Category Archives: Celebrity

RIP, Heath Ledger

Celebrity, Film, Gender, Hollywood, Psychiatry, The Zeitgeist

I don’t know much about this young actor; I’m not sure there is that much to know. To “mature” women like myself, he epitomized the new feminized male; low on testosterone and anemic to look at. (In “The Patriot,” I only had eyes for Mel.) Unmanly and hence unattractive. Young women nowadays, as I’ve observed, seem to like the type:

“Whenever I venture out, I encounter this not-so-new breed of man. Typically, he’ll have a few spoilt, cranky kids in tow, and a papoose strapped to a sunken chest. He’ll be laboring to make the outing to Trader Joe’s a ‘learning experience’ for the brats—one that every other store patron is forced to endure. This generic guy oozes psychological correctness and zero manliness. He’s not necessarily effeminate, mind you. Rather, he’s safely androgynous, and most certainly not guy-like in the traditional sense. As personalities go, he and the wife are indistinguishable.”

Poor Heath had been separated from his live-in lover. Perhaps she dismissed him because he failed to check the percentage of trans fats when out shopping. I’m just speculating.

As sad as the death of any harmless-enough young person is, I’m afraid I was not wowed by his performance in “Brokeback Mountain,” a film I was forced to view—well, let’s just say “circumstances combined to render me a captive audience.” I wrote:
“Heath Ledger as Ennis (an unfortunate name) Del Mar tried to emulate Marlon Brando’s potato-in-the-cheek mumbling in ‘The Godfather.’ A bad idea then—and now. The ‘love scene’ between the two men was akin to a bear fight. And as sensuous (contrast it with the artful and achingly sad scene in ‘Midnight Express’). The only sympathetic and authentic character was Alma Del Mar, the betrayed wife (portrayed by Michelle Williams), and her castaway kids.”

As for prescription drugs, which Ledger took to put him to sleep and allay anxiety: A daily glass or two of red wine, and a jog will cure most neuroses. The first is easy, the last, not so easy. Even if medication is taken at a time in one’s life when it’s needed (it often acts as a placebo), be sure to wean yourself off these kidney and liver killers. If you can’t sleep, read until you fall asleep. This has worked for me since the tender age of six, although, admittedly, I am bad sleeper and go to bed at 2:30 am.

On The George Putnam Show (More About a Great American)

America, Celebrity, Elections 2008, Ilana Mercer, Ilana On Radio & TV, Media

Tomorrow (Oct. 9, 2007) I will be on George Putnam’s nationally syndicated show, Talk Back (more about Mr. Putnam here as well). It is “distributed nationwide on the Cable Radio Network.” I’ll be on from 1:30 to 1:58 PT.

Updated (Oct 9, 2007): I’m hugely privileged to have spoken fleetingly with a great and brilliant American. (Excuse the adjectival banality, but words fail me here.) Mr. Putnam is a national treasure, who should be on TV to remind Americans how incisive, sonorous and super smart some of their media mavens used to be. (Now none of them are.) I was also touched by Mr. Putnam’s graciousness about me and my work. This is a man whose counsel Nixon and Reagan sought, and who “has a star on the Hollywood Boulevard ‘Walk of Fame.’” Again, an honor. (I did get a chuckle out of Mr. Putnam when I said that at www.ilanamercer.com, his listeners could read columns as funny and as well-written as Ann Coulter’s, only principled. Incidentally, I endorsed Ron Paul as the hope for America; Mr. Putnam agreed enthusiastically and expansively.

Roger Grace wrote a series of columns about the great man. Here is one.

George Putnam: the Voice That Keeps Booming

By ROGER M. GRACE

In a 1984 “Salute to KTTV’s 35th Anniversary,” former President Richard Nixon, on videotape, said of veteran Los Angeles newscaster George Putnam:

“He won the admiration and respect of millions of people in Southern California due to the fact that everybody could count on him to say exactly what he believed, whether it was popular or not. Some people didn’t like what he said; some people liked what he said. But everybody listened to George Putnam. That is why he has been one of the most influential commentators of our times.”

At the time of that program, Putnam was weekend anchor at KTTV, after having been off television for a spell. The station’s news director publicly stated when he brought Putnam back on board that people told him he was nuts.

Putnam no longer enjoyed the popularity he had in the 1950s and into the early 1960s. Nonetheless, unalterable is the fact of Putnam’s unparalleled attainment when his career was at its zenith. He was a powerhouse. Among those who sought his counsel back then was Nixon.

