Hang on. They just showed the film not in the English language win – and the costume design win – in the Unimportant Final Montage, even though they were both shown in the main chunk of the broadcast. What a massive cock-up.

And nice to see Vice win in the most editing category.

Joanna Lumley ends by telling a story about some plants, and then we get to see a supercut of all the dozens of awards they couldn’t fit into the broadcast because of all the clips. Spider-Man won! Isn’t that great?

Schoonmaker thanks Scorsese, Powell and Pressburger. She thanks Cate Blanchett. She repeats over and over again how fortunate she is to work with Martin Scorsese, which is doing herself down somewhat. Nevertheless, every cutaway to the audience shows a crowd utterly enraptured. This woman is legendary, and everyone realises that.

Even better, she talks for so long that there’s no chance those bloody acrobats will return. Thank you Thelma.

All the clips tonight have lasted long enough to feel like the entire history of cinema. But this one actually is the history of cinema, because Thelma Schoonmaker is the history of cinema.

Anyway, Thelma Schoonmaker is getting the Fellowship, and it’s frankly bizarre that it took this long. There’s a VT of Martin Scorsese singing Schoonmaker’s praises now, and also the praises of her late husband, Michael Powell.

And now, clips. Good clips, too. Schoonmaker clips.

Ah, Prince William presented Cate Blanchett, who is presenting the Fellowship. Presentception.

Finally, the Fellowship. Prince William presents, and manages to say barely anything using far too many words. Truly, he is a kindred spirit.

And now for best film. It’s either The Favourite or Roma, isn’t it? This one was announced after I started liveblogging, so I honestly don’t know which one wins. Actual tension! Imagine!

Colman tries to read her acceptance speech, but she’s too nervous to get it out. This woman is an absolute bloody treasure, isn’t she? She’s like Mum of the World.

Gary Oldman gets to present best actress now. His presentation lasts for exactly 14 words, and the world drops to its knees in gratitude.

Rami Malek wins. And, well, hmm. Bohemian Rhapsody is a terrible film, and Bryan Singer’s involvement has tainted it even further, and Malek’s performance was basically just a Bane impression in some granny teeth. But they clapped him all the way to the stage, so what do I know?

Margot Robbie is here to present best actor, and wins my heart for not telling us what the dictionary definition of “actor” is.

Alfonso Cuarón wins for Roma. It’s a wonderfully deserved victory, but try telling that to the Bafta audience, because it only manages about three claps before it sinks back into the drowsy fug that’s come to define it tonight.

Salma Hayek’s here to present best director. She’s so engrossed in her speech that she’s failed to realise the enormous lizard crawling across her dress. There’s a lesson to be learned here: lizards are evil, and they deserve to be destroyed.

The Favourite wins again – this time for costumes. This is something of a sweep for The Favourite, which is odd because it’s a really weird film. It’s such a deeply strange film to win so many awards. And my dad went to see it. What the hell is going on?

Eddie Marsan and Cynthia Erivo present best costume design. Marsan slags off Brexit. I make an unspoken vow to stay off Twitter for a week because that’s all that anyone’s going to be bloody going on about now, isn’t it?

Well, what do you know? Roma won. And the crowd couldn’t even keep up their applause for thatm either, so god knows what’s going on tonight. At this rate, I’m half expecting to see a shot of everyone in the audience in a carbon monoxide coma any second now.

Best film not in the English language now. Or, to give it its full title, Roma presents Roma in the best film not in the English language award, starring Roma.

Oh, the winner just apologised to his children for not really being present in their lives, and now I’m sad. Cancel the recount. My heart couldn’t take it.

Black Panther wins! Even though one of Black Panther’s visual effects involved making Lupita Nyong’o skid along the ground in the driver’s seat of an exploded car. Were the winners responsible for that bit? I’d like to request a recount if that’s the case.

Visual effects now, presented by three stars of Rocket Man, a music biopic that’s already better than Bohemian Rhapsody even though it isn’t out yet. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I won’t have Bohemian Rhapsody to punch any more. Start taking drugs, probably.

