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Thursday, Nov 26, 2009
Driving Miss Crazy
And speaking of pallid little tarts who don't make good television, Farrah Fawcett's new reality show, "Chasing Farrah" (Wednesdays at 10 p.m. on TV Land), may just be the worst thing on TV right now. Instead of offering those tightly edited highlights that gave MTV a franchise in insipid programming, TV Land prefers long, empty scenes of Farrah having stilted, self-conscious conversations with her stylist, her friend Alana Stewart and anyone else who wanders through. The second episode is even worse: First we watch an extended improv of Farrah and a flushed-looking Ryan O'Neal trying desperately to embody the phrase "frolicking on the beach." Later, they have a stilted, self-conscious conversation over dinner, occasionally teasing each other showily for the benefit of the film crew. Remember when your parents, who hated each other, used to pretend to find each other charming when they had company over? It's kinda like that.
After dinner, Farrah awkwardly stands up and starts dancing to Meredith Brooks' "Bitch" ("I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a roasted beet salad ..."). Remember when your mom, upon hearing you play the single "Upside Down" by Diana Ross, would disco her way into the room, and you'd beg her to stop, but she'd show no mercy? It's kinda like that. Eventually Ryan joins her in a semidirty dance that is, frankly, about as sexy as watching your grandparents dry-hump. If you ever suspected that being a big star was glamorous and special, "Chasing Farrah" is sure to set you straight.
The wheels sure are coming off the celebrity wagon these days, huh? A working actress I know was just telling me that casting directors usually bypass intelligence and talent in favor of those people who stay in the headlines by doing idiotic things like getting drunk or sleeping with other people's spouses. Farrah is a great example of this. Beyond the posters and a few good roles a long time ago, what's kept this woman in the tabloids? Nudity, spaced-out behavior during public appearances and some high-profile breakups.
Farrah seems to have little of interest to say or do in front of the camera, and when you throw in Grubman and Kirstie Alley, whose show, "Fat Actress," has gone from hilarious to awful in just a few episodes, you have to wonder why TV producers are so intent on killing the golden goose by showing us exactly how dull and pathetic most celebrities really are. Better cancel that meeting with the TV execs and schedule another photo shoot with InStyle magazine instead. After all, I'm pretty sure there are places in Hollywood where you can rent golden retrievers and eclectic flea market finds; renting a lively personality is a little tougher.
Porn on the Fourth of Julie
Speaking of tough, my e-mail was flooded last week thanks to my (admittedly lazy) comment that the title of the '80s porno that Julie Cooper on "The O.C." starred in, "The Porn Identity," was a lazy choice. Yes, I knew about Robert Ludlum's book, published 1980, but I still thought it was a crappy title, since the show's audience would be far more familiar with the 2002 movie starring Matt Damon than they would with a book. True, I was unaware of the 1988 TV movie starring Richard Chamberlain, but if that were the main reference, then Julie Cooper would've had to have shot the porno while she was pregnant, breast-feeding or raising a toddler, assuming Marissa is about 16 or 17 years old.
Ah, but in the end, one very wise reader pointed out that the reference was a shout-out to Doug Liman, who directed the 2002 version and was an executive producer on the first season of "The O.C." (Lovin' the head shot, Doug -- is that a sultry still from your turn as a dancer on "Staying Alive"?)
And as long as public shout-outs are all the rage again, let me take this opportunity to give a hollah out to my girls Keheh and Princess C in the L. Felizzle, and mad props to Dr. Bizzle and Big Tashy, rollin' it preggy-style on the West Side! Hells yeah. Also, word to little Bea, tossin' out some mad spittle drizzle in the Silver Lizzle!