Putnam is associated in the minds of many with Channel 11. However, in the mid-1960s, he was wooed away by KTLA, Channel 5, located one block west of KTTV on Sunset Boulevard. Channel 11 later enticed him back, and Putnam was again turning east from Van Ness into the KTTV lot. KTLA once more lured Putnam away in the early 1970s, and he was again turning west from Van Ness. (He was now doing his twice-nightly news show, as well as “Talk Back,” with viewers phoning in.)

When his high-priced contract expired, it was not renewed. Putnam’s style, once viewed as one which evinced enthusiasm, was now perceived as affected and passe. He worked for awhile at KHJ and KCOP, at one point doing a two-man chat show with Mort Sahl.

In 1976, Putnam returned to radio, where he got his start in 1934. During the 1950s, he had been heard on KFI (the NBC affiliate), later on KABC-AM (as was fellow KTTV news personality Paul Coates). His new home, however, was not so prestigious. It was KIEV, a station in Glendale that was little known outside that burgh. The station, licensed by the Federal Radio Commission in 1932, had its dedicatory program on Feb. 11, 1933. It broadcast from the basement of the Glendale Hotel, receiving free rent in exchange for advertising. It began broadcasting at a meager 100 watts, but worked its way up to 250 watts the next year. It was at 5,000 watts when Putnam got there with his “Talk Back” show.

Putnam gave the theretofore obscure station credibility, and enabled it to attract other top personalities, such as Mr. Blackwell. For years, Putnam’s broadcasts emanated each noontime from the bottom level of the Arco Plaza, in downtown Los Angeles. Lunchtime shoppers could bob in to join the studio audience.

The station on Jan. 1, 2001, acquired the abandoned call letters of a better known station, KRLA. That year, Putnam left his broadcasting home after 27 years when the station wanted to air his commentaries during the week, but relegate his call-in show to weekends.

But that did not end Putnam’s career in broadcasting. At age 88, he’s still broadcasting, his new venue being KPLS, a right-wing station in Orange County.

In 1995, at the local Emmy awards ceremony, Putnam was given the Governors’ Award for career achievement. He has a star on the Hollywood Boulevard “Walk of Fame.”

An article in the April 20, 1956 issue of TV Radio Life observed: “Some people say he is hammy. Others say he is the best in the field.”

He was—and is—a ham. Whether he was the “best in the field” may be debated. My own local journalistic “heroes” from that supplemental news medium known as television—supplemental to newspapers, that is—are Clete Roberts, Bill Stout and Paul Coates.

Though there was bravado to his manner, he was far from a Ted Baxter. He was informed.

In offering “One Reporter’s Opinion,” he did not merely read words crafted by another; the opinion was his, the words were his.

I do find fault, however, with the lack of clear demarcation during Putnam’s early days on L.A. television between his role as a reporter and as a commentator. He did, in my view, assume the role of an advocate in contexts where journalistic ethics would have dictated neutrality.

But this cannot be denied:

There has never been a more popular and influential newsman in Los Angeles television than Putnam. He’s a legend.

DVDs To Watch Or Not To Watch

Britain, Celebrity, Feminism, Film, Gender, Hollywood, The Zeitgeist

I meant to post on the blog a quick round-up of recommended DVDs before Memorial Day, alas. Still, better late than never.

The Proposition is an Australian western, written by John Cave and directed by John Hillcoat. It’s so good, it will remind the viewer that Hollywood can no longer act. (Angelina Jolie emotes; she doesn’t act. She should take lessons from her estranged father, Jon Voight. Also, Jolie is always herself, and that’s never a good thing.)

The story unfolds in early Australia. The legendary John Hurt (of the Midnight Express fame) is marvelous, but I honestly can’t say he outshines the rest of the cast. If you do take my advice and watch this film (and by so doing, sharpen your appreciation of just how bad the trash on American TV and in the cinemas is), pay close attention to the achingly tender relationship between husband and wife, Captain (portrayed by Ray Winstone) and Martha Stanley (Emily Watson). The two depend on one another for dear life. The civilizing English afternoon tea and the rose bushes in the desert cocoon the couple from the brutality of their reality and surroundings. This is a remarkable film.

