Above: There really is only one.
Above: There really is only one.
I had the good fortune to meet Jackie Collins, Joan's scandalously successful scribbler sister, four years ago. It was a treat because I'd read some of her unapologetically salacious novels as a kid (rummage sales were a great place to find 10-cent copies of The Bitch or The Stud, but I was first in line for the tacky-fab Hollywood Wives) and because in person she turned out to be a down-to-earth doll.
Collins, who died after a mostly secret battle with breast cancer yesterday at age 77, was just one of the girls, in spite of the glitz and glamour that were her milieu. She talked about binge-watching all the latest buzzed-about TV shows at the event I attended, and proudly introduced us to her GBF.
Joan was my age (!) when she made this deliciously shameless flick!
The author had decided not to go public with her cancer battle until the past month, when she felt it couldn't be hidden, which is in stark contrast to the push public figures get to be open and honest about disease to help raise awareness. I think we are all aware of the scourge of breast cancer, which has robbed us of countless women and not a few men, so I respect her decision not to admit she was afflicted in order to live her life instead of living her death.
Hollywood Wives was a precursor to IMDb!
A great dame ... and it doesn't hurt that she was a huge Madonna fan who kept her sister making movies in the '70s. As Sandra Bullock says of her: “Heaven, watch out!”
Disney-movie veteran Dean Jones dies @ 84.
President Obama employs dictatorial selfie stick in Alaska.
High schoolers betray trans classmate, stage walk-out over locker access.
Officers to be tried separately for Freddie Gray death.
Sandra Bullock's new beau is HOT.
Pre-order my new book!
Christina Applegate as Meryl Streep = priceless.
If you like hairy dudes, you'll LOVE him.
Celebrity Big Brother UK almost let Janice Dickinson die on camera.
James Haskell combats homophobia in his way.
McFly's Harry Jud has the perfect body, isn't shy to go nude.
Alternate ending to Sandra Bullock's earnest Gravity.
James Franco was dying to bang a 17-year-old fan.
Scott & Chris Evans are double the trouble.
Another Fort Hood shooting claims multiple lives.
Breitbart writer calls for Americans to commit genocide.
Harvey Milk U.S. postage stamp unveiled.
Premature (?) Lady Gaga obit.
Hedy Lamarr & son on To Tell the Truth, complete with ads.
Nebraskan high schooler will get to read his pro-gay speech after all.
New college prez is a Confederate. It's still 2014.
VTCAN RADIO's "Riddle Song" is a true enigma.
Model Louis Lemaire is stuh-RIKING.
A shirtless Brian Shimansky is, too.
She was a star's personal assistant...and it sucked.
If J.O. made you gay, I'd be having sex with even more straight men.
Gwyneth & Scott had an open marriage.
Last week, I had the pleasure of attending a press conference with Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy, stars of the new comedy hit The Heat, as well as the film's writer, Katie Dippold (Parks & Recreation) and its almost embarrassingly accomplished director, Paul Feig (Bridesmaids, Freaks & Geeks, The Office, the list goes on).
As I arrived, Bullock was just inside the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton saying hello to a woman who had apparently been hanging around to meet-and-greet her. She is pencil-thin and model-gorgeous in person, and was graciously trying to get the woman to stop standing in the heat (ironically) for hours to see her.
The other Heat, the movie, is about two law-enforcement officers (Bullock and McCarthy) who have to learn to work together in order to bust a major drug ring, one that has ensnared McCarthy's no-good brother. McCarthy's character is tenacious, completely not by-the-book, violent, blunt, devious. Somehow, she makes her likable in a way she failed to do with her Identity Theft character. Bullock plays an uptight FBI agent whose prowess on the job doesn't lead to promotions because she's annoying. You'd have to be pretty annoying for it to hold you back in the FBI, but she really is. And like McCarthy, she nimbly makes annoying likable.
I could almost have gone with the movie—how often do you see a movie in which a white cop beats a black culprit with a watermelon, only to have it turn into a knowing mini-rant about how it's racist?—if only the construct weren't so formulaic; the performances are enough to make it fun, and I wouldn't be surprised nor would I be judgmental if most viewers ate the whole thing up.