Monday, January 21, 2008

A Razzie to Death.

That beloved friend of the working tranny, Eddie Murphy, has ended The Great Romance of the 20th Century, bringing to a halt two and a half weeks of marital bliss. Well actually, if he felt a need to dump his wife of less than a month, one suspects that the entire two and a half weeks weren't all that blissful.

What could have happened? Never having met either of them, I have no informed idea what went wrong, but my working hypothesis is simple; he found out she was actually a woman. Nothing disappoints a tranny lover more than not finding a penis in his bride's panties. I've divorced men for less! In one case, a lot less!

Fortunately for poor, lovelorn Eddie, he had great news this week also: not only has he been nominated for a Golden Raspberry Award, an award more regarded than even The Golden Globes or The People's Choice Awards, but he has set a new world record, by receiving 5 nominations in a single year! Congratulations Eddie! Well deserved all!

Of course, he's a shoe-in for Best Worst Actor, but who could have anticipated that he would also be nominated for Best Worst Actress? And not only that, but he's nominated for Best Worst Supporting Actor and Best Worst Supporting Actress as well. Certainly, when the great screen actors are listed, Eddie is always there, counting.

(That's Vivian Leigh with Larry Olivier. She'd been dieting.) For Best Worst Actress though, Eddie has never-stiff competition, as the other nominees are actually female, which I think gives them an unfair advantage. The smart dumb money is on Lindsey Lohan, whose film I Know Who Killed Me has a fantastic 9 nominations overall. Besides, like Eddie, she plays a dual role, but unlike Eddie, she does it without elaborate prosthetic make-ups. It's like the film equivalent of Eddie Murphy, only without Eddie Murphy, so everybody wins!

But I believe, that when you think Great Actresses, Lindsey Lohan staggers to the front of the line. She has everything I've ever found essential for a Hollywood career: she dresses like a slut, is always drunk, and has "Unprofessional" tattooed on her butt. Welcome to the pantheon, Lindsey.

But Eddie and Lindsey are going head-to-head-to-head-to-head in another category: Best Worst Couple! In fact, since Eddie is nominated for playing opposite himself in three roles, he's really up for Best Worst Three-Way, which reminds me all too well of that torrid night back in 1932, in my Morehead Heights steamroom, when I became the "and" in "Laurel and Hardy". (Actually, I was more of an "End" rather than an "And".) But Lindsey aimed low. She's just repeating her The Parent Trap trick, stolen from, Haley Mills, of playing identical sluts. Eddie played lovers. He's out to be the new Peter Sellers, only without Sellers's tiresome gimmick of being funny. I don't see how we can fail to add Eddie Murphy and Eddie Murphy to the list of great screen romantic couples.

But a terrible cloud hangs over The Golden Raspberries this year: the WGA Strike. If the strike isn't settled in time, they'll be no Bruce Vilanch writing lame banter, the Screen Actors Guild will refuse to cross the picket line, and there will be no stars picking up their coveted awards. Poor Eddie and Lindsey, whose year this surely must be, will stay home, trophy-less. Please AMPTP, settle this strike before the Razzies are reduced to just Billy Bush reading out the winners on Dateline NBC, ending with him awarding himself a Razzie for Lamest Host!

Well, on to a cheerier subject: Death.

First off, let me relieve your mind, the John Stewart who died today is not the Jon Stewart who hosts The Daily Show. Rather than the brilliant and sexy man who makes American politics worthwhile, because it creates fodder for his comic genius (The "H" in Jon makes all the difference.), this John Stewart was just a singer-songwriter from the 60s. He was a member of The Kingston Trio, but not one of the original members. He was a mere replacement; sort of The Kingston Trio Shemp, or worse, The Kingston Trio Curly Joe De Rita. As a songwriter, his biggest hit was Daydream Believer for The Monkees. Maybe he died of shame.

That's some of the good death news. More in a minute, but first the bad news:

Beautiful, sexy, funny, throaty-voiced Suzanne Pleshette has died, at the obscenely young age of 70.

