The weekly round-up of entertainment shanigans. January 16th 2026.

Let’s kick off with the 2026 Golden Globes, that annual festival of Hollywood back‑patting where celebrities pretend to be humble while wearing jewellery worth more than the GDP of Sunderland. This year’s ceremony was a triumph of glamour, insincerity, and speeches so long they required their own interval. British viewers tuned in hoping for scandal, wardrobe malfunctions, or at least someone falling off the stage, but instead got three hours of actors thanking their agents, their stylists, and “the fans,” by which they mean “the people who pay for my swimming pool.” The BBC dutifully reported the winners, while the rest of us wondered why we’re expected to care about a room full of millionaires applauding each other like trained seals.

Meanwhile, in the world of corporate entertainment shenanigans, Paramount has launched a hostile takeover bid for Warner Bros, proving once again that the film industry is less about art and more about massive companies trying to eat each other like Pac‑Man on payday. Executives in expensive suits are currently running around shouting things like “synergy,” “content verticals,” and “brand consolidation,” which are all phrases that mean “we’re about to sack loads of people and reboot Batman again.” Warner Bros, for their part, are pretending they’re not panicking, but you can practically hear the boardroom chairs squeaking as everyone clenches simultaneously.

On a sadder note, the music world is mourning the loss of Bob Weir, founding member of the Grateful Dead and patron saint of people who own more tie‑dye than actual furniture. Tributes poured in from fans, musicians, and at least three blokes called Moonbeam who haven’t worn shoes since 1978. Weir’s legacy is enormous: decades of music, thousands of gigs, and enough psychedelic influence to keep Glastonbury going until the sun burns out. Even people who’ve never listened to the Grateful Dead felt a pang of sadness, mainly because it reminded them they’re now old enough to have favourite musicians dying every week.

Back in Blighty, the legal soap opera known as The Police vs. Sting continued, with a UK court hearing that Sting has paid roughly £600,000 to his former bandmates following a royalties dispute. Apparently, the lads were arguing over who gets what slice of the “Every Breath You Take” money pie, a song that has earned so much cash it should have its own offshore account. Sting, who is worth approximately the same as a small moon, handed over the cash with the enthusiasm of a man paying a parking fine. Meanwhile, Andy Summers and Stewart Copeland celebrated by briefly considering speaking to Sting again before deciding, wisely, not to.

And finally, in the “celebrity behaving badly” department, Kiefer Sutherland has been arrested, proving once again that if there’s one thing Hollywood stars love more than fame, it’s getting themselves into trouble that would land the rest of us in a Wetherspoons holding cell. Details are still emerging, but early reports suggest it involved alcohol, poor decisions, and the kind of behaviour that makes PR teams wake up screaming. Fans of 24 immediately assumed he was “undercover” or “on a mission,” because apparently some people genuinely believe actors are the characters they play. Bless them.

CLOSING THOUGHTS

So there you have it: a week of awards, lawsuits, corporate cannibalism, rock‑and‑roll farewells, and celebrities proving once again that fame is just a fancy word for “chaos with a publicist.” Tune in next week, when someone else will get arrested, someone will get sued, and someone will win an award for a film nobody’s actually watched.