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And So Are You In Something Backless

Two weeks ago, while house sitting for friends in Manhattan, I had the opportunity to catch the ever enticing morning lineup on Lifetime (Television for Women... and Gay Men. Still). This meant two back-to back episodes of The Golden Girls. I made it through about half of one (you know the one where the gals get into some misadventure... and hilarity ensues.... Oh wait), and then fell back to sleep halfway into the next.

It's odd to realize that for seven years, four older women were the hottest stars on television (well, five actually; Angela Lansbury was also top ten at the same time), commanding top salaries and holding a network to their demands.  It's also worth remembering the power of the Golden Girls - which did not leave TV as a ratings failure - and other shows when people say "nobody wants to see older people in the leads", or when suddenly no women are holding the leads on their own shows. Women actually do want to see other women, even older women, in the main roles.

I don't have much to say about Estelle Getty, who passed away yesterday, just shy of her 85th birthday (is it indiscreet to say she was the likely one of the four to pass first?). But it seems a shame not to say anything. I've never been in the cult of the Golden Girls (I'm not that gay... or that woman), never really loved the show, and thought it beat a fairly innocuous premise into the well worn ground. What saved it, always, was the insane amount of talent thrown at the material: four veteran comic actresses, all in top form. And though all the performances devolved into caricature, that didn't mean they didn't know how to zing. Especially Getty, who often had the most tart responses, whether insulting Blanche's life as a loose woman, or continually putting down her daughter Dorothy (the title of this post comes from a line J always loved, which I believe in full was "that's pretty scary" which she says to Dorothy, "and so are you in something backless.").

Like all The Golden Girls, she won an Emmy -  but just one - for Sophia... but was nominated every year. And while she's gone, she never really will be. One thing the show is, at least for my lifetime (television for women and gay men. always) - is timeless. Also, a little scary.

A World Without Jesse Helms

It was easy, really, to let Jesse Helms stand in for everything one despised about Republicans. In the Reagan ears, the first Bush Years, the Clinton years... Helms was the archetypal embodiment of the Southern Strategy in all its conservatism, bigotry and hatreds. Jerry Falwell may have been more direct, but he was in no position to actually do harm the way Helms was.

As a rad fag who came of age in the era of ACT UP, we needed Jesse Helms as much as he needed us: what's a world without enemies, when fighting the enemy is all you know?

So now he's dead, and one searches to find something polite to say... without much luck. Helms made the world a little meaner, a little more divided, a little less accepting. I'm not one to let those stand as good things. The charitable view of, say, his awful campaigns against Harvey Gantt is that he exploited our nation's racial divisions for personal gain. Calling that "standing up for what you believe in"... not so much.

Still, there's no escaping that "Jesse Helms" was a necessary part of those angry, rad years. If he hadn't existed, we'd have had to invent him - something to oppose, to be angry at, to hate as you were hated. I'm older now, and I don't hate Jesse Helms. I won't miss him, but in the end, he was kind of sad, and a little pathetic. And the righteous outrage I had then is why I can't muster so much of it now: compared to Jesse Helms, folks like George W. Buch and Dick Cheney and Karl Rove are simply incompetent amateurs.

And maybe that's the nice thing to say of Jesse Helms: at least he was good at it. 

George Carlin

All I can say is: me, too. I was stunned to hear that Carlin's dead, and the usual "what a great guy" or even "what a funny guy" seems beside the point. Carlin was too alive, too present, really, to deserve reverie. He'd have said "Fuck you, cocksucker" (using two of the seven), and ignored it.

I'm sort of fascinated that what we celebrate in Carlin really happened in the last 10, maybe 20 years. He was an old comic, from an old tradition, and like many of them, he got funnier, and feistier, with age. I don't even know what he was like in his actual youth; in the seventies, when he was in his forties, he was really sort of a counterculture holdover; but suddenly, in the eighties and beyond, he came into his own, and was really completely unstoppable.

