Still, for all the good intentions of the honors, and the ring of authenticity the ceremony frequently has had, there's something strangely underachieving about them. The main problem with the honors, in recent years, at least, is that they've been trying too hard to be a workable network TV product and not hard enough to be a meaningful measure of lifetime achievement in the arts. Increasingly, each annual group of five inductees appears to be achingly balanced in terms of race, generation, art form and general star power. This year, Stevie Wonder, at 49, raises similar questions, although his childhood start and multidimensional talents perhaps do argue for early admission. And although I like to see Lauren Bacall turn up in a late-night movie as much as the next man, I can hardly endorse her selection two years ago.
TV looms over the future of the awards, worrisomely.
Maybe if we got Jennifer Aniston as emcee. Or better, if she could be one of the recipients next year. The point is that the awards should forget about making acceptable network TV and concentrate exclusively on being an award of real stature and meaning.