A Living Doll

Did you happen to catch the Tony Awards this past Sunday night? I did. I wanted to turn the show off after Phylicia Rashad did the same for me when she won for Best Actress in a Play and gave an acceptance speech so obviously over-rehearsed not only down to the last syllable but the last letter, and so fraught with fake humility and grace that it took all my will not to dash down to Radio City Music Hall and smother her with one of Cliff Huxtable’s hideous old sweaters. But I pressed on.
There’s so much I could say about the awards show. So much. I could say something about the show’s ridiculously handsome host, Hugh Jackman, gyrating in gold lamé pants in one of the numbers from The Boy from Oz, but that’s not why I’m here. I will not get into his pants. At least not right now.
I will, however, give huge, uh, props (are the kids these days still saying “props”?) to Carol Channing for her hip-hoppy bit with LL Cool J. Ms. Channing, 83 this January, looked like a reincarnation of Andy Warhol in Carrie Donovan’s signature specs. Andy Warhol in a shimmery minidress and high heels, that is.
I am never one to say, “You go, girl!” but I must say that if anyone ever inspired me to utter those words, it would have to be Ms. Channing. She hipped ‘n’ hopped with genuine good humor … and good God, the girl’s got gams. I must confess, however, that at one point when she shimmied and shook, and her dress crept upward on those stellar, still lithe stems, I feared that we’d all be catching a glimpse of her Dolly. Hello!
Contrast this to Sarah Jessica Parker feigning embarrassment when coaxed onstage by Hugh Jackman as Peter Allen and fluttering her hands over the top of her ballet-inspired dress to keep it from revealing a tit too much. “Are you a dancer?” asked Hugh-as-Peter. “Nooo,” she said.
Give me Dolly in her Carrie glasses over Carrie in her dolly dress any day.
Carol … you go, girl! And Sarah Jessica and Phylicia … just go. Away.