Beast wins! Sadly the applause for Michael Pearce and Lauren Dark dies out after about three seconds, which means they have to walk to the stage in total silence. It’s a deeply weird moment, but fitting for such a lifeless night. The film deserved a much better reception.

But enough moping, because here’s outstanding debut by a British writer, director or producer. And because this is a category for newcomers, every nominee gets a verbal description. These clips are going to last for a long time. If you have to go and put the bins out, now’s your chance.

Although, seeing them all one after the other like this, these last 12 months have been brutal, haven’t they? 2016-level brutal.

And now for the in memoriam segment where, among others, we get a proper chance to say goodbye to Liam Neeson’s career. See? I told you I’d remember.

Roma wins, because of course it did. It’s a Netflix film, and anything that can look this beautiful on a tiny phone screen deserves everything it gets.

Now for cinematography. Presenter Will Poulter just got the biggest laugh of the night for saying, “That was a joke,” which goes to show how badly everyone else is tanking on stage.

Ah, no, Mahershala Ali won it instead. Deserved – or sort of deserved, given the weird reception that Green Book had – but poor old Richard E Grant. I only hope his disappointment will be as intense as his enthusiasm, purely because it might be quite entertaining to watch.

Best supporting actor now. Also known as the Richard E Grant award. If he’s going to win any award this year, it has to be a Bafta, right? It HAS to.

The Favourite wins AGAIN. Deborah Davis thanks Bafta for giving her a prize for her first screenplay, which seems like a pretty watertight way to make an enemy of all the world’s unsuccessful screenplays. Or at least it would be, were she not so charming about it all.

Now for original screenplay. Michelle Rodriguez presents, without smiling once. This is what happens when you smile too much on the red carpet. Perhaps that One Direction guy was on to something all along.

A Star is Born wins, and Bradley Cooper accepts. He’s gracious but perfunctory, and seems to have toned down the bizarre tan he had at the Oscars luncheon last week.

Best music now. Andy Serkis says “A film without music is like Queen without Freddie Mercury or Britain without Europe”. Queen, of course, continued without Freddie Mercury, which makes this the best insult of the entire night.

BlackKklansman wins! Spike Lee reads all his thank yous from his BlackBerry. Either that or he’s really deep into a game of Flappy Birds. It isn’t made particularly clear.

Best adapted screenplay now. In the clips, they play the part of A Star Is Born where Sam Elliott goes “HRRRRRRMMMPH HRRRRM HRRRM HRRRRRMPH,” which is my favourite bit.

Letitia Wright wins! Magnificent. She’s hesitant, talking about her depression and her faith and the importance of Bafta in her life. And she obliquely referenced Thanos, too. This kid’s going places.

So far, about 80% of this broadcast is clips. We’re already a quarter of the way through the show, and most of it has been clips. Which is great for a liveblogger. Lots of opportunities to urinate. I couldn’t be happier.

Regina King and Luke Evans are here to present the Rising Star award. They say nothing of interest, but this is a tremendous nominee list. You’d be happy if any of them won, wouldn’t you?

Weisz is brilliant, isn’t she? She seems genuinely thrilled and touched to win this prize. So thrilled and touched that I can’t think of anything mean to say. I am sorry to let you down so egregiously.

Rachel Weisz wins for The Favourite. This is going to be the Foregone Conclusion Baftas, isn’t it?

Mary J Blige and Ellen Page are here to present the trophy for best supporting actress. They’ve gone for “dictionary definition of the word ‘supporting’, and then some platitudes”. A classic combination.

The Favourite wins!

Melissa McCarthy is here to present Outstanding British film. This is a very strong category (apart from Bohemian Rhapsody), and it’s one of the only places to acknowledge You Were Never Really Here, which definitely isn’t going to win.

BURN! Literally everything Lumley says is met with total deafening, all-encompassing silence. The fact that she hasn’t physically withered up into a pile of sand in the face of such genuinely terrible material makes her 20 times better than any of us. Long may she continue. In life, that is. Not in this monologue – this monologue is causing me pain.

More red hot monologue action now. BURN! Actors often have chauffeurs. BURN! Bradley Cooper has a strong work ethic. BURN! The Favourite is called The Favourite. BURN! The word “mess” rhymes with the word “dress”. BURN! The word “Cannes” rhymes with the word “Klan”.

