contenders

dennis miller (the funny one, not the rambling right wing apologist) once said "old stars never die, they just take on more demeaning roles."

i spent a whole childhood watching love boat and fantasy island reruns having no idea of the treasure trove of wasted talent on my screen. debbie reynolds, ben vereen, gene kelly. to me they were just wacky old folks. i did wonder where they came from. nursing home? methadone clinic? the big connection i had came when watching airplane! on video and shouting 'i know her, that's ethel merman, she's from the love boat!"

it took a long time for me to recognize orson wells as a filmatic genuis, rather than the portly dude i saw hawking cheap wine on commercials.

i had to rediscover many of the megawatt stars of hollywood's yesterday. reclaim them from the scrap heap of guest spots and hollywood squares. but not brando. i had no image of him at all, until the bleak summer i spent in my grandparents mobile home trailer. my step-grandma was (not so) fondly known as 'crazy v' by the other trailer park residents. other children were warned to stay away. 'v' also believed in keeping a dark tarp over the windows to discourage the 'people from the mountains' from coming down to kill us.

this gave me lots of free time, in a dark, cavernous space to watch movies. it was the summer of 'on the waterfront' for all the major cable outlets. i must have watched it 600 times. first movie i ever memorized. and brando. a violent, vulnerable open wound. promise turned to naught. i loved him from that point onward. even after 'don juan di marco' and 'the island of dr. moreau'.

you can't ruin brando, for me, anymore than you can make me believe inga swenson was ever anything more than the maid who yelled "i hear you!" on benson.

goodnight, contender.