Foolish comments on foolish subjects from Letterman to LiLo to Julia and more.
Though it seems years ago, it has only been nine months since Tiger Woods crashed his car into a tree and cracked open his squeaky-clean image. His three-year marriage to onetime model and nanny Elin Nordegren was irreparably damaged and now their divorce is final. The beautiful blonde mother of Tiger’s two children has walked away with $100 million. Which is at least $75 million more than the couple’s pre-nup specified. Elin waited till the divorce was final to allow her People magazine interview to appear. She asserts Tiger’s cheating ways came as a big surprise, she has been “so embarrassed,” and she never laid a golf club on him. (That I believe.) She also passes on this great bit of wisdom: “Money can’t buy happiness or a good marriage.” Mr. wOw is not nearly as young, blonde, clueless and classy as the ex-Mrs. Woods. Give me a $100 million and you’ll never see such a happy Mr. wOw. And I’m sure my 33-year relationship and three cats wouldn’t suffer either. Can’t wait to see who’s next on her list. I mean, I hope she falls deeply in love with a man who cherishes her.
Lindsay Lohan, everybody’s favorite piñata, has been released early from rehab. She is now in the care of herself (uh oh) and will continue “intensive outpatient therapy.” Unfortunately for the talented but utterly self-absorbed Lindsay (she is an actor, after all!), her mother is the queen of denial, Dina Lohan. If Lindsay knows one decent person, she should grab hold and go away for a year. I mean it – a year. No Linda Lovelace movies, no clubbing, no falling down constantly in her four-inch heels. That’s what she should do. She’ll probably end up on Oprah, and return to her life as somebody who can’t stay home. Well, if she’s sober, that’s no crime. It’s no crime or potential crime so long as she doesn’t drive. Good luck, Lindsay. You really do need it.
George Michael, Britain’s old, tired, male version of Lindsay Lohan, might be sent to jail for the latest in a series of car incidents involving drugs. He slammed his car into a photo shop while under the influence. He’ll be sentenced late next month.
What a big mess and dreary spectacle this once-attractive and spectacularly successful singer has become. Public sex, unwanted confessions, drugs, drink and a face that looks like ten miles of bad road. (Ten more and he’ll be in Mel Gibson range.) Mr. wOw declares him a disgrace to the gays. Spoiled, petulant and entitled, he doesn’t even have Lindsay’s excuse of youth, or the influence of a family leeching off him. He really does need some downtime in jail. Here’s hoping.
Julia Roberts assures us she has not had Botox and Elizabeth Hurley swears her luscious bosoms are still as God made them. I do not care, and neither should they. Miss Roberts at least declared herself in a high-toned magazine article – no matter that she looked like Felicity Huffman in “Transamerica” on the mag’s cover. Miss Hurley took to Tweeting her bazoom news. Ladies, fair or not, nobody believes actresses when they swear they don’t or won’t have “work” – because they are either fibbing or haven’t yet seen the close-ups that send them screaming from the theater straight to the doctor’s office. Just do what Madonna did. “I’ve certainly considered it, but I’m not going hold a press conference about it, either way,” she said a number of years ago. She has clearly more than “considered it” at this point, and does not address the subject. Madonna knows people have eyes to see, and can figure it out. And except when she was accused of adopting for publicity purposes, Mr. wOw has never known her to truly care what the hell people think – just as long as they drop $450 million on her next concert tour. And that’s how to survive showbiz, kid.
David Letterman has taken to slamming President Obama. The other night Letterman advised Obama to stop vacationing – “He can vacation all he wants after his first term is over.” Hmmmm … I’d like to go back in Letterman shows and see what he said about George W. Bush’s frequent rest-stops. I can’t believe Letterman really cares. He is too busy being piggish about and to women. Stick to that, David. What you know about politics you could fit into the envelope left by a blackmailer.
Sean Connery, whom Mr. wOw swooned over in “From Russia With Love,” “Goldfinger” and (especially) “Thunderball,” has just turned 80. Oddly enough, I thought he’d already passed that milestone. Anyway, Mr. Connery says he may never act again. God bless, and many more years to you, Sean, but I hope you stick to that promise. Mr. Connery’s style and over-emphatic delivery in recent decades have caused Mr. wOw no end of giggles. He seems a kind of spoof on himself, even at his most serious. I for one will cherish the memory of Mr. Connery’s thighs in “Thunderball.” That’s a fabulous legacy right there.
Finally, Mr. wOw must address the absurd Tweeting of his favorite living goddess, Miss Elizabeth Taylor. (I refuse to refer to her as “Dame Elizabeth,” a title she insists upon. So pretentious, and the sort of thing over which Mr. Burton would have laughed her to scorn.) Miss Taylor last took to her Tweet a couple of weeks ago to debunk rumors that Angelina Jolie or Catherine Zeta-Jones would portray her in a movie version of the recent book [itals]Furious Love, which chronicles her love affair and marriages to Mr. Burton. “No one can play me but me … I am not dead … etc.” All very off-with-their-heads, and more than a bit sad. It is true that in 1982 Elizabeth famously sued and stopped NBC from making a TV movie out of her life. (“I am not she, she will not be me” said a more good-humored Taylor on the possibility of any actress playing her.)
But years later, a less powerful Taylor could not stop ABC from pumping out a terrible miniseries starring Sherilyn Fenn as La Liz. Miss Taylor conveniently forgot that. First of all, a 78-year-old woman who demands “Dame Elizabeth” should get the hell off Twitter. Demeaning! Second, how about releasing a statement like this: “Oh, I’m flattered that I would be played by either of these beautiful women. But I can’t imagine who could play Richard, and honestly – perhaps I am being immodest – I don’t think any movie could capture the intensity of the times or of our relationship. But good luck trying!” Ah, well, Miss Taylor’s once faultless sense of timing and public relations have worn down. Too bad nobody around her can get her hands off the iPhone, or whatever she uses.
Still and all, Turner Classic Movies reminded me the other day why ET is still ET, no matter what – a day devoted to many of her films. The tribute began with the pristine child in “National Velvet” and went straight through to one of Mr. wOw’s favorite latter Taylor epics, “X, Y and Zee.” In “Zee” she is ripe, bawdy and cursing up a storm in hot-pants and caftans and mountains of hair, makeup and jewels. She is a riot. I find it in many ways a more satisfying performance than “Virginia Woolf,” which has the distinct air of a noisy stunt – though she is splendid in her quiet moments. If you ever have a chance, catch “X, Y and Zee” if for no other reason than Elizabeth’s wicked take on Clark Gable’s final line to Miss Leigh in “Gone With the Wind.” When I saw the movie in 1972, the audience screamed and applauded. In 2010, Miss T’s delivery still packed a punch for Mr. wOw. He screamed and applauded. B came rushing in to make sure my antidepressants hadn’t backfired. My dear Miss Taylor, you still move me to madness.