Olivia Colman – winner!

Obvs, to quote the great lady herself. This was the pinnacle of an amazing awards run for Colman. She may be brilliant, and she may be loved, but also she doesn’t come with the legacy of guilt that Glenn Close totes round with her in the minds of Oscar voters, who have somehow failed to give her a gong all these years. So probably no Academy Award in a fortnight, but Colman was predictably brilliant picking up her Bafta: sweary and shaky, warm and teary, generous, scatty and ever-adorable. All hail!

Joanna Lumley – loser!

We were among those many viewers who had long lobbied for Stephen Fry to be replaced as Baftas host, loathing his deathless verbosity and endless A-list-dribble. Today we issue a new plea: come back asap, Stephen – we will never criticise you again. It would be hard to imagine a more ghastly podium-propper than Joanna Lumley. She wasn’t a lot better last year, it’s true, but in that time of #MeToo and general solemnity you could get away with a laugh-free emcee. No longer.

This year the only talking point was which gag landed flattest. The one about The Favourite having a handy title for awards season? The one about the sequel to The Wife being called The Second Wife? The one about First Man star Claire Foy needing to take a small step and then a giant leap to the stage? The one about Spike Lee’s BlacKkKlansman performing surprisingly well at the Klan film festival? OK: that one. We have a winner. Steve Coogan, c’est tout le monde.

Salma Hayek – winner!

Lumley’s joke-free gameshow-host stylings transmitted tumbleweed vibes to most of the presenters, whose blank, halting autocue readings belied their reputations as highly paid performers. The exception: Salma Hayek, who marched on stage to present the best director award and proceeded to launch into a rambling introduction that tried surreally to borrow the old ethnic joke format – “a Mexican, an African-American, a Polish … ” – which she appeared to forget halfway through. Add to that: a dress with a giant lizard on the shoulder, a holler of “Viva Mexico!” when her compatriot Alfonso Cuarón won the award, and her genuinely odd glide off the stage while Cuarón was speaking, after he’d begged her to stay. Hayek will NOT be confined.

Cold War – loser!

The headline face-off may have been between Roma and The Favourite, but behind that there was another much tougher battle going on: Roma vs Cold War. Without Netflix’s deep pockets, Roma would not likely have been competing for the end-of-the-night gongs (normally reserved for Anglo-American titles), and in normal times these two prime slices of world cinema would have been conducting rarified warfare at film festivals across the globe, with the faint prospect of the best foreign language Oscar at the end of it.

After cleaning up at the European film awards, winning best director at Cannes and a sprinkling of critics awards, Cold War might have fancied its chances – at least for best cinematography and as a possible sneak-in for best foreign film if voters decided to divide their loyalties. But it was not to be, and we fear for director Paweł Pawlikowski’s chances at the Oscars in a fortnight. Still, he does already have one, so can’t – presumably – be too sore.

The colour white – winner!

Last year, it was 50 shades of black, with Lumley leading the charge in a Meg and Mog fancy dress with added tassels. This year, everyone got the memo to 360 the gowns and do what those cool Democratic ladies did last week and wear all-white as a symbol of … suffrage … or anti-Trump … or something right-on, anyway. Lumley duly stuck a white tie tux over her pyjama top, Kate Middleton went full royal wedding, Weisz, Erivo, Robbie and others took inspiration from loo roll dollies and Viola Davis improvised with a handy napkin.

Richard E Grant – loser!

Not a loser, of course: he’d insist he was a winner just for being there, when last year he was but a barista with a dream much-celebrated actor of 30 years standing. Still, you might have thought that Mahershala Ali’s slightly shaky grip on the supporting actor gong, plus the home crowd, plus Grant’s remorselessly adorable Tinseltown tweeting would have swung it.

Jay Wilde’s dairy herd – winner!

It didn’t take long: exactly eight minutes after Alex Lockwood’s short film 73 Cows won the best short film Bafta, a heartfelt press release from the Humane Society landed in the world’s inboxes praising the film’s “timely” win, and stressing the “strong ethical as well as environmental imperative to leave meat off the menu”. Well, 73 Cows is a lovely little film, a profile of a farmer called Jay Wilde who, despite all his best intentions, became more and more depressed at the way he had to treat his cattle, and decided to shut down his operation and send the animals he couldn’t keep as pets to an animal sanctuary in Norwich. These cows certainly won, and if the Humane Society’s PR people have anything to do with it, so will many more.

Bradley Cooper – loser!

Much ink has already been spilt consoling us that we shouldn’t grieve too deeply for Bradley Cooper. Yes, everyone thought A Star Is Born was a cert to sweep the Oscars, and yes, it’s now almost certainly only going to get one award, for that wallopy tune he didn’t have a lot to do with. Never mind, the pundits tell us: his time will come, and probably soon, because everyone feels a bit bad, and the film has made a lot of money, and he’s still got marvellous cheekbones. Yet it is nonetheless possible to detect in those piercing blue eyes a deep well of sadness; the look of a man resigned to the abyss, peering not at the gold in his hand but the black hole that is all that remains of a star that imploded.

Grammys – winner!

There’s never much crossover between the Grammys and the Baftas – especially as the latter doesn’t even have a best song category – so having them on the same night wouldn’t normally present a problem. However, this year it did: up for best actress, Lady Gaga clearly knew who her friends were, and opted to stay in the US and go to the music industry bash. With Glenn Close and Olivia Colman in the running, Gaga was never likely to get the mask (though she was named in the best music category, alongside Bradley Cooper and Lukas Nelson, which A Star Is Born did win). The Grammys got Gaga, we got Coop and his thousand yard stare. It’s clear who got the better deal.

Will to live – loser!

Everybody moans about it, but nothing seems to change: the baffling practice of the Bafta telecast running two and a quarter hours later than real-world events sucks almost every scrap of excitement out of watching the thing. In the age of spoiler-tastic social media, everyone knows the results, so why bother? Presumably the BBC don’t want to give up a prime piece of early Sunday evening TV real estate, and the Baftas want to catch the morning papers’ first editions, but something has got to change. Watching the tuxed and gowned beautiful people spout sententious truisms while thanking their agents is only bearable if there’s actual excitement to be had; the Baftas appear to doing their level best to avoid anything like that happening.

Oscars – winner!

If the lion’s share of blame must fall on Lumley’s shoulders for the ceremony itself – once we were allowed to watch it – being such a damp squib, that’s surely good news for the Academy Awards in a fortnight. If ever there was a case for ditching hosts for ever, Sunday night’s ceremony was it.