Leftover Ink: Celebrity Watching

It’s been a tough few weeks for celebrities. Apparently, something is attempting to retroactively erase large sections of every teenager’s bedroom from 1976-1983.

I’m generally nonplussed when I hear news about the lives of celebrities. I try to appreciate an actor or musician’s work without connecting that to whom they might be dating, or what fad diet seems to be the rage across California. For the most part, the Best Dressed List has very little impact on our day-to-day lives here in Loudoun.

The last time I was actually upset by an actor’s death, it was 1993. I had only recently graduated from college and was in one of my early post-college jobs when I heard on the radio that River Phoenix had died outside a nightclub in Los Angeles. I think it struck me mostly because he was very close to my own age. Phoenix had done some excellent early work, but it was generally agreed upon that his best years were in front of him. I think it’s the waste of talent that leaves you melancholy—and it was a wake-up call that while you might seem invulnerable at 23, it’s just not true. A promising future is just that…a promising future.

The recent spate of celebrity passages has been brought up feelings more akin to nostalgia than anything else.

I was just adjusting to the loss of David Carradine when the most recent slate of death notices started to pour in. I admit to the fact that Carradine was a personal favorite. I only caught “Kung Fu” in syndication, but it was one of those shows that stays with you. While I still think a six-shooter is more useful than martial arts in the Wild West, it was an interesting approach.

Since then, Carradine had worked consistently, bringing depth and gravitas to nearly everything he was involved with. Given the amount of time he was on screen, Carradine took control of “Kill Bill.” If you haven’t seen it, check out “The Long Riders,” with three Carradines, three Keaches and two Quaids as the Jesse James gang.

Here’s hoping that Carradine continues to walk the Earth, “…like Caine in Kung Fu.”

It is impossible to think about Farrah Fawcett and not remember “the poster.” I was a touch young for it myself, but I remember little ads for it being omnipresent once it became the huge movement that it was. I also remember it proudly displayed on the bedroom wall of every older friend that had.

I’d urge you to go back and look for a copy online and see what it actually looked like. Possibly the best-selling poster of all time captured a smiling woman in a one-piece bathing suit. It’s actually modest by today’s standards—it’s just a smiling girl (sans plastic surgery) who seems to be enjoying her youth.

I was always somewhat partial to Farrah—especially since she was a Texas girl, a former student at the University of Texas at Austin. During her career, she did a number of television movies and more off-Broadway theater than I knew at the time. “Charlie’s Angels” is known to many because of syndication, but it should be remembered as a show with three strong women as its heroines.

Here’s hoping that wherever Farrah is now, she’s got a one-piece and that incredible smile.

And then there’s Michael Jackson.

I met some friends for a drink on Friday and we started talking about Michael Jackson and the “little Michaels” we had running around at Sterling Middle School after “Thriller” came out. There were two kids who wore the reproductions of Jackson’s red leather jacket with 50 zippers placed all over. One of them actually had a sequined glove too. I wish I could recall the kid’s name so that I could poke a little fun–and send my condolences for the loss of so large a part of his childhood.

Everyone except me had a copy of Thriller. It’s the secret shame of anyone who was a teen or young adult at the time. We would devotedly watch MTV or Friday Night Videos in desperate hopes of getting to see the video for “Thriller,” which was also a mainstay at every Middle School dance. I wish someone had video of a cafeteria full of 12-year-olds attempting to dance like Michael Jackson—the zombies, maybe, but not Jackson.

For my money, the videos that Jackson did for the “Thriller” album are still among the best music videos ever made.

To this day, I cannot do the “Moonwalk.” I did try at the time…and writing this, I locked my office door to see if increased maturity had not provided me a little extra coordination. I think I broke a lamp.

If power corrupts, money makes one a little weird. To a certain extent, it’s hard to blame them. If you have more money than you will ever need, why not live life the way you want to? It’s hard to separate Jackson from the inexplicably bizarre behavior that surrounded him in later life. His indisputable talent was too often eclipsed by the man-child he appeared to be.

It’s certainly hard to reflect on the “King of Pop” without considering the crimes he was accused of. There remains that nagging feeling that Michael probably should have done a little time. That said, one case was settled out of court (never coming to a criminal trial) and in the other case, he was acquitted. While there’s a tendency to believe any accusations against the unrepentantly strange, try to remember that nothing was ever actually proved or admitted to.

Here’s hoping that we’ll finally leave Michael alone.

–John L. Geddie