Wait wait wait…Michael Bay is allegedly remaking Rosemary’s Baby? Jesus Mary and Joseph don’t let this happen. The original is perfect as is.
The last time a director decided to attempt updating a classic, the result was 2008’s The Women. AKA, disaster (and as a fan of the original, that’s being kind). Hollywood, let’s put an end to this.
Sometimes I get a little too caught up in our celebrity culture. It doesn’t matter if you’re not even an A-List mega-celebrity in America, I’m still a little too invested. Case in point, this conversation that took place this afternoon.
Me: I used to really like Daphne G until I found out she’s allegedly sleeping with Arielle D’s husband. I still like her, but I like Arielle more.
My Mother: Well I’m sure Arielle is sleeping with another man as well.
Me: I would think so. In fact, I hope so. I hope she’s not suffering over this.
My Mother: Justin, you don’t even know these people.
Brace yourselves. You’re about to delve into a ridiculously long-winded (by tumblr standards that is) ramble about two of my favorite subjects. If you’re not a fan of campy glamour, turn back now. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
If you know me at all, you know that for the past two years I have been OBSESSED (not just obsessed, but caps-lock-obsessed) with Bravo’s Real Housewives series. New York, Orange County, it doesn’t matter. They could come out with The Real Housewives of Omaha, Nebraska featuring the Midwestern elite (does such a breed exist?) causing a ruckus at Fuddruckers and I would still be riveted.
Some of my slightly-less-fabulous friends have questioned my addiction to this show. They fail to see the entertainment in my descriptions of these over-pampered wives’ antics, commonly referring to the show as “trash.” Pretty harsh words for someone who has never taken the time to sit down and actually watch, but to each his own. These friends finally got me questioning just what it is about The Real Housewives that sucks me in. Now that we’re in the third season of New York, I think I finally have the answer. And it all stems back to the glamorous 80’s and a little show that was on ABC called Dynasty.
Now, if you have never heard of Dynasty, you have obviously never had any face-to-face interaction with me. Dynasty is the granddaddy of all nighttime soaps and was the vehicle that not only catapulted Joan Collins to world-wide stardom, but also came to define the decade of the 1980’s (and as a bonus, it just happens to be my favorite television series of all time). Overly-opulent and ridiculously campy, Dynasty was, to borrow the description of one of the talking heads on VH1’s I Love the 80’s Strikes Back, “a gay man’s wet dream.” And it’s true. Dynasty was short on plot (the power struggle between warring families the Carringtons and the Colbys) and high on the glamour, scenery-chewing, and catfighting by leading ladies Collins, Linda Evans, and Diahann Carroll. The men were relegated to little more than set-dressing; looking dapper in a tuxedo in the background or seducing the audience with bedroom eyes in shirtless love scenes. Couple this with outlandish plots featuring mind-numbing dialogue (“I hate you Blake! God how I hate you!” spits Joan Collins as she hurls a martini at her penthouse wall) and some of the most infamous cliff-hangers in prime-time history (Amanda’s royal wedding in the heavily-armed kingdom of Moldavia in what is perhaps the most memorable scene of the series) and I’m in seventh heaven.
In many ways, Bravo has tapped into this long-dormant brand of campy glamour with their Real Housewives series. Once again, the series is short on plot (the daily activities of allegedly well-to-do women) and high on trappings (Atlanta wife Kim proclaiming “I wanna die wearing Dior.”). And if it’s women in chic clothing clawing at one another’s throats that you want to see, look no further. Linda Evans may have knocked Joan Collins into a lily pond, but she never attempted to snatch her wig off her head a la Atlanta’s Sheree and Kim or flipped over an entire dinner table as did New Jersey’s Teresa.
Trashy? Okay, maybe just a tad. Entertaining? You bet. Educational? Perhaps. Tune in and you might just learn some choice new phrases. I’ve worked both “Who gonna check me, boo?” and “Prostitution Whore” into my vocabulary. Try using one of these phrases next time you’re in a pissy mood. I guarantee it will make the moment a little more glam.
Congratulations, you’ve somehow managed to stumble upon my tumblr. Having just popped a sleeping pill (I’d have have worked so well in some aspects of the 60’s, such as three-martini lunches and nightly Nembutals) and due to my extreme aversion to ice-breakers and “Welcome!” posts, I’ll keep this inaugural post short and sweet. For anyone familiar with my writing, you know exactly what you’re in for—snarky celebrity commentary and varied ramblings on the topic of daily observances. For those who aren’t familiar with my writing…well you’ll be getting the same thing for those who are. Fasten your seatbelts…and I hope you enjoy the ride.
