Ariana Grande, Michael B. Jordan, and Emma Stone Spark Awards Season Frenzy

Mia Reynolds, 12/8/2025A riveting preview of this year’s Golden Globes, highlighting star-studded contenders like Ariana Grande and Michael B. Jordan, and the mix of chaotic glamour and heartfelt storytelling that defines the awards season. Dive into a celebration of creativity that blends humor, emotion, and unexpected surprises!

Consider this year’s crop of nominees—a list that’s practically bursting at the seams with star power. Somewhere out there, theater kids, grown-up dreamers, and maybe even a few skeptical cinephiles are clutching their Playbills (or digital equivalents) in heady anticipation, waiting to see how the night will shake out. At the populist end of things, “Wicked: For Good” sweeps back onto the scene, promising all the spectacle and shimmer that made its stage version a phenomenon. Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo, as Glinda and Elphaba, are more than just actors inhabiting roles. They’re bringing an electricity—Grande’s voice sparkles, sure, but it’s the way Erivo roots her Elphaba in something fierce and almost mythic that lingers. In a season where “fun” and “crowd-pleasing” can sometimes feel like dirty words in certain circles, “Wicked” insists on them with no apologies.

If it’s emotional gravitas you’re after, though, “Hamnet”—Chloe Zhao’s latest—invites you gently, almost mournfully, into the hush and flicker of plague-era England. Jessie Buckley, a perennial under-the-radar gem, wears heartbreak the way others might don a costume cloak: naturally and with just a hint of defiance. Paired with Paul Mescal’s quiet intensity, they turn historical pain into something intimate, humming with the pulse of lives lived and lost. Maybe it’s the candlelit visuals or Zhao’s signature touch for finding poetry in the margins, but the film feels like it’s excavating grief itself. There’s something refreshing about a period piece that doesn’t just chase grandeur—it aches.

The tone flips again with Ryan Coogler’s “Sinners,” a contender determined to elbow its way to the top. Just when the awards crowd gets comfortable, here comes Michael B. Jordan—twice over, in fact—twin roles twisting around issues of crime, supernatural dread, and history’s long shadow in the Jim Crow South. Predictability isn’t on the menu. Critics are already singing the film’s praises, pointing out how rarely a box office hit aligns with substantial artistry and real social urgency in such a tidy package.

It would be impossible not to mention a few more. Paul Thomas Anderson’s “One Battle After Another” drops DiCaprio into the thick of revolution—gritty, kinetic, with the kind of layered performance voters gobble up come awards time. Guillermo Del Toro brings his own gothic flavor to “Frankenstein,” casting Oscar Isaac and Jacob Elordi as intense foils in a world awash with shadow and candlelight. Meanwhile, Emma Stone, ever the chameleon, brings her flair for the slightly surreal in “Bugonia.” If it feels like everyone is in the mix, well… that’s sort of the point this year.

James Cameron’s “Avatar: Fire and Ash” thunders back into the spotlight, garlanded in blue and ready to scoop up holiday audiences. When Cameron gets going, there’s a sense that spectacle alone could tip the scales—he doesn’t do things by halves. Those 3D glasses may not flatter anyone, but there’s always a little extra reverence for his knack for world-building and visual bravado.

The Globes, ever generous if a touch chaotic, double the Oscars’ acting nominations. Thirty-six slots instead of twenty—that’s more room for the unexpected, for “oh, her?” surprises and for speeches that occasionally spill over their time. There’s something almost democratic about it; Hollywood’s brightest aren’t funneled into a handful of prescribed roles, but given room to carve out their moments. DiCaprio for Anderson’s political firebrand, Timothée Chalamet ping-ponging through dramedy in “Marty Supreme,” Sydney Sweeney challenging expectations in “Christy”—the field is packed. It’s hard not to imagine a few slightly panicked assistants working double-time to book eveningwear fittings.

Television, too, gets its due with the Globes. There’s a certain generosity in how the show approaches the medium—acknowledging, far earlier than the Emmys ever did, that storytelling is no longer bound to a single screen. The British limited series “Adolescence,” already the toast of the Emmys, returns with the weight of expectation. It’s a sharp, unblinking look at the ordeal and resilience of young lives, and its presence on the shortlist feels all but inevitable. Meanwhile, in the longer-format race, “Severance” continues to twist minds, and “The Pitt” lures viewers down philosophical rabbit holes. On the lighter side, “The Studio” and “Hacks” both jab and wink at the more fragile egos of showbiz behind the scenes—a gentle reminder that, even on TV, the lines between tragedy and farce are awfully thin.

