C hristmas always comes early to Los Angeles. In fact, the
slightly tacky decorations hit the lampposts even before Thanksgiving. But the really good thing about this time of year in this part of the world is the abundance of new movies being released. They proliferate both in the cinemas, in private screening rooms and in the ‘screeners’, the DVDs that the various studios send to members of the Academy hoping they will vote for them at Oscar time.
I’m lucky enough to be one of the 5,000 acting members so I try to see as many of the movies as possible. Happily this year there are some excellent ones and a few great performances. Angelina Jolie in Changeling, James Brolin in W. and Javier Bardem in Che. But the performance that blew me away is Sean Penn in Milk. As the eponymous hero, the actor lost what appears to be about 30 pounds and miraculously transformed himself into the controversial gay activist who was murdered in 1978. This performance is so perfect it should be a master-class in acting, and if he doesn’t win the Oscar I shall eat one of my many hats!
Do you know who Anastasia Hille, Karel Roden, Lukas Haas, James Le Gras, Melissa Sagemiller and Dede Pfeiffer are? Neither do I, but they are all above the titles of several premium HBO and cinema channel movies that these networks just aired on a winter Sunday afternoon. Boring movies? You bet — and so are the actors. Why can’t the networks air some movies starring giants like Bette Davis, Ingrid Bergman, Cary Grant, Gary Cooper, Spencer Tracy or Katherine Hepburn? There are so many fabulous stars from past decades that people still love. And most films between 1935 and 1960 were extremely entertaining, much more so than the schlock that goes straight to video or is ‘madefor-TV filler’. Unless the younger generations are exposed to these stars and movies they will soon fade into memory and oblivion. Imagine a world that didn’t know of Clark Gable, Humphrey Bogart, Jack Lemmon or Marilyn Monroe. I have actually met several people under 40 who’ve never even seen Gone With The Wind, Casablanca or Some Like It Hot and it’s hard to find many of these classics on DVD now in the stores.
Much as I like The Bourne Identity movies, Mrs Doubtfire and Father of the Bride, I’m fed up with seeing them over and over again on my television set. unbelievable amount of paparazzi who lie in wait for the hot actors, stalking them like wild deer, many stars have left the Hills of Beverly for privacy and calmer waters. The ‘paps’ are relentless in their pursuit of their human prey. Veteran stars like Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson seem to take it all in their stride, and remain unfazed by the barrage of blinding flashbulbs that greet them when they venture out shopping or to a baseball game, but for newcomers and tiny kids it must be pure hell.
The star of Twilight, actor Robert Pattinson, is the latest recipient of non-stop stalking. The 22-year-old Brit, unknown until a fortnight ago when his hit movie opened to unprecedented excitement and box office receipts, cannot go anywhere now without a mewling, mocking posse of raggedy ‘paps’ pestering him. On TV, I watched the poor kid trying to leave a sushi bar while the badly behaved mob jostled and besieged him, screaming insults and making catcalls to try and get an angry reaction — that always sells.
Along with the cameras and the cell phones of Joe Public that distort every expression into a constipated grimace, there are also the camcorders recording the ‘celebs’ every move. These will be screened on the sordidly repulsive and insulting gossip show T.M.Z the following day, not to mention bites on the internet, Perez Hilton, YouTube and all the other junky outlets. I don’t know how the stars with infants cope with the intrusion of the flash bulbs. Babies’ eyes are terribly sensitive and even I, when on the ‘red carpet’, start feeling a little strange after hundreds of those blazing explosions of light.
But now it seems, with a few exceptions, the ‘celeb’ mags don’t want pretty pics of people posing. They want gritty, down to earth, intrusive, in-yer-face, ugly snaps of actors carrying their rubbish out, at the grocery store, and most violating of all, going through security at the airport.
At LAX, the small area where you queue to get the demeaning security search is often thick with paparazzi. They adore the snaps of stars without their shoes, jackets or headgear being frisked by Neanderthal security men (and women).
I asked the Head of the Los Angeles Police Department about it and he told me that nothing can be done: ‘It’s a public place — it’s their right.’ What about the rights of the individual, who just happens to be a famous actor, not to be pushed and shoved and have a camera poked inches away from their face? Princess Diana died from trying to escape the paparazzi, I wonder how long it will be before another celebrity is seriously hurt.
Brad Pitt, who along with Angelina Jolie, is probably the victim of more paparazzo stalking than anyone else on the planet, was recently outspoken in his dislike of paps. ‘Let me be very blunt,’ he said during an interview, ‘I hate them. I don’t know how they can live that way... climbing over your walls in camouflage and calling out your kids names as you’re trying to take them to school.’ It’s disgusting indeed, Brad, and good on you for saying so. I’ll follow your bandwagon anytime.
Isaw the face of true fame when we attended a Halloween party given by pop-star Natalie Baine of the Dixie Chicks. Arriving at dusk at her mansion there were several helicopters hovering above the gated entrance and dozens of those lurking paps, waiting for famous faces, no doubt. I was ushered into a private room — I was told — to meet someone special. I thought the person sitting on the sofa had the most realistic Michael Jackson mask I’d ever seen. I marvelled at the resemblance — the voice, the mannerisms, the detailed knowledge — and then I realised it was actually Michael Jackson in the flesh.
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