The landscape of awards show comedy was irrevocably shattered when Ricky Gervais took the Golden Globes stage years ago. He treated Hollywood's elite not as untouchable royalty, but as willing participants in a grand circus. His act of heresy mocked their virtue-signalling and insulated lives, breaking the polite era of hosting. After Gervais, hosts could no longer just offer praise; audiences craved honesty, or a convincing facsimile of it. Most who tried failed to strike the right balance.
The Precision of Nikki Glaser's Approach
Enter Nikki Glaser at the 83rd Annual Golden Globes. She operated in the same universe as Gervais—roasting the famous, questioning power, and refusing to sanctify Hollywood—but with a radically different instrument. Where Gervais was a wrecking ball, Glaser proved to be a surgeon's scalpel. Her genius lay in making the room laugh at itself without breeding resentment. She opened with a seemingly light joke about the room being full of "A-listers... people who are on a list that's been heavily redacted." The line got laughs while quietly acknowledging the modern fame-scandal nexus.
She then took a riskier swing at the media, awarding "most editing" to CBS News, calling it "America's newest place to see B.S. news." This wasn't a partisan jab but a commentary on how media reshapes reality into palatable content. In a room packed with network executives, it landed because the target was universally recognised.
Mastering the Art of the Shared Confession
Glaser's true skill was showcased when she turned to Leonardo DiCaprio. She noted he had achieved everything "before your girlfriend turned thirty." After the audience's gasp, she didn't back down. Instead, she smiled and added, "I'm sorry, it's cheap, we know, but we don't know anything else about you." She pushed further, referencing his 1991 Teen Beat interview. DiCaprio himself laughed because Glaser transformed a tabloid trope into a moment of collective recognition. This is the core difference: Gervais exposed Hollywood by attacking it; Glaser exposes it by making it confess.
Her film jokes followed the same pattern. Listing titles like "Wicked, Queer, Nightbitch," she quipped it sounded like something Ben Affleck might yell, a joke that was absurd, juvenile, yet cut through cinematic pretence with vulgar accuracy. Even potentially scandalous material, like a cheeky innuendo directed at Michael B. Jordan that drew an eye-roll from his mother in the audience, was wrapped in disarming charm.
Why Glaser's Monologue is a Winning Formula
Nikki Glaser understands a fundamental truth: awards shows are about selling a myth of glamour and meaning. Attack that myth too harshly, and the room defends itself. Flatter it too much, and the audience disengages. Her winning strategy is to let the myth stand while gently poking holes in it. She doesn't burn the place down; she turns on the lights and gets everyone to acknowledge the clutter.
In an era where awards shows are desperate for relevance, Glaser has achieved the rare feat of making the monologue feel dangerous without being mean. Ricky Gervais declared the emperor had no clothes. Nikki Glaser walks in and suggests that since everyone knows the emperor is naked, they might as well share a laugh about it together. By speaking Hollywood's language back to it—sharper, funnier, and more honest than it expects—Nikki Glaser has cemented her status as the new monologue queen.
