As soon as the readymade segments gave way to live banter and, worse, audience interaction, Franco and Hathaway seemed increasingly flustered... It was painfully possible to watch in real time as they realized the show was slipping away from them.

Despite a pair of pretty young hosts hired to bring a hip and relevant vibe, the show floated forward like a big old, hollow blimp -- a blimp driven by a cheerful princess and her mopey consort, Anne Hathaway and James Franco.

It was like watching two people operating in alternate realities (or having two very different drug experiences), with the distance between them expanding and expanding as the show went on.

If Franco's intent was to hold up a mirror to the rest of us and show us how ugly we look when he pretend not to care, at least he accomplished that.

Felt particularly bloodless and slow -- and at the center of it all was James Franco, who did everything in his power to make it even worse.

In a year offering virtually no surprises among the top winners, the only shock was how quickly the show went off the rails, and stayed there in a sluggish slow dance of glittery incompetence.