More RIPs
Two pop culture icons died yesterday on the same day my family lost our beloved dog, companion and protector. So while the loss of these stars is shocking it doesn’t dredge up an especial amount of grief in my heart. What it has done however is make me well aware of people’s insensitivity, and that has in turn stirred up anger.
This morning I’ve already told one colleague, all gleeful with Michael Jackson jokes, to politely fuck off. You don’t have to like or respect someone, but you should have the general decency to recognise that this isn’t the time for spiteful humour at someone else's expense. Both Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett have loved ones who are grieving right now over their loss. They may have been celebrities but they were also people.
I admit I have little experience of Farrah Fawcett’s acting work. I’ve never seen the original Charlie’s Angels TV show, which was way before my time. If I’ve seen any of her other TV or film work I don’t remember it either, which is unfortunate because by the sound of it she was actually a good actress; one of those beauties who spent a lot of time fighting to be taken seriously as a dramatic performer despite her looks.
I do of course recognise Fawcett as a 70’s style and sex icon. Her much imitated hairstyle, that bestselling poster of her in the one-piece red swimsuit… It’s as iconic as Marilyn Monroe holding down her billowing skirts and pouting at the camera.
Of course, in the last few years, and especially in the last few months, it’s Fawcett’s real life story that has captured my attention. More specifically, her decades long, on-and-off-again romance with another 70’s heartthrob, Ryan O’Neal. Sure, their son is a drug-addled fuck-up, but since Fawcett was diagnosed with anal cancer a few years back O’Neal (himself a leukaemia survivor) has been at Fawcett’s side; her rock. Earlier this week, as Fawcett lay in hospital, the cancer having aggressively returned and spread to her liver, she even finally accepted O’Neal’s marriage proposal. It’s sweet and sad, and heartbreaking. I guess we don’t truly appreciate what we have and what we want till we’re losing it.
I know some people may come down hard on Fawcett for making a documentary about her struggles with cancer, even right to the end. But I think it’s cruel to criticise. Her medium of expression is video/film; she has every right to share her story. I know if I was fighting that wretched disease (and I know no one who has successfully fought off cancers of the lower digestive system for more than a few years) I would be writing about it. So, Farrah, good bye. I’m sorry your life was so short. At least at the end you had your loved ones at your side, and the pain is finally over.
I am a little upset that news of Fawcett’s death was shunted aside so quickly, especially since it has such a big emotional hook, but I guess that’s what happens when the King of Pop dies. Nothing else is as important.
Personally I’m choosing to remember Michael Jackson at his peak – as a genre-splicing, hip thrusting pop icon of the 1980s and early 1990s. After that point, the weirdness and controversy in his personal life just got too much, and I didn’t like his new musical style much either. But Dangerous, and, to a lesser extent, Thriller, my God, I loved those albums! I wore out my cassette tapes (ah, the pre-CD age). I got so excited every time the music video for Black or White came on TV. I thought nothing could top it for technical wizardry, and nothing was sexier than MJ's sidling over to Iman in Remember the Time. I loved MJ’s look back in 1991 too. He was starting to get a bit too sculpted and pale perhaps, but the curly long hair, tight black pants and white billowing shirts... simple, classic, definitive.
Clearly Michael Jackson had problems. But I don’t think he was so much a conscious sexual predator as he was a confused man-child whose ideas of love blurred affection and sexual pleasure. I actually tend to side with the South Park view that MJ may not have molested children at all but he certainly had no clue of appropriate boundaries between adult and child.
Even with a massive 50 concert tour planned as part of a big comeback strategy (80's nostalgia is all the rage right now after all), I honestly don’t think Michael Jackson would have reached his previous heights of success. The 80s was his Era. He, Madonna, and a few others defined Pop then. The world, especially the music world, has changed too much in the past 2 decades, and Justin Timberlake has emerged as probably the most worthy of MJ’s successors.
I realised this morning that I actually had the privilege of watching Michael Jackson’s final proper concert. Ever. Durban, South Africa played host to the last show in his worldwide HIStory tour on 15 October 1997. We stood outside the stadium in a downpour, waiting for the gates to open and hoping that the heavy rain wouldn’t cancel the event. Fortunately though the clouds rained themselves out and the show went ahead.
I’ve been to many excellent concerts but a MJ concert is something else. It was a full-blown show, a spectacle! Fireworks, giant inflatable statues, rocket ships popping up on stage. The music. The gravity-defying choreography – who can bend like that without losing their balance anyway?
I just think now of Michael Jackson’s much mocked words, “I love you too.” He used them a lot on that night in 1997 of course. I guess he lived to hear “I love you” screamed at him by thousands of people all at one time. I’m sorry that he didn’t get to hear those words again, or feel that kind of unquestioning adoration. I think he was a very sad man who needed it to feel good about himself.
