, but you got Four Seasons Total Landscaping. Why is a “content creator” featuring one of the Gloria Gaynor tributes? Where is Meryl Streep? Why does an evening that should be Donald Trump’s greatest triumph feel so much like he revived the Pet Sematary honors?
Start with the red carpet. Someone who looks like Kellyanne Conway but isn’t is walking around there. (Maybe this is what all the women who voluntarily attend Trump events now look like.) Gene Simmons is rude to a reporter who asks him about his past criticism of Trump. He says the American dream is alive and well; his mother fled Germany and he is lucky to have a good life here. Thank goodness America remains a welcoming place for refugees to improve their lives and continue to enjoy music. (Wait a moment while I Google the administration’s position on refugees!)
Doug Burgum, Secretary of the Interior, makes the dubious, slightly backhanded compliment that Trump is “the only president we’ve had who would be able to step in and host a show like this” and “the most qualified television host we’ve ever had sitting in the Oval Office.”
Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick notes that he “likes The Phantom of the Opera.”
If the fact that Doug Burgum and Howard Lutnick are walking the red carpet makes you wonder if anyone famous is in attendance, that’s a good boost. Sylvester Stallone is there, but he walks around the mat and quickly walks elsewhere. The NewsNation reporter next to me tells her audience that the carpet is a little “lighter” on the “Hollywood side” than usual.
The president arrives last, with Melania, who wears a black dress that, structurally, reminds me of the roof of the building formerly known as the Institute of Peace (now the Trump Institute of Peace). Trump says he’s going to be himself. This, he says, is what Johnny Carson did. He walks onto the opera stage and announces, “I’m going to try to act like Johnny Carson.” »
“A lot of you are miserable, horrible people. I wish you would give up, but you don’t,” Trump told the audience. The “large and beautiful note” is praised: “It was supposed to contain 17 notes. We packed them into one. » We are informed that the winners know that “it’s all about winning. You win forward. And that’s how you win.” Wherever you go, there you are, I guess.
He compares Sylvester Stallone favorably to Orson Welles (who peaked at age 25). In addition to the tribute to Sylvester Stallone, filmmaker, we are treated to a separate video praising him exclusively as a painter, including voice-overs where he explains his paintings, always an encouraging sign for an artist!
Kelsey Grammer begins the tribute to Michael Crawford by singing “Hello, Michael! Well, hello, Michael!” to the tune of “Hello, Dolly!” » Is this what you wanted, Donald? There’s a certain irony in a cover of “It Only Takes a Moment” that takes what seems like 18 years because it was slowed down to a supernatural level by a Oh mom actor. (“Isn’t that something,” Kelsey Grammer then says. “My God.”)
Michael Crawford seems happy to be included, although I feel like it must sting to see the tribute listing all of your accomplishments abruptly end in 1988. I’ve looked at those accolades before! Usually, they evoke some sort of triumphant return! Lie, if necessary. It is often for this administration that it has decided to stick strictly to the facts.
We finally arrive at the moment that the president was surely waiting for: the The Phantom of the Opera duo. This will be sung by Laura Osnes, a former Broadway performer not vaccinated against COVID, and… David Phelps, whose Wikipedia biography calls him “an American singer, songwriter, vocal arranger, and producer of Christian music” and notes that “on January 13, 2008, Phelps appeared on Extreme Makeover Home Edition.” Next, Phelps tackles “The Music of the Night” alone.
My notes at that time said, “Donald Trump may be in hell.” Congratulations, Mr. President! This is one of your favorite songs, performed at your Kennedy Center Honors! Oh, great! By a Broadway star? Well…the performer has a TV credit! Then again, if he harbors a desire to hear “The Music of the Night” with a more Christian pop voice, maybe he’s in heaven.
“I love country,” the president said before the tribute to George Strait. (This elicits a light but distinct laugh from some of the audience.) This segment features some bona fide country stars, including Brooks, Dunn and Miranda Lambert. If President Trump really loves country music, this should be the highlight of the night! If it’s someone for whom the pinnacle of entertainment is Catsmaybe not.
Gloria Gaynor is next. A disco ball the size of a small rock descends above Elle King, and 10 exuberant dancers dressed in what I think is gold lamé come out to take my eyes off the singer at every opportunity while she sings “I Will Survive.” It is strange to see the author of this queer anthem at the Kennedy Center Honors for an administration that has shown such contempt for LGBTQ people. What brought her here? The tribute video reveals that she turned to gospel music.
After a brief disco medley, the lighting changes. The projected images of the nightclub turn into stained glass windows and gospel musicians enter. The disco ball is still stuck there, awkwardly, casting red, yellow and blue light around the room. Trump dutifully accompanies “Precious Lord”. Is this what you wanted, Mr. President?
Garth Brooks is now here for Kiss. He praises their “conversational lyrics” and “common-sense chord progressions”, which, again, doesn’t sound as complimentary as it could.
Who is next to present? Well, it’s the magician Criss Angel! The Mindfreak appears for a Kiss tribute in a very bedazzled costume with what appears to be the mutilated carcass of a chandelier hanging from his shoulders. He’s here to deliver a special magical tribute to Ace Frehley in which smoke billows from a guitar while a bright light shines on it.
We end with “Rock and Roll All Nite”. Then Donald Trump comes to thank us and tells us to go home safe and sound. I wish we could trap the president in some sort of terrarium and have him do this stuff exclusively. If only this was all entertainment and the only men with their faces hidden by masks were paying homage to Michael Crawford.
On the way out, passing the after-party (you can pose with a The Phantom of the Opera– themed photo backdrop with red roses and a giant mask!), I walk past the real Kellyanne Conway in a green mermaid dress boogieing to “Take On Me.” The cover band, perhaps sensing that I’m on schedule and could use the material, plays a melancholy Harry Styles hit: You know it’s not the same as before.
This could be Donald Trump’s paradise, if only the world would cooperate. But instead, everything he touches turns to brass. His pop turns to country; its Broadway turns to Christian rock; his discotheque turns to gospel. He’s so close he can almost taste it, but he’ll never be able to. Donald Trump is in hell. If only we weren’t stuck there with him.
