Lite show

If producers are the ultimate Hollywood heavyweights, the biggest hitters in a town filled with power players, it's a little ironic that their Producers Guild Awards show is an often-forgotten stepchild of the awards season.

The PGA's black-tie affair was launched in 1998, which makes it a relative newcomer among entertainment honors. It remains untelevised and attracts a fraction of the stars who flock to other guilds' events, like the fully glitzed SAG and Director's Guild Awards.

Sunday night's show was also hobbled by a hotel worker's boycott at the PGA's usual home, the venerable Hyatt Regency Century Plaza, forcing the producers into the decidedly less-opulent Universal Hilton.

Still, the PGA show does provide a rare space wherein Hollywood's premiere schmoozers get a chance to work their charms on each other, and that's enough of a lure for the Kudos Crasher to don his tuxedo yet again and venture out.

Men in black
Entering the pre-show cocktail hour in the packed ballroom-adjacent lobby, my breath is taken away by the near total absence of glamour. Surveying the room, which is studded with "Intel" and "Volvo" ads, I would not be a bit surprised if I looked up and saw a sign reading "Welcome Allstate Regional Managers" and learned I was at the wrong party.

The room echoes loudly as men in unadventurous black tuxedos and women in black and gray dresses chatter in line at the open bar. To their credit, producers do posses a certain magic for transforming tuxedoes into everyday business suits (as opposed to reporters covering the event, who have a knack for adding slovenly touches to formalwear and making their tuxes look like pajamas).

In one corner, sponsor United Airlines shows off a pair of their first-class fully reclinable sleeper seats, inviting producers to try them out along with Bellinis and Kir Royales, their signature drinks, I am told.

Off the cocktail reception room, a mini-red carpet is set up in a hallway. About 50 photographers and journalists make the best of Rob Reiner and then erupt with characteristic bellowing when Will Smith steps in front of the cameras.

 

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The ballroom is long and vast, and it takes me an embarrassingly long time to crack the table-numbering code (odd on one side of the hall, even on the other) and find my seat amidst the crowd of some 3,000.

Nominees are placed at center tables in front of the stage. I see Clint Eastwood and Steven Spielberg, George Clooney, Jane Seymour and Queen Latifah, the night's emcee. The two tables at the backs of the rows are reserved for the reigning kings, Jerry Bruckheimer and Brian Grazer.

A teenage girl at the Grazer table sits between two empty seats and stares into space with a look of such profound boredom I want to run over and offer her a PSP to play with. Mr. Bruckheimer's table is the only one in the room with place cards at the individual plates.

During dinner (teriyaki chicken and salmon, broccoli, carrots, mashed potatoes and a very nice chocolate mousse cake for dessert) we are shown a long video infomercial for Intel, featuring their new home video-on-demand technology.