Now that she’s dating a dude named Ned Rocknroll — yes, that is a real thing — and she stepped out in those skintight Stella McCartney dresses, I thought maybe Kate Winslet’s awards show couture would take on an edgier bent than in previous years. And I was curious how that would work.
Instead, no, it’s just basically boring regular stuff. From the neck up, she’s still totally in business, but the rest of this is not terribly flattering and might exist at the intersection of Dullsville Rd. and Stodgetown’s main street. I mean, this is Kate f’ing Winslet. How come she wasn’t in Evan Rachel Wood’s exotic endangered emu gown, or Diane Lane’s Reem Acra, or even Laura Dern’s sequins? It might not have worked, but on a night when she was a virtual lock to win the Globe because she’s Kate Winslet and she starred in about twelve hours of an HBO miniseries in which Guy Pearce buried his face in her nethers a lot, I think she should’ve made a splash. Leap off the high platform, don’t just slip into the pool and hope we think you dove in. Whatever the hell that means. (It means: OLYMPICS 2012 FEVER IS STARTING.)