Well, this year, I spent the holidays nursing my son back from a spinal surgery, and had lots of time to schmooze with my flock of little birdies who tell me all kinds of things. And I began thinking back to those glorious old “Studio Days” when we lowly actors were handled by iron fists in velvet gloves. Those were the days when the studios moved heaven and earth to keep the public from finding out such things as Joan Crawford was a lesbian, Liberace was gay, (well, I didn’t say they always succeeded,) and John Barrymore was a falling-down drunk. It was a day when actors were expected to behave responsibly, or there was hell to pay and then some. In the case of Joan Crawford, the real reason Louis B. Mayer paid her off on her contract and sent her packing, was because she’d spread the clap throughout most of the men on the M-G-M payroll. Bette Davis, when asked, “Would Joan really sleep with a guy for a part in a film?”, replied, “Joan would sleep with a guy for a part in her hair!”, and she was right. But the studio wanted no scandals, and tolerated no en flagrata!
But, my dears, times they are a-changin’! Now Madonna makes millions on stage for doing what lots of women in Las Vegas only get about a 'C’note for. Female singers get their clothes from Sears “The Men’s Store”, and male singers shop at Frederick’s of Hollywood. Joan Collins gets her face lifted so often, she gets ring around the collar from eating beans, and stars change partners as often as Brando changes waist sizes.
But it isn’t my intent to kvetch. As Darwin pointed out, “That, which cannot evolve, cannot survive.” And I think I’ve evolved okay. I’ve traded in my limo for a mini van, (okay, I kept the Rolls-Royce, but who wouldn’t?) and I’ve accepted the fact that flared trousers and eight-track tapes are gone for good. But somewhere we have to draw the line.
I speak of the insane behaviour of the stars today. And worse, they get great press for their lunacy. What, for instance, was Michael Jackson thinking, dangling his child over a balcony like that? Has the guy’s brain gone into overload from looking in the mirror too much and seeing what he’s done to his face?
And how did Paul Reubens, aka Pee-wee Herman, not learn from his first go-round for lewd behavior? Now, it seems he and Jeffrey Jones, (the principal in “Ferris Beuller’s Day Off” and Criswell in “Ed Wood”,) have been tag-teaming young boys. And don’t let’s forget the way Winona Ryder interpreted the Biblical passage, “God helps those who help themselves”! I doubt even divine intervention will help her this time.
I’m the first one to admit that the studios were repressive in the control they had over their stars. But let’s face it gang; it served a purpose. It kept the stars on the straight and narrow, or at least it made them exercise some discretion, some tact. Now it seems as though the entire industry is becoming an episode of Jerry Springer, and these sick mamzers are getting by with it.
In the film, “Sunset Boulevard”, Norma Desmond observes, “I’m still big…it’s the movies that have grown small!” Well, it seems now as though the stars themselves are shrinking. They used to be larger than life. They were admired, respected, and envied. But how many boys want to grow up to be Michael Jackson?
I was alarmed at this trend twenty years ago, when I stopped performing because I didn’t want my sons’ psyches to be corrupted by the people I would have had to associate with had I stayed in the business. And I don’t regret my decision.
I remember back in 1975, asking Mae West if she thought a certain joke I wanted to use in my act was too ribald. Mae rolled her eyes, and said, “Honey, people who’re shocked too easily, need to be shocked more often!” Well, if Mae were alive today, even she would be shocked.
The press is largely responsible for this meshuggas. They aggrandize these sick, twisted people to sell advertising space and papers. This isn’t new, it goes back to Hedda Hopper and Walter Winchell.
I, for one, have made a New Year’s resolution that I fear will make me singularly unique in this business. I herewith promise my Gantseh Megillah readers not to follow suit, and pander to the warped policies of my fellow journalists by sensationalizing the socially unacceptable behaviour of these people who’s only claim to fame is by cheapening the title of ‘star’. That is a title that we, the ticket-buying public have given them, and consequently can withdraw at any time. I will keep you informed, but my dears, the gloves are coming off these calloused fingertips, and political correctness be damned. In my humble opinion, Michael Jackson should be locked up in a quilted room, Winona Ryder should be banned from every mall in the country, and Paul Reubens, and his sidekick, Jeffrey Jones, should be locked up in a cell with a 275 pound redneck named “Bubba”!
And in 2003, I intend to cry out “Tripe” whenever Tripe is served!