In a career that stretched back to the 50s, Suzanne appeared in many, many movies, almost every TV show, and achieved immortality with a single guest shot on Newhart. (I'm told she also appeared on the old The Bob Newhart Show. Anyone know who she played? When that sexy dreamboat Bill Daily was onscreen, I couldn't see anyone else!) Who can forget her amazing performance in 40 Pounds of Trouble? I know that you, like myself, can quote whole passages of her dialogue from that picture from memory, and I don't even remember all of my husbands. In Alfred Hitchcock's nature documentary The Birds, she died (See above. That's Rod Taylor checking hand-eye coordination.), while Tippi Hedron lived, an event now repeated in real life. So unfair. Suzanne never punished World Culture by giving birth to Melanie Griffith.

That's her with one of her husbands, Troy Donahue, a marriage that was so brief, you'd almost think she was married to Eddie Murphy. Little Douglas wants me to share with you a story about Troy:

Back in 1974, Little Douglas was - hold onto your hats folks, this is really hard to believe! - still having sex with women! Welcome to Bizarro World friends. It's a good thing I didn't meet him then; I might have married him. One day that year, Little Dougie's girlfriend attended a party in Hollywood where she met Troy Donahue, and Troy hit on Little Dougie's then-girlfriend, and tried to get into her panties. Now get this! She turned down Troy Donahue, an internationally-belusted sex symbol, for Little Dougie! Well it's no wonder Suzanne dumped Troy. Would you marry someone who was coming in second to Little Dougie, the homo's homo?

Darling, talented, beautiful, and charming Suzanne did finally find True Love, with Tom Poston, the great comedy actor who sadly died last year. Clearly she found being funny sexier than being sexy. I like that. Look at them together, and then you tell me why their sex tape never sold as well as Paris Hilton's, or Pamela Anderson's, or even Screech's. In any event, who else would find True Love in her fake husband's dream? "And Emily, there was this weird handyman. I think you'd like him." I'm sure she was lonely without him, so maybe her passing was a blessing to her, however hurtful it is to us who loved her.

But she was only 70. What could possibly have killed her so soon?

Also departing earth last week was the wonderful comic actor Allan Melvin.

In a number of his obituaries I've seen this revolting headline: Brady Bunch Actor Allan Melvin Dies. Folks please, if you must speak ill of the dead, then save it for someone terrible, like the man we'll get to next. Why bring up an insulting and shameful credit like The Brady Bunch? Why not write: Allan Melvin dies; Co-Starred on Sergeant Bilko? Or headline with All in the Family? Or With Six You Get Eggroll? Or even being the voice of Magilla Gorilla, as well as one of the later Bluto voices in the Popeye the Sailor cartoons? Why dredge up The Brady Bunch? Let his shame die with him.

I owe Allan Melvin an apology. Last year I bought the Best of Bilko DVD set, which every lover of great TV comedy must watch and love, and for which Allan Melvin recorded introductions to every episode, in which he gave away the premise and spoiled some of the gags. When I watched this set, I just routinely skipped all of Melvin's intros. I'm sorry Allan. I'll go back now and just listen to your intros, and skip the shows. You gave us a lot of laughs Allan. We'll miss you.

Now the good death news: The Good Riddance List has acquired another name. Crazy-as-a-loon anti-Semitic chess genius Bobby Fischer, the man who thought Hitler had been too lenient with the Jews (Despite being Jewish!), has done us all a favor and died. He was known for his catchphrase: "Checkmate," but I prefer to remember his memorable quote when asked to react to the destruction of The World Trade Center on 9-11-01, which he called, "Wonderful," adding that he hoped "To see the U. S. wiped out." Here's loony Bobby from his later days:

Hot, baby. He was one hermitic wackjob who didn't go into seclusion far enough. He could play chess really, really well. That doesn't make up for his being a shithole. Thanks for dying, Bobby. By the way, the United States is still here. Suck on that, dickwad. When I think of you (Against my will), I'll think of the opening scene of From Russia With Love, when the Satanically evil chess master is interrupted during the International Chess Championship, to go tell his evil plan to Blofeld, only if he were you, he'd look like Howard Hughes in his last days. Maybe you can beat Satan.

But let's close today thinking of Love, True Love, like that of darling Tom Poston and wonderful Suzanne Pleshette, forever joined with the Great Lovers of Hollywood.

Cheers darlings.

No comments: