His dancing outside the courthouse a while back was his equivalent of "Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my closeup".
― latebloomer (latebloomer), Saturday, 14 February 2004 07:46 (twenty-two years ago)
one year passes...
two weeks pass...
HOLY FUCKING SHIT I SAID THE EXACT SAME THING TWO YEARS AGO.
MY MIND IS A MACHINE, AND THAT IS FUCKING CREEPY
― latebloomer (latebloomer), Sunday, 5 February 2006 04:07 (twenty years ago)
thirteen years pass...
Gloria's memoir sounds like a doozy
Swanson on Swanson was an immediate hit when it came out in 1980, but it was not Swanson’s idea. The concept for the book came from a man named Brian Degas, a mid-level screenwriter and, later, art gallerist, who looked around Hollywood in the late 1970s and realized it was missing a grande dame. Swanson had more or less disappeared from movie stardom again after Sunset Boulevard, choosing to focus on theater, television cameos, sculpting, and promoting her obsessive macrobiotic diet. Degas decided that he was the person to orchestrate another comeback and, in 1979, shopped the book to publishers without consulting her first. He delivered a forty-five-minute pitch about Swanson’s life to executives at Random House, saying that he had her participation in hand (he did not), and walked away with a contract.
In her younger years, when Swanson would turn down millions in order to preserve her autonomy, she might have been horrified. But at eighty years old, she recognized that she needed someone young to push her back into the spotlight. Swanson and Degas worked on the memoir in her Fifth Avenue apartment; I imagine what happened during those months was feverish and frenetic and full of long monologues we will never hear. All Swanson would say about the process was that Degas was a “very persuasive young man.”
What the two made, huddled together on the top floor of her building, was an American allegory. It divulges secrets—such as Swanson’s version of her long-running love affair with Joseph Kennedy—some of which must be true. But what it really exposes is the way Swanson felt about herself, and how we should read her. She opens the book with a scene in Passy, France, in 1925, when she has just married her third husband, Henri de La Falaise, a marquis. That morning, she writes (or “writes,” as Degas probably massaged her sentences), “lifted me to the very pinnacle of joy, but at the same time it led me to the edge of the most terrifying abyss that I had ever known.”...
https://www.bookforum.com/print/2602/it-s-the-pictures-that-got-small-21998
― a Mets fan who gave up on everything in the mid '80s (Dr Morbius), Tuesday, 2 July 2019 15:26 (six years ago)
promoting her obsessive macrobiotic diet.
So Gwyneth Paltrow, then.
Actually, scratch that -- Tilda Swinton.
― I don't get wet because I am tall and thin and I am afraid of people (Eliza D.), Tuesday, 2 July 2019 17:02 (six years ago)