Ray Winstone is great in another thriller (you get a feel for the type of films me and my beloved like): The Departed with Leonardo DeCaprio, whom I loved in The Aviator. DeCaprio is still puny, but he’s not as bad as when he played opposite that coarse-faced woman in Titanic (a film I didn’t see, of course. Neither have I seen “Pretty Woman” or “Sleepless in Seattle.”) DeCaprio has also matured as an actor. It’s a good action-packed flick, but nothing like The Proposition.

I recently re-watched Papillon with Steve McQueen and Dustin Hoffman. It reminded me of the way Hollywood used to be.

Update I: “The Last King of Scotland” I refuse to see, especially after the noisy and noisome Blockbuster clerk recommended it thus: “It’s amazing; they’ve managed to avoid demonizing Idi Amin.” My reply: “If anyone deserves to be thoroughly demonized, it is Idi Amin Dada. That was one natural-born demon. No thanks; I’ll pass.” The man just stared at me. His internal monologue was so loud, I could almost hear it: “Man, what a right-wing fanatic. Like, Idi Amin also had a mom and a dad. And like, we all have an Idi Amin inside of us, man.”

Update II: A glimpse of Glen Beck reminded me I had clean forgotten to recommend “Idiocracy.” For once, Beck fulfilled a purpose. “Idiocracy” is the product of Mike Judge’s genius (Beavis & Butthead, anyone?). It’s easily one of the smartest and darkest comedies. Why? Because the future is here. The “dumb-ass dystopia” Idiocracy depicts is with us.

Although I like the précis by Nathan Rabin that follows (despite its lefty thrust), my enjoyment (in the perverse sense) came from the constant circular arguments made, and taken as explanations. I see it in every TV broadcast, in op-ed pieces, and, of course, people argue this way with me all the time (and think they’re really clever). Such as “Why is Brawndo [a Gatorade-like drink] good for you? Because it’s got electrolytes. Why are electrolytes good for you? Because Brawndo has them.” Something along these lines. There is even a slot mimicking the Fox News retards. Fabulous.

Sean couldn’t get enough of the most popular reality TV show in this futuristic world: “Ow! My Balls!” It’s repetitive and…painful, and elicits great guffaws. (And is alive and well in some permutation in almost every reality show.) Say no more. As Josh Tyler writes, “The highest grossing movie of all time is called “Ass,” and consists of 90 minutes of the same naked, hairy butt on screen …” America has gone to hell in a hand basket. Garbage avalanches are common, crops have failed, and people are staving, all because there’s no one left who’s smart enough to know how to fix any of it.” Costco is an Ivy-league law school. [And America looks like Mexico.]

“A long-shelved, not-screened-for-critics, high-concept science-fiction comedy that’s being released in a handful of cities with all the fanfare of a CIA black-ops mission, Idiocracy gives viewers many reasons to be suspicious. But before dismissing it sight unseen, it’s worth remembering that Mike Judge’s last film, 1999’s Office Space, was released to groaning indifference, only to become a cult classic, and that Idiocracy is an unrepentant satire, a genre George S. Kaufman famously defined as ‘what closes Saturday night.’ Idiocracy feels more like a Beavis And Butt-head follow-up than an Office Space follower, thanks to its depiction of a society devolving at a rapid clip, and the way it satirizes its instant-gratification-obsessed target audience using the limited vocabulary of the terminally stupid.

In Beavis And Butt-head, that devolution is just suggested; in Idiocracy, it’s made dizzyingly literal. A perfectly cast Luke Wilson stars as a quintessential everyman who hibernates for centuries and wakes up in a society so degraded by insipid popular culture, crass consumerism, and rampant anti-intellectualism that he qualifies as the smartest man in the world. Corporations cater even more unashamedly to the primal needs of the lowest common denominator—Starbucks now traffics in handjobs as well as lattes—and the English language has devolved into a hilarious patois of hillbilly, Ebonics, and slang.

Idiocracy’s dumb-ass dystopia suggests a world designed by Britney Spears and Kevin Federline, a world where the entire populace skirts the fine line separating mildly retarded from really fucking stupid, and where anyone displaying any sign of intelligence is derided as a fag. Working on a sprawling canvas, Judge fills the screen with visual jokes, throwaway gags, and incisive commentary on the ubiquity of advertising—for instance, with the presidential-cabinet member who works paid plugs for Carl’s Jr. into everyday conversations. Like so much superior science fiction, Idiocracy uses a fantastical future to comment on a present in which Paris Hilton is infinitely more famous than Nobel laureates. There’s a good chance that Judge’s smartly lowbrow Idiocracy will be mistaken for what it’s satirizing, but good satire always runs the risk—to borrow a phrase from a poster-boy for the reverse meritocracy—of being misunderestimated.”