In that hazy way, we will remember for those moments of speaking truth to power, and forget that his best humor was "old crank" humor maybe amped up a notch or two: if it was official, or established, or serious, or had some beaurocracy attached to it, Carlin hated it. He hated that we had to be polite, or perhaps more accurately, that we pretended that we had to be polite. As a result, though, he probably gave license to a sort of inner asshol-ishness that's not necessarily an improvement. Though I enjoyed his various specials... I usually got a little weary as they wore on.

But oh, when he was on! When it was seven dirty words or other hot topics, and he killed. Or, as the grizzled anchor of "The Aristocrats", the brilliant, savage documentary about one of the dirtiest jokes ever, he  was soft spoken yet brilliant. We won't have to miss him (there's so much video)... but oh, what a shame that someday... we'll have to explain him.

I can't choose: Ezra, Dana Goldstein and Nick Beaudrot all found wickedly funny moments. I offer them all, together. Share and enjoy.

Film at 11. And 12. And 1...

I don't know if they're still in the middle of it over at MSNBC (my guess is, they are), but the wall-to-wall coverage of Russert's death was just too much on NBC today... oh wait, that's Today, as in Weekend Today, where Andrea Mitchell and David Gregory did everything but interview Tim's grade school teacher... oh wait, they did that, too.

If the marathon coverage of Gerald Ford's passing seemed like a bit much for a two year Presidency, the reporters interviewing each other about Russert for hours on end was really just absurd. Is this what we're likely to get when Walter Cronkite passes? I think not... or at least, I hope not. I don't think I've ever seen quite such indulgence from a network news operation, and that NBC couldn't leave the homage to a few tasteful moments and a lovely montage speaks yet more volumes about what they think passes for world news. It's telling, I think, that across the blogosphere, most people made their tasteful obits and tributes a blog post on Friday... and then moved on (except, tellingly, for Huffington Post, Time and The Politico).

I'm sorry to seem churlish, really I am; but really, the coverage of Russert on NBC equaled that of our major heads of state. Does that make any sense? Any at all? What was worse is that the overkill drowned the vestiges of real feeling to be gained: watching Mary Matalin openly weeping, and providing what was, for my money, the most honest appreciation of Russert as a sincere guy in a town full of insincere; or enjoying the grace and tact (yet again) of Gwen Ifill on the Meet The Press remembrance were moments that should have said it all. It was unfortunate that such bracing moments were subsumed by too much storytelling and... well, just too much. If NBC News needs a moment to grieve, I don't think it's outrageous to suggest that "privately" would have been a bit more appropriate. But of course, to say any of this is heartless. What was I thinking? Lets roll that tape of Russert rooting for his home teams... again.

Tim Russert

It's only in the last six months or so - since I moved back home - that I've been tuning in regularly to Meet The Press. Within the last 3 years, I'd pretty much stopped watching; partly out of convenience (I would DVR it and never watch those either), and partly because I really found it utterly unsatisfying.

It's these things that come to mind when I think about the sudden, stunning loss of Tim Russert.

In his way, by the time he died, Russert was legendary. Partly that was due to ratings - Russert was the number one Sunday talk show anchor almost without interruption (I think ABC was on top for a while there, but I can't confirm that). Partly it was due to a reputation as the "serious" interviewer, the litmus test of any major political figure, certainly any American one (and really... what's the alternative... Charlie Rose?).

Neither of those, I think, really speak to what made Russert so successful, which was really about personality. Russert was a prime example of news reader celebrity, and almost everything - his role as political commentator, his hosting duties, his role as "Washington Bureau Chief," was subsumed to his star quality. Buoyant, gregarious, full of that manly bonhomie that people seem to like so much, Russert filled up the space - literally - and the room. I may not have loved Meet The Press... but I always liked the guy. How could anyone not?

...And A Diamond's Worth

Last week, a little lost amidst the political roilings, I noted the passing of Sydney Pollack over at NewCritics. Pollack was one of preferred directors, classy and tasteful, the very notion of Hollywood Establishment, at least to me.