Change keeps coming, too. For 2025, the Globes (finally) open a fresh category: best podcast. It’s about time, isn’t it? Stories now travel in earbuds and kitchen speakers as much as they do through projection lights, and there’s a certain justice in honoring storytelling that wraps around a morning commute just as tightly as it does the big screen. Podcasts are the stray dogs of narrative art—everywhere, often scrappy, and somehow always managing to worm their way into our daily routines.

And then there’s Nikki Glaser, back to captain the night. With her, anything might happen—and usually does. Last year’s monologue famously tottered between brilliant and delightfully inappropriate, but it’s precisely her willingness to roast everyone equally (from Oscar titans to viral TikTokers) that keeps the air fizzing with possibility. Someone’s gonna look mortified, and someone’s joke will bomb spectacularly, but the show will go on—jagged edges and all.

True, the Globes aren’t pristine. Scandals haven’t been in short supply, and now and then the process seems held together by luck and tenacity alone. Regardless, there’s something deeply infectious in the ceremony’s refusal to take itself too seriously. The parade of messiness and glamour, the unpredictable speeches, the weirdness of category splits—it’s all a reminder of why awards season remains must-watch viewing even when everyone insists they’re above it.

So maybe, for all the debates about who deserves what and whether an animated musical or a centuries-old tragedy ought to get top billing, the secret of the Globes lies elsewhere. Imagine the event as Hollywood’s unfiltered rehearsal dinner: plenty of nerves, some chaotic table-hopping, laughter that’s a little bit too loud, and the unspoken acknowledgment that tomorrow’s big show is still ahead. The stories, regardless of shape or medium, draw everyone a little closer—bridging the gap between hope and heartbreak, and inviting viewers to remember why they love it all in the first place.

And isn’t that the point of storytelling, whether it’s on a golden screen or whispered into someone’s headphones on the drive to work?

