Hollywood Wives & Lurid Lives
After a lengthy withdrawal from coffee, say around three edgy hours, the world loses its form and strange hallucinations start to suggest that the world is truly concerned with AIDS, poverty & oil crises. One large latte later, with lashings of extra foam to bring the tab up to $5, and the temporary departure from reality is at an end. One may again read the world news with a clear mind.
The front cover will of course have a full blown image of a Diva (or her male counterpart, a Divon), preferably juxtaposed to a grave headline such as ‘Bush declares World War Three on entire Middle East’.… Such a combination of gravity reinforcing superficiality helps to drive sales behind the glossy image of a perfect Hollywood being. A ring of rouge framing brilliant white dentition crowns an hour-glass figure enhanced by expensive silicon. If a Hollywood actress isn’t available or affordable, then an errant fashion model or lesser Royal may have to do. Such daily visions of beauty, wealth and worldly happiness must of course be underlined by a catchy caption relating to a latest celebrity partner, Oscar or DUI charge (in the event that she’s an heiress).
We are of course expected, depending upon our gender and orientation, to be personally drawn to the image they project, if not sexually attracted. Throw in a few intimations about their sex lives, and the media have a simple and timeless recipe for endless international obsession. Whether it is a home-made Paris Hilton Hotel video, a choreographed music video of Paris Hilton, or yet another image of Jennifer Lopez displaying the world’s most coveted derriere, we are saturated with projections of an idyllic existence of sun, sea, sand and sex. Doubtless if we read and watch sufficiently (intentionally or otherwise), their Hollywood agents believe that we will dream of them as well.
Despite an entire lifetime spent in stoic denial of their very existence, immersed in the purifying pain of daily work, commuting and chores, their influence is about as avoidable as the Florida rain. A merest second’s sideways glance on a busy street or in a bar, and the attention is caught by a glossy front cover or a TV screen, drawing the mind towards news of the latest Hollywood divorce, marriage or affair. Like a perfect storm each passing indiscretion, sexual partner or public tirade takes days to subside, and after the rain has passed we are left with the indelible impression of the significance of their existence. Of course what makes it so much worse, other than the fact that 99% of us will never have the time, the money or the social licence to emulate their hedonistic lifestyles, is the suspicion that even their personal lives are choreographed for the cameras.
Cynicism is more an affliction than a grace, but even the most open-minded and sanguine of people must have lingering doubts about the sincerity of the Hollywood marriage. Cruise married Kidman, and then moved swiftly on to the arms of the next rising starlet. Brad Pitt found true love in the arms of Jennifer Aniston before finding eternal happiness with Angelina Jolie a couple of years later. True Hollywood heavyweights, such as Joan Collins who courted five husbands, Elizabeth Taylor who was married no fewer than eight times to seven husbands, and Doris Day who managed a modest four husbands, lived to suggest that marriage is merely another means of sharing sexuality within high society.
Monroe in her day was associated with most every beau in Bel-Air, as were Jane Russell and Britt Ekland. Other than the usual Hollywood cliché of high society promiscuity and star-studded sexuality, it is difficult not to read in between the lines and to wonder, just for a sombre moment, whether the varied assortment of boyfriends and marital partners is merely smoke rising from the flames within the sacred valley. Even the biography of angel-eyed Judy garland is tainted with well known tales of extreme promiscuity, drug-use, and failed marriages. It is nigh impossible not to draw the conclusion that Hollywood marriages are as much a front as the silver screen itself.
On the other side of the Pond, Beckham-bashing has become a popular pastime of late, and England’s golden couple, never more than a day or two from the front pages, are past masters of the art of the leaked shopping spree, the lavish seasonal party, and the well-timed press release. Britain’s working class royals, ‘Posh & Becks’, were a celebrity match made in tabloid heaven. A working class football hero (who rose from emptying ashtrays in a night club), and ‘Posh Spice’ who toured the world fully booked (although not necessarily for her musical talents), held the press captive for a decade with collections of designer sunglasses, designer babies and designer clothes. Whether their infidelities were media exceptions, or more a rule of celebrity life, merely adds another spark to the media frenzy that was their lives.
So who is Britney Spears, proud export of Kentwood, Louisiana, sleeping with in between scenes? Which of her five long-term husbands and boyfriends did J-Lo, beauty from the Bronx, really adore? Well the price for entry into their star-crossed lives certainly runs into many millions. On the other hand you might do just as well to take twenty dollars and go into your local small town diner or ghetto and become intimately associated with the next generation of Hollywood stars. Perhaps the greatest magic in all of Hollywood is their routine transformation of a twenty dollar harlet into a multi-million dollar silver screen starlet. What is certain, is that the catwalk procession of sideways glances, private parties and serial wives is as certain as the next sequel.