Update # III (July 1, 2007)

I’ll keep this post going, but will tack on the most recent reports at the top. In anticipation of Independence Day, patriots ought to ponder how much freer early Americans were as compared to today’s Americans. Once you’ve done that small thing with huge repercussions, you’ll want to indulge in some escapism. If I were you, I would definitely avoid The Queen, with Helen Miren in the lead. From the information I’ve gathered—and the many approving reviews from slobbering left-liberal sources—the Queen is one of those contempt-filled efforts at dissing tradition, duty, and the stiffer upper lip. Embodied by the Queen, these are all ingredients in the British national character, which once made that nation great. The British have since ditched that aspect of their past, and adopted the dodo Diana as the nation’s darling. Diana exemplifies the new, “cool” Britannia, in which the Queen’s iron-lady qualities are obsolete (both the “iron” and the “lady” aspects thereof). Diana was a manipulative neurotic, given to histrionics; the Queen, her absolute opposite. With such a message I could do without. Besides, the Queen promises to be sleep-inducing. A Might Heart is another film (not yet out on DVD) to avoid. In the post “A Mighty Ego,” I explained why.

I did watch “Breach” with Chris Cooper, whom I like a lot. Perhaps because he’s manly. With the rise of the new effeminate man, the old, macho type—my type—is becoming rarer in film. Manliness is being bred out of the male population. Opposite Cooper is one of the new androgynous males: Ryan Phillippe. He can’t act. You’ll also have to endure staring at his puffy pink lips and soft doe eyes. Where is Jeff Bridges when you need him? Or Russell Crowe, who is every bit as sumptuous, but much more talented. (Read the interview he gave “60 Minutes.” As well as my “Affirmative Oscars,” although, in retrospect, I was a bit unfair to the dazzling Denzel.)
But Cooper makes up for Phillippe. The story is that of Robert Hanssen, an FBI agent who was convicted of selling secrets to the Soviet Union. His motives are not explored well. This is not a well-developed depiction, although “shallow,” like “unmanly,” is the norm in Hollywood these days. Still, if faced with the Queen or Breach, take the latter.

A Mighty Ego

Celebrity, Film, Hollywood, Islam, Terrorism

Back when she had just lost her husband, Mariane Pearl declared superciliously that “revenge would be easy, but it is far more valuable … to address this problem of terrorism with enough honesty to question our own responsibility as nations and as individuals for the rise of terrorism.” She called on “our governments to work hand in hand,” and for “love, compassion, friendship and citizenship” to transcend the so-called “clash of civilizations.”

Yawn. The woman is a walking cliché. As is Angelina Jolie, who plays Mariane in “A Mighty Heart,” for which the media are conducting a blitzkrieg of publicity. Time and again, Jolie has appeared to tediously intone about this effort, puncturing every sentence with whispers about forgiveness and reconciliation.

The Muslim age-old Jew hatred played a large part in Daniel Pearl’s beheading. He was accused of being a spy and agent of the Mossad and made to recite a humiliating confession to that effect, before his head was lopped off. The jihadis released a video of his butchering titled, “The Slaughter of the Spy-Journalist, the Jew Daniel Pearl.”

So obviously aimed at consolidating Jolie and Mariane Pearl’s sainthood, the film shifts the focus away from such salient aspects. It concentrated instead on the heroism of journalists. Mariane calls herself a journalist. Like most, she is eager to celebrate herself (or, alternately, the Islamic hajj).

Such is Mariane’s ego that a colleague of Pearl has already lamented that the Daniel Pearl she knew was nowhere to be found in the film. A rather dashing man, Daniel is played by some unknown, Dan Futterman, whom Salon.com’s, no-doubt, feminist reviewer described approvingly as “grave and elfin.” That’s not good, believe me. Basically, the hero dwarfs alongside Mariane Pearl/Jolie.

In any event, to watch Angelina with an afro and an accent play a pregnant saint is not my idea of fun. Ever since she began to believe she was on earth to die for everyone else’s sins toward the poor “brown babies” of the world (in the words of the inimitable Ingrid Bergman, in “Murder On The Orient Express”), Jolie has lost whatever meager acting abilities she had. All I can see is an annoying, emoting activist.