Each December, as the temperatures in Los Angeles stubbornly hover somewhere between crisp and stubbornly mild, an unmistakable flicker of anticipation travels through the city. The Golden Globes cast their spell once again—somewhere between champagne-fueled mayhem and celluloid glamour, there’s a special unruliness in the air. Unlike the sober, buttoned-up Oscars, the Globes have crafted their own niche. This is the awards show where unpredictable upsets, unscripted speeches, and a kind of communal giddiness take center stage. It’s all part of the charm.Consider this year’s crop of nominees—a list that’s practically bursting at the seams with star power. Somewhere out there, theater kids, grown-up dreamers, and maybe even a few skeptical cinephiles are clutching their Playbills (or digital equivalents) in heady anticipation, waiting to see how the night will shake out. At the populist end of things, “Wicked: For Good” sweeps back onto the scene, promising all the spectacle and shimmer that made its stage version a phenomenon. Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo, as Glinda and Elphaba, are more than just actors inhabiting roles. They’re bringing an electricity—Grande’s voice sparkles, sure, but it’s the way Erivo roots her Elphaba in something fierce and almost mythic that lingers. In a season where “fun” and “crowd-pleasing” can sometimes feel like dirty words in certain circles, “Wicked” insists on them with no apologies.If it’s emotional gravitas you’re after, though, “Hamnet”—Chloe Zhao’s latest—invites you gently, almost mournfully, into the hush and flicker of plague-era England. Jessie Buckley, a perennial under-the-radar gem, wears heartbreak the way others might don a costume cloak: naturally and with just a hint of defiance. Paired with Paul Mescal’s quiet intensity, they turn historical pain into something intimate, humming with the pulse of lives lived and lost. Maybe it’s the candlelit visuals or Zhao’s signature touch for finding poetry in the margins, but the film feels like it’s excavating grief itself. There’s something refreshing about a period piece that doesn’t just chase grandeur—it aches.The tone flips again with Ryan Coogler’s “Sinners,” a contender determined to elbow its way to the top. Just when the awards crowd gets comfortable, here comes Michael B. Jordan—twice over, in fact—twin roles twisting around issues of crime, supernatural dread, and history’s long shadow in the Jim Crow South. Predictability isn’t on the menu. Critics are already singing the film’s praises, pointing out how rarely a box office hit aligns with substantial artistry and real social urgency in such a tidy package.It would be impossible not to mention a few more. Paul Thomas Anderson’s “One Battle After Another” drops DiCaprio into the thick of revolution—gritty, kinetic, with the kind of layered performance voters gobble up come awards time. Guillermo Del Toro brings his own gothic flavor to “Frankenstein,” casting Oscar Isaac and Jacob Elordi as intense foils in a world awash with shadow and candlelight. Meanwhile, Emma Stone, ever the chameleon, brings her flair for the slightly surreal in “Bugonia.” If it feels like everyone is in the mix, well… that’s sort of the point this year.James Cameron’s “Avatar: Fire and Ash” thunders back into the spotlight, garlanded in blue and ready to scoop up holiday audiences. When Cameron gets going, there’s a sense that spectacle alone could tip the scales—he doesn’t do things by halves. Those 3D glasses may not flatter anyone, but there’s always a little extra reverence for his knack for world-building and visual bravado.The Globes, ever generous if a touch chaotic, double the Oscars’ acting nominations. Thirty-six slots instead of twenty—that’s more room for the unexpected, for “oh, her?” surprises and for speeches that occasionally spill over their time. There’s something almost democratic about it; Hollywood’s brightest aren’t funneled into a handful of prescribed roles, but given room to carve out their moments. DiCaprio for Anderson’s political firebrand, Timothée Chalamet ping-ponging through dramedy in “Marty Supreme,” Sydney Sweeney challenging expectations in “Christy”—the field is packed. It’s hard not to imagine a few slightly panicked assistants working double-time to book eveningwear fittings.Television, too, gets its due with the Globes. There’s a certain generosity in how the show approaches the medium—acknowledging, far earlier than the Emmys ever did, that storytelling is no longer bound to a single screen. The British limited series “Adolescence,” already the toast of the Emmys, returns with the weight of expectation. It’s a sharp, unblinking look at the ordeal and resilience of young lives, and its presence on the shortlist feels all but inevitable. Meanwhile, in the longer-format race, “Severance” continues to twist minds, and “The Pitt” lures viewers down philosophical rabbit holes. On the lighter side, “The Studio” and “Hacks” both jab and wink at the more fragile egos of showbiz behind the scenes—a gentle reminder that, even on TV, the lines between tragedy and farce are awfully thin.Change keeps coming, too. For 2025, the Globes (finally) open a fresh category: best podcast. It’s about time, isn’t it? Stories now travel in earbuds and kitchen speakers as much as they do through projection lights, and there’s a certain justice in honoring storytelling that wraps around a morning commute just as tightly as it does the big screen. Podcasts are the stray dogs of narrative art—everywhere, often scrappy, and somehow always managing to worm their way into our daily routines.And then there’s Nikki Glaser, back to captain the night. With her, anything might happen—and usually does. Last year’s monologue famously tottered between brilliant and delightfully inappropriate, but it’s precisely her willingness to roast everyone equally (from Oscar titans to viral TikTokers) that keeps the air fizzing with possibility. Someone’s gonna look mortified, and someone’s joke will bomb spectacularly, but the show will go on—jagged edges and all.True, the Globes aren’t pristine. Scandals haven’t been in short supply, and now and then the process seems held together by luck and tenacity alone. Regardless, there’s something deeply infectious in the ceremony’s refusal to take itself too seriously. The parade of messiness and glamour, the unpredictable speeches, the weirdness of category splits—it’s all a reminder of why awards season remains must-watch viewing even when everyone insists they’re above it.So maybe, for all the debates about who deserves what and whether an animated musical or a centuries-old tragedy ought to get top billing, the secret of the Globes lies elsewhere. Imagine the event as Hollywood’s unfiltered rehearsal dinner: plenty of nerves, some chaotic table-hopping, laughter that’s a little bit too loud, and the unspoken acknowledgment that tomorrow’s big show is still ahead. The stories, regardless of shape or medium, draw everyone a little closer—bridging the gap between hope and heartbreak, and inviting viewers to remember why they love it all in the first place.And isn’t that the point of storytelling, whether it’s on a golden screen or whispered into someone’s headphones on the drive to work?