• by Barbara Lippert , Columnist, September 16, 2025

I never thought I’d be knocked out by a sketch about Philo T. Farnsworth, the guy with the cartoon name who invented television in the late 1920s. Although it resembled an SNL cold open a little too closely, I liked the clever cathode-ray-tube look of the set and the jokes about the development of the television medium.

Thus the 77^th Emmy Awards, hosted by first-timer Nate Bargatze, started off promisingly.  

But in short order, the broadcast honoring TV itself disrupted the signal.

Although I loved seeing Colbert and crew win right out of the gate, and the late-night host’s jokes about being unemployed, it seemed that he ended on a queasy note of accommodation.

Indeed, by choosing Bargatze, who appeared stiff and uncomfortable on stage after he nailed the open, perhaps CBS was sidestepping possible political controversy, which made the program far less entertaining; we expected some provocations, but the few political remarks from accepting stars got bleeped. 

But the biggest blooper – and provocation – of the evening was the running bit known as The Donation Clock. 

Granted, the concept itself, to help keep acceptance speeches short, was innovative, and it came from a philanthropic place. 

But that only made the perversity of the set-up worse.

Bargatze introduced the idea by pledging $100,000 to the Boys & Girls Clubs of America.That’s sweet, as was putting the dressed-up kids/club members on stage to accompany the winners backstage. 

But at bottom, the deal was punitive: for every acceptance speech that went over 45 seconds, the host deducted $1,000 from his contribution. A running tally, getting into the red, loomed over the whole show.

It was like replacing the “play-off” hook with an anvil hanging over our heads. And by introducing this needless bit of anxiety, who were the producers really punishing?

The charity, and the home audience, and we had no control.

But despite the constant sadistic tick of the clock, there were still some uplifting speeches.

One bright spot came from Owen Cooper, who won Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Limited or Anthology Series or Movie, for his transcendent role as the 12-year-old killer in Netflix’s 2025 gripper, “Adolescence.” Now 15, Cooper became the youngest winner in that category. And in the meantime, seems to have grown a foot.

The haunting blockbuster, done in a series of single takes, deservedly won big.

Sporting a cool youthful take on the concept of a penguin suit, Cooper got up to the podium and said “I was nothing three years ago. I’m here now.”  He had the actors in the audience in tears.

Another highlight, speech-wise, came from actor Jeff Hiller, who wore a chic pink tweed suit. He won Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series for his role as Joel in “Somebody, Somewhere.” It was a dramatic upset over Harrison Ford, which made the first-time winner’s speech even more poignant. “I feel like I’m going to cry because for the past 25 years, I have been like, ‘World, I want to be an actor!’” he said. “And the world was like, ‘Maybe computers.’”  

Still, while watching the acceptance speeches, I was anxious about the prospect of the deducted money and what that would do to the kids. I started looking at the stars who went over 45 seconds as oblivious gasbags, which might be true, but seemed unfair. If you needed to introduce an element of unnecessary punishment to the proceedings, it was already there in the form of the cringey, unfunny pre-scripted patter of the presenters.

Deduct that instead!

From Jennifer Coolidge to Ray Romano and Brad Garrett, their intros were overly long, boring or downright weird.

For example, you’d think that presenting the final award for Best Comedy Series would call for a high note. But Brad Garrett instead went on and on with his own bizarro funereal tone, worrying about whether he’d be selected for a future obit portion of the Emmys. (I thought this year’s obituaries were poorly done.) He was on stage with his “Everybody Loves Raymond” brother, the already hangdog Ray Romano. (Yeah, I know that they were repeating the theme of their sitcom.) But the bit went nowhere, except for bringing a death wish to the winners, the otherwise joyous crew of “The Studio.”  

Plus, the presence of the damn donation clock was like a fund-lowerer, rather than a fund-raiser. Pegging the money to the length of speeches sapped the attention from the good work of the organization, and what it deserved.

 It was like holding the charity hostage, out of no fault of its own.

I kept hoping (and vaguely expecting) that something would happen to make the Boys & Girls Club whole. By the end, it did. While the actual dollar number on the board was less than zero (pigs!), Bargatze announced that he’d instead give $250,000 with CBS adding $100,000.

That was a relief. But still, these days that’s a minor amount. I wondered about the deep-pocketed people in the audience, who were sitting on their money. 

If you’re announcing a charity donation, where’s the excitement of the old Jerry Lewis telethons, when he’d suddenly announce, “Frank Sinatra just phoned in a million-dollar donation”?  

If anything, the 2025 Emmy Awards proved that we need the speeches.

As to running overtime, who knows what the answer is?

Let’s go with a winner. “Maybe computers.”