This morning I’ve already told one colleague, all gleeful with Michael Jackson jokes, to politely fuck off. You don’t have to like or respect someone, but you should have the general decency to recognise that this isn’t the time for spiteful humour at someone else's expense. Both Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett have loved ones who are grieving right now over their loss. They may have been celebrities but they were also people.
I admit I have little experience of Farrah Fawcett’s acting work. I’ve never seen the original Charlie’s Angels TV show, which was way before my time. If I’ve seen any of her other TV or film work I don’t remember it either, which is unfortunate because by the sound of it she was actually a good actress; one of those beauties who spent a lot of time fighting to be taken seriously as a dramatic performer despite her looks.
I do of course recognise Fawcett as a 70’s style and sex icon. Her much imitated hairstyle, that bestselling poster of her in the one-piece red swimsuit… It’s as iconic as Marilyn Monroe holding down her billowing skirts and pouting at the camera.
Of course, in the last few years, and especially in the last few months, it’s Fawcett’s real life story that has captured my attention. More specifically, her decades long, on-and-off-again romance with another 70’s heartthrob, Ryan O’Neal. Sure, their son is a drug-addled fuck-up, but since Fawcett was diagnosed with anal cancer a few years back O’Neal (himself a leukaemia survivor) has been at Fawcett’s side; her rock. Earlier this week, as Fawcett lay in hospital, the cancer having aggressively returned and spread to her liver, she even finally accepted O’Neal’s marriage proposal. It’s sweet and sad, and heartbreaking. I guess we don’t truly appreciate what we have and what we want till we’re losing it.
I know some people may come down hard on Fawcett for making a documentary about her struggles with cancer, even right to the end. But I think it’s cruel to criticise. Her medium of expression is video/film; she has every right to share her story. I know if I was fighting that wretched disease (and I know no one who has successfully fought off cancers of the lower digestive system for more than a few years) I would be writing about it. So, Farrah, good bye. I’m sorry your life was so short. At least at the end you had your loved ones at your side, and the pain is finally over.
I am a little upset that news of Fawcett’s death was shunted aside so quickly, especially since it has such a big emotional hook, but I guess that’s what happens when the King of Pop dies. Nothing else is as important.
Personally I’m choosing to remember Michael Jackson at his peak – as a genre-splicing, hip thrusting pop icon of the 1980s and early 1990s. After that point, the weirdness and controversy in his personal life just got too much, and I didn’t like his new musical style much either. But Dangerous, and, to a lesser extent, Thriller, my God, I loved those albums! I wore out my cassette tapes (ah, the pre-CD age). I got so excited every time the music video for Black or White came on TV. I thought nothing could top it for technical wizardry, and nothing was sexier than MJ's sidling over to Iman in Remember the Time. I loved MJ’s look back in 1991 too. He was starting to get a bit too sculpted and pale perhaps, but the curly long hair, tight black pants and white billowing shirts... simple, classic, definitive.
Clearly Michael Jackson had problems. But I don’t think he was so much a conscious sexual predator as he was a confused man-child whose ideas of love blurred affection and sexual pleasure. I actually tend to side with the South Park view that MJ may not have molested children at all but he certainly had no clue of appropriate boundaries between adult and child.
Even with a massive 50 concert tour planned as part of a big comeback strategy (80's nostalgia is all the rage right now after all), I honestly don’t think Michael Jackson would have reached his previous heights of success. The 80s was his Era. He, Madonna, and a few others defined Pop then. The world, especially the music world, has changed too much in the past 2 decades, and Justin Timberlake has emerged as probably the most worthy of MJ’s successors.
I realised this morning that I actually had the privilege of watching Michael Jackson’s final proper concert. Ever. Durban, South Africa played host to the last show in his worldwide HIStory tour on 15 October 1997. We stood outside the stadium in a downpour, waiting for the gates to open and hoping that the heavy rain wouldn’t cancel the event. Fortunately though the clouds rained themselves out and the show went ahead.
I’ve been to many excellent concerts but a MJ concert is something else. It was a full-blown show, a spectacle! Fireworks, giant inflatable statues, rocket ships popping up on stage. The music. The gravity-defying choreography – who can bend like that without losing their balance anyway?
I just think now of Michael Jackson’s much mocked words, “I love you too.” He used them a lot on that night in 1997 of course. I guess he lived to hear “I love you” screamed at him by thousands of people all at one time. I’m sorry that he didn’t get to hear those words again, or feel that kind of unquestioning adoration. I think he was a very sad man who needed it to feel good about himself.
Comments
I can't comment for your dog, because I never met him.