The monologue has now given way to a recap of every single film nominated this year, or every film released this year, or every film released ever. It’s dragging a bit, is what I’m trying to say.

Now for a searing satirical monologue, in which … wait. Did Joanna Lumley just imply that she would definitely write a bunch of homophobic tweets if she had a Twitter account? Let’s assume so. Cancel her!

Richard E Grant thanks each acrobat as they leave the stage. Of course he does.

This acrobatty stuff is all very odd. The only reason why anyone watches acrobatics is because there’s a very real chance that someone will fall and hurt themselves. It only works live. But this show is conspicuously prerecorded, which makes me think that Bafta is trolling us all.

Lumley dresses up as a spaceman and everyone’s very excited. Then, in a horrifying replay of last year, we get a Cirque du Soleil thing that refuses to end. Also: they are all dressed as astronauts.

This was all worked out back when everyone thought First Man was going to sweep the awards, wasn’t it?

The show begins with Joanna Lumley saying “bollocks”, which is immediately endearing. Then there’s a montage of her dressing up as all the nominated films. She also does a pretty convincing Freddie Mercury impression, just to show Rami Malek that he isn’t as special as he thinks he is.

But of course, before the ceremony begins, here’s a highlights package of the red carpet. They include Amy Adams saying that the Baftas are her favourite awards. GIVE HER THE BEST ACTRESS AWARD RIGHT THIS INSTANT.

Ten minutes until the Baftas start on BBC One.

Also, it was a phantom pregnancy. I’m taking that as a win.

If I’ve gone quiet, by the way, it’s because Call the Midwife is on. I’m 70% sure that there’s a pregnant man on tonight’s episode.

I’m going to be bold here, and predict that the Baftas will have below-average viewing figures tonight. Usually, on the night of the Baftas, my Twitter feed is full of people arguing over the winners as they’re announced. This year: nothing. Just one guy tweeting out the winners into a tornado of absolute apathy. And this makes me think that nobody cares about the Baftas this year, which makes me think that nobody will watch them.

Either that or everyone hates Twitter now. It’s probably that, isn’t it?

Alexa, show me a video by someone who didn’t have to spend his Sunday liveblogging something that had already happened.

Or, for that matter, Hadley Freeman’s interview with Richard E Grant, where she comes closer than anyone else to outright asking him if he’s faking all his enthusiasm in the hope that people will notice him.

I missed this in all the excitement: Rami Malek doling out high-fives on the red carpet. How many high-fives were there? As many as the number of times I’ll punch myself in the face if Bohemian Rhapsody wins anything significant tonight.

FYI: I’m planning to a do a “Liam Neeson’s career” joke during the in memoriam section. I’m telling you all now in case I forget in the heat of the moment.

Also doing wonderfully on the red carpet was Michelle Rodriguez, who posed for selfies with everyone and managed to maintain her smile throughout.

See? Magnificent. For reference of how difficult that is, here’s a video of one of the One Direction dimwits struggling hard.

Further Kate and Wills information. Prince William claims to have watched every film nominated for a Bafta this year. Someone please, PLEASE, ask him what he made of Dogman?

A newly brunette Cate Blanchett has opted for a long version of a Christopher Kane dress in black, decorated with giant colourful gemstones. Twitter – not to mention everyone else – is very much here for it.

Wills and Kate have popped over the road to the Royal Albert Hall to join in all the fun. This is standard red-carpet fare for him, but tonight she’s upped the ante from past years, looking positively fairytale ready (Cinder-eady?) in floor-length white, complete with an asymmetric garland and sequinned slippers.

Incidentally, I’d like to use this platform to officially lobby Bafta and the BBC to resurrect the hour-long pre-award red carpet show. Not because I enjoy red carpet shows, but because they’re always hilarious.

These awards always happen in London at the beginning of February, and the weather is always atrocious, and seeing the great and good of Hollywood miserably traipse around in tiny outfits is one of the few true pleasures I have in life. There are my children, and there’s Cate Blanchett being pelted with frozen drizzle, and that’s it.

