The Best, The Woist

Turner Classic Movies is, at this moment, screening ""Deadline USA," which has Humphrey Bogart as a newspaper editor and Ethel Barrymore in the Katherine Graham role as publisher. It is one of the films in which Bogart got to wear a bowtie, which he seemed always to enjoy.

But that is a digression, for what I have come to discourse upon are end-of-the-year best and worst lists.  Everyone in the trade, it seems, compiles them:  best and worst movies, best and worst styles, best and worst CDs, best and worst wurst.  It has become obligatory, and that is why I am not going to do it.

The best of these end-of-year roundups was Esquire's Dubious Achievement Awards, which grew increasingly rude and irreverent; but, sadly, the magazine has given up this noble cause.

Wait a second--just got a flash from Editor Bogart, says I have to do some kind of end-of-year list.  Okay, so there were some things to applaud in 2009, including another predictably unpredictable CFL season (with a continuing fashion statement by Saskatchewan Roughriders fans); Richard Thompson's charming comic strip, "Cul de Sac"; the publication of "Endpoint," last poems by the irreplaceable John Updike; Meryl Streep's wonderful performance as Julia Child; the successful saving of Victoria's CHEK-TV by the station's employees; PJ Perry's continuing saxology; Vaughan Palmer's puckish "Voice of BC"; Bobby Flay on the Food Network; President Obama's Nobel Peace Prize; and Litehouse Pear-Gorgonzola vinaigrette.

On the downside, we give low marks to Olympic 2010 religious fervor; the use of "impact" as a verb; the relentless (and often inappropriately logged) promos on CBC Radio 2; the slavish use of "Mr." before names in the news, even when identifying axe murderers; the push to have "actor" serve both male and female performers (think of the Academy Awards:  "And now, the award for best actor who happens to be female"); "reality" television, in all its ugly forms; increasingly wacky recipes (sardine ice cream); and the disappearance of Man-Size (or Big Nose) Kleenex.  I was going to add political chicanery, but that is so forever. 

Okay, did it, Bowtie Bogey.  But now on to what we at this desk consider the biggest story of the year:  the Grammy Award to Prime Minister Stephen Harper for Best Musical Performance by a Sitting World Leader.  Steve ("Leave it to Steve") pulled it off with his rendition of "With a Little Help from My Similarly Ideologically Inclined Friends." 

We spoke to him backstage at the Awards Gala, and he said, "I wanted to show that I am every bit as hip, possibly hipper, than Mr. Iggy Pop." 

"Wow," we said, "this may be the biggest triumph for a world leader since Harry Truman played the Missouri Waltz and Lauren Bacall sat on the piano."

"Well," said Steve, "I could have done that.  I could have had Rona Ambrose or Bev Oda or even John Baird sit on the piano, but my inspiration comes from a later pianistic president.  I refer, of course, to Dick '88 Keys' Nixon, the Thelonious Monk of the White House."  

"Did he have big feet and wear funny hats?"

"Huh?  Listen, I love this, but you have to excuse me.  I have to call the Governor-General. Hello, Michaelle?  Okay if I call you Mickey?  Listen, let's do the pro thing again.  You know, the prorogue?  Cool!  Dedicating my next number to you:  'Little White Lies.'  Peter Mackay on bass, Jason Kenney on drums, Peter van Loan on nose flute.  Hit it, guys!"

"The moon was all aglow

   And heaven was in your eyes

   The night that I told you

   Those little white lies."