As I mentioned there, I think Tootsie remains one of the great screen comedies; and one reason for that, besides his assured direction, is Pollack's sharp performance as Michael Dorsey's agent.

There's a lot of great moments in there, but the one that I still think of first is the moment, at the height of the craziness, when Michael, having been groped by one man and proposed marriage by another (as Dorothy), goes to his agent and explains all of it to him. As he says in passing that he got a marriage proposal and oh yeah, even got a ring, the two of them stop and check out the ring. And Pollack compliments the ring and asks how he plans to handle it, and for a moment, they both fall into discussing Dorothy's life as if it's real.

In the comments there, Steve Barnes reminded me that Pollack's acting was, in many ways, as key to him as his direction:

There’s a good reason why Mr. Pollack was known as and actor’s (or star’s as the case may be) director. He was a very good actor himself. From appearances in several of his own films, to roles in Woody Allen’s “Husbands and Wives,” Stanley Kubrick’s “Eyes Wide Shut” to the final season of “The Sopranos,” he put a pretty solid string of performances on screen. He deserve to be remembered for those, too.

I agree with Steve, and it's very true that Pollack was a wonderful, underrated and subtle performer, often the best thing in the works he's in. And I think his sensitivity as an actor does explain volumes about the trust he got (and deserved) from his actors, especially stars - like Redford - who were not necessarily famous for talent first (don't get me wrong, I love Redford as an actor... but let's not pretend the blonde and the baby blues aren't key).

In any case, this is a good time to recommend Steve's equally informative and thoughtful post over at his own blog, which I think merits regular visits. And to remind anyone in a position to schedule film festivals (like, say Film Forum) that a retrospective of Pollack, as an actor, would I think be a revelatory thing - like another facet on a diamond.

YSL

Yves Saint Laurent was the only fellow couturier that Gabrielle Chanel “approved” of.  She hated Dior for putting women in clothes that set them back 100 years-the tight jackets and corsets, the spike heels.  The freedoms of movement and independence for a new day that Dior took away.  She hated all the other male designers who came before or were her contemporaries and she tolerated Elsa Schiaparelli.  But in Monsieur Saint-Laurent she recognized a kindred soul (even though she wouldn’t have admitted it) in dressing women in clothing that was beautiful and elegant but gave them independence and power.  His work could have almost been a continuation if hers. 

YSL reached his apex at a time when women were beginning to become truly important and successful in the world of business giving us elegant and exciting clothes to wear each day.    And pants were instrumental to that success.  

The fashion lexicon that YSL gave us has seeped into the rich language of our clothes in a similar to Shakespeare’s language still present in our language today-sometimes it’s so subtle you don’t even realize it.  Certainly the obvious references of chic and severe pants suits and the safari looks but also all the interesting sleeves we have today, the jewel colors, the way women can be successful in business but wear gorgeous over the top clothes, really tall boots, using street fashion to inspire the couture. 

Yves Saint Laurent

As I remember it - and it's a selective memory, I admit - the idea of fashion and being fashionable seeped into my consciousness as a child in the seventies and came attached to one name: Yves Saint Laurent. Before I completely understood what "fashion designer" meant, the idea that Yves Saint Laurent meant "fashion" and style was very clear.

Over time, I learned more and my appreciation of Saint Laurent only deepened; for more than 40 years, Saint Laurent designed collections, first for Dior and then for himself, with almost no misses. He helped create the modern notion of the designer brand, licensing his name to more than 500 different lines from eyewear to bedsheets to cigarettes. My mother, for years, wore Rive Gauche, his main fragrance. My sister, as a teen, loving the rose scent, wore Paris.

His vision was amazing, and in many ways unmatched: he created some of the best clothes for high society women, yet never lost sight of the many sides of a woman's life - he created clothes for women who worked, and clothes that acknowledged women's sexiness without being obvious or sleazy. He was the one who made pants dressing for women into high fashion, who made the "peasant look" a staple of high style. It was he who could make a widow's black dress look like a come on for husband number five... and yet, respectable. He effectively adapted modern art to fashion, famously using the prints of Mondrian, Picasso, Matisse and others in his designs to amazing effect.