The front cover will of course have a full blown image of a Diva (or her male counterpart, a Divon), preferably juxtaposed to a grave headline such as ‘Bush declares World War Three on entire Middle East’.… Such a combination of gravity reinforcing superficiality helps to drive sales behind the glossy image of a perfect Hollywood being. A ring of rouge framing brilliant white dentition crowns an hour-glass figure enhanced by expensive silicon. If a Hollywood actress isn’t available or affordable, then an errant fashion model or lesser Royal may have to do. Such daily visions of beauty, wealth and worldly happiness must of course be underlined by a catchy caption relating to a latest celebrity partner, Oscar or DUI charge (in the event that she’s an heiress).
We are of course expected, depending upon our gender and orientation, to be personally drawn to the image they project, if not sexually attracted. Throw in a few intimations about their sex lives, and the media have a simple and timeless recipe for endless international obsession. Whether it is a home-made Paris Hilton Hotel video, a choreographed music video of Paris Hilton, or yet another image of Jennifer Lopez displaying the world’s most coveted derriere, we are saturated with projections of an idyllic existence of sun, sea, sand and sex. Doubtless if we read and watch sufficiently (intentionally or otherwise), their Hollywood agents believe that we will dream of them as well.
Despite an entire lifetime spent in stoic denial of their very existence, immersed in the purifying pain of daily work, commuting and chores, their influence is about as avoidable as the Florida rain. A merest second’s sideways glance on a busy street or in a bar, and the attention is caught by a glossy front cover or a TV screen, drawing the mind towards news of the latest Hollywood divorce, marriage or affair. Like a perfect storm each passing indiscretion, sexual partner or public tirade takes days to subside, and after the rain has passed we are left with the indelible impression of the significance of their existence. Of course what makes it so much worse, other than the fact that 99% of us will never have the time, the money or the social licence to emulate their hedonistic lifestyles, is the suspicion that even their personal lives are choreographed for the cameras.
Cynicism is more an affliction than a grace, but even the most open-minded and sanguine of people must have lingering doubts about the sincerity of the Hollywood marriage. Cruise married Kidman, and then moved swiftly on to the arms of the next rising starlet. Brad Pitt found true love in the arms of Jennifer Aniston before finding eternal happiness with Angelina Jolie a couple of years later. True Hollywood heavyweights, such as Joan Collins who courted five husbands, Elizabeth Taylor who was married no fewer than eight times to seven husbands, and Doris Day who managed a modest four husbands, lived to suggest that marriage is merely another means of sharing sexuality within high society.
Monroe in her day was associated with most every beau in Bel-Air, as were Jane Russell and Britt Ekland. Other than the usual Hollywood cliché of high society promiscuity and star-studded sexuality, it is difficult not to read in between the lines and to wonder, just for a sombre moment, whether the varied assortment of boyfriends and marital partners is merely smoke rising from the flames within the sacred valley. Even the biography of angel-eyed Judy garland is tainted with well known tales of extreme promiscuity, drug-use, and failed marriages. It is nigh impossible not to draw the conclusion that Hollywood marriages are as much a front as the silver screen itself.
On the other side of the Pond, Beckham-bashing has become a popular pastime of late, and England’s golden couple, never more than a day or two from the front pages, are past masters of the art of the leaked shopping spree, the lavish seasonal party, and the well-timed press release. Britain’s working class royals, ‘Posh & Becks’, were a celebrity match made in tabloid heaven. A working class football hero (who rose from emptying ashtrays in a night club), and ‘Posh Spice’ who toured the world fully booked (although not necessarily for her musical talents), held the press captive for a decade with collections of designer sunglasses, designer babies and designer clothes. Whether their infidelities were media exceptions, or more a rule of celebrity life, merely adds another spark to the media frenzy that was their lives.
So who is Britney Spears, proud export of Kentwood, Louisiana, sleeping with in between scenes? Which of her five long-term husbands and boyfriends did J-Lo, beauty from the Bronx, really adore? Well the price for entry into their star-crossed lives certainly runs into many millions. On the other hand you might do just as well to take twenty dollars and go into your local small town diner or ghetto and become intimately associated with the next generation of Hollywood stars. Perhaps the greatest magic in all of Hollywood is their routine transformation of a twenty dollar harlet into a multi-million dollar silver screen starlet. What is certain, is that the catwalk procession of sideways glances, private parties and serial wives is as certain as the next sequel.
posted by The Angry Man at 4:46 PM
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