I don’t know much about Anne Hathaway, but one thing seems certain — she’s humorless. When the world is criticizing you, the only way to squash that criticism is to self-deprecate and laugh, and she’s done neither. When James Franco addressed his Oscar hosting gig with Hathaway, word leaked that Hathaway was pissed, with what I can only believe are planted sources saying, “Anne would never air her dirty laundry in public and is intensely private. . . . It’s opened up old wounds, is totally unnecessary, and she’s fuming.” First of all, why is Anne Hathaway perfectly fine with laughing at Tina Fey’s Golden Globes’ joke about James Franco’s poor Oscar-hosting job, but she’s not okay with laughing at any jokes directed at her? Furthermore, you’d think the girl who hilariously poked fun at Claire Danes on SNL would also be able to poke fun at herself. My advice for Hathaway’s PR team is to have her host SNL again, get an award every five minutes and give cartoonish acceptance speeches. If Alec Baldwin can survive every dagger thrown in his direction, so can Anne Hathaway.
I like self-deprecating humor just as much as the next person, but even The Dishmaster has a boiling point. Former Saturday Night Live performer Rachel Dratch is promoting her new book, which involves endless confessions about how by “Hollywood standards” she’s considered a “troll, ogre, woodland creature or manly lesbian.” She also recounts how Tina Fey replaced her character on 30 Rock, and how the media subsequently speculated that Dratch wasn’t attractive enough for the part. I’ve had it with Rachel Dratch. I realize that controversy sells books, but there comes a point where self-deprecating humor just becomes sad. She’s not ugly, and I’m sick of hearing her proclaim otherwise — even if it’s a joke.