And the women he dressed! Catherine Deneuve, Charlotte Rampling, Jane Birkin, LouLou de la Falaise, Nan Kempner. Actresses and socialites, professional women and models. Saint Laurent made women look beautiful, alive, and sexy. And classy. Nothing underscored his amazing vision as much as his retreat into retirement, when The Gucci Group bought his house and installed Tom Ford as his replacement.  Where Ford's louche obviousness updated Gucci's staid image, his similar approach to Saint Laurent only took an elegant line and made it something tarted up and obvious. Only in recent years under Stefano Pilati, has the line begun to approach returning to the power of the master.

Driving home this afternoon, the news announced that Saint Laurent has died. It's easy to see what we've lost as immeasurable, and irreplacable. There will never be another - indeed it takes many current fashion names to equal one of him: Gaultier has his skill if not his panache, Galliano has his verve and vision if not his subtlety, Elbaz has his technical gifts... and on and on. Couture is not dead because of Saint Laurnet; it's near death because women's lives have changed dramatically, and fashion has changed in response. And the person who saw that, in no small part, was Yves Saint Laurent. There will never be another... but I think that's what he intended.

Mildred, Fierce.

I've written already, a bit, about my own personal connection to Loving vs. Virginia, the Supreme Court case that ended laws against interracial marriage. That, of course, was brought back to me today when I caught news that Mildred Loving died.

Mrs. Loving (nee Jeter) survived her husband by many years. Their marriage was lifelong, and they lived it, after their case, in Virginia, where they were born and raised. There is, really, nothing remarkable to it. What is remarkable is the energy this country put towards keeping them apart.

I always, always remember - because my father was born and raised in Virginia, too - that within my lifetime, it was illegal for my parents to be married... to the point that my first visit to my Grandmother happened without my mom. Because Loving had not yet been decided (I was 3), they were concerned about arrest.

I like to remember that. It keeps things real.

I wouldn't bother to bring all of this up again except that, via Richard Perle, I made a fascinating discovery: last year, Mildred Loving came out in favor of gay marriage:

    My generation was bitterly divided over something that should have been so clear and right. The majority believed that what the judge said, that it was God's plan to keep people apart, and that government should discriminate against people in love. But I have lived long enough now to see big changes. The older generation's fears and prejudices have given way, and today's young people realize that if someone loves someone they have a right to marry.

    Surrounded as I am now by wonderful children and grandchildren, not a day goes by that I don't think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the "wrong kind of person" for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. Government has no business imposing some people’s religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people’s civil rights.

    I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard's and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That's what Loving, and loving, are all about.

And then, in wonder, yet again... I marvel at how Barack Obama can't see something even Mildred Loving can.

In Memoriam

It's the one year anniversary of the shootings at VA Tech.  This story floored and deeply saddened me when it broke; I blogged about it for awhile after.  I've spent about two-thirds of my adult life on university campuses, my mom works in mental health, and I had a serious Korean boyfriend who battled his own demons when he was Seung-Hui Cho's, the shooter, age, but grew up to be a healthy and happy man.

I woke up this morning to coverage of the campus, town, families and students as they move on and continue to grapple with this tragedy.  My heart and my thoughts are with them today and everyday as they recover from the tremendous loss and disruption of the massacre in their lives.

Links to updates on gun legislation in VA here, and university mental health policies here.

- Redstar

Weboy adds:

Like Red, I was stunned by VA Tech, slow to comprehend what we were watching, but ultimately moved to write this and this about how we don't think about, or deal well with mental illness.

Of the 32 people who died, 17 were teachers or students in the department of Foreign Languages and Literature (2 instructors were killed while teaching, and 15 in their classes). The Chair of the department spoke to NPR this afternoon. And yet again, I wept.