Similarly, the revelation that Richard E Grant possesses a functional working knowledge of Dermot O’Leary’s career has just nudged him closer to that knighthood.

Tomorrow morning, you will awaken to an avalanche of red carpet galleries, all squabbling about who did the red carpet best tonight.

STOP SQUABBLING NOW. The competition has already been won by Claire Foy, who defied the laws of physics to sign an autograph while posing for a selfie. This woman is remarkable. I only wish I was being sarcastic.

Bradley Cooper, who’s up for four awards for his directorial debut, A Star Is Born, is keeping things classic in a Celine suit. He’s already on to his next film as director, he told Edith Bowman on the red carpet, but kept schtum about the details.

Right, I’ve figured out a strategy for the next two hours. In lieu of an official red carpet broadcast, I’ll be relaying some of Bafta’s red carpet tweets, which is a much better idea than you think.

See, here’s Salma Hayek lightly chiding a photographer:

Octavia Spencer loves sequin detailing. Last year it livened up her black gown. This year, she’s gone for a similar look but in red. It s a brave woman who opts to match the carpet, but she’s nailed it.

It’s tulle frills galore for The Favourite actor Rachel Weisz – cue Twitter adoration all round. She’s up against her co-star Emma Stone and being very sweet about it, dubbing the actor an “honorary Brit” on the red carpet.

And now here’s where things get tricky. At this point, the timeline cleaves in two. In the real world, the world in which you currently exist, the Bafta red carpet is over and the ceremony begins. In this timeline, a slow trickle of results will creep out online, to be debated and dissected. This will all happen on a separate part of the Guardian website.

However, you have chosen the liveblog timeline, which semi-officially denies any of the events of the real world and will only acknowledge them once the ceremony is broadcast on BBC One at 9pm.

“But why would I follow a liveblog of an event I already know everything about?” you ask. Simple. It’s because I’m doing the liveblogging, and you feel sorry for me. Also the speeches might be quite OK or something.

Now, 9pm is more than two hours away. How do I plan to fill such a yawning chasm? Funny story: I don’t know yet. I cannot rule out the possibility that it’ll just be two hours of Richard E Grant GIFs. But we’ll be OK. Stick with me, kids. It’ll be an adventure.

Bohemian Rhapsody’s Rami Malek has arrived and there is a white suit and black bow tie and shirt situation happening. We like. Don’t stop him now – he’s knocking it out of the park in the style stakes.

Is it a velvet suit? A sequinned harness? No, it’s a matchy-matchy patterned shirt and suit jacket for the red carpet’s current darling, Timothée Chalamet. It’s shiny and we like it. Magpies assemble!

Thandie Newton’s gown appears to have removable micro-straps that have been on and off during her stroll down the red carpet. Transitional chic, natch.

Claire Foy has left her crown behind tonight and kept it simple and chic, taking a leaf out of the After Eight style book in a green bandeau with black trim. She’s up for her role in Neil Armstrong biopic First Man.

Viola Davis clearly got the bow memo: she’s wearing a custom Armani Privé black silk velvet gown with a white bow at the neckline, and nominated for best actress for her role in Steve McQueen’s Widows.

Glenn Close has eschewed a trouser suit – which she has made her own this awards season – for a beautiful embellished floor-length peplum gown in black. She’s a hot favourite to win for The Wife, and what a look to win it in if so.

She’s cut quite the fashion figure on this year’s awards scene so far in Miu Miu and Chanel, and tonight Bohemian Rhapsody’s Lucy Boynton has pulled out the stops – and why not? She’s gone for a bow-bedecked tulle number with a pleated ikat print skirt – it’s a proper fun red-carpet look. She may be a newbie, but she’s rocking the red carpet like a pro.

Barry Jenkins is back at the Baftas. This time the director is nominated for best adapted screenplay for If Beale Street Could Talk – and looking very chic in classic black tux.

And we’re off! Amy Adams is one of the first to arrive on the red carpet, wearing a floor-length belted maroon dress with brooch detail. She’s nominated for best supporting actress for her role as Lynne Cheney in Vice, and told Dermot O’Leary that the Baftas are her fave awards. Already a winner in our books.