Good afternoon, Nell.
I thought I was more or less happily married–until last night. My wife wasreading our local Brooklyn paper, which reported that someone has been usingsharp darts to kill scores of pigeons on our very block. As I lay in bedcoughing, cursing the Times Sunday crossword puzzle, and fulminating about theNorman Podhoretz essay I downloaded from the Commentary site that blamed therise in pedophilia on the publication of Lolita, she turned to me and asked:“It’s not you, is it? Are you killing the pigeons?” I chuckled–but she wasserious. “If it were me,” I said, “would you stand by me?” She took a longtime with that one. “Yes–I don’t know.” In truth, Nell, I don’t even liketo kill bugs for fear I’ll meet up with them again in the afterlife, butRachel had genuine doubts: She wondered if all my serial killer and gore-moviebooks were isolated phenomena, or the beginnings of a bloodlust that wouldsoon be progressing from pigeons to people… Now I feel that I must catch thepigeon-killer personally in order to clear my name. There’s a movie in thissomewhere.
Speaking of homicidal rage, I think I touched something off when I mentionedMartha Stewart. Is it fair to conclude that you don’t regard domestic labor asennobling? If that’s the case, you certainly won’t enjoy Dr. Laura, who mightapprove of your Movie Mom persona but will wonder what you’re doing at theoffice all day. Absolutism has its place, but it’s still shocking to hear itexpressed with such violence by a “therapist.” Does one size really fit all?Can you really tell someone to walk away from or stay in a marriage on thebasis of a few stammered details? If people crave Dr. Laura, it’s because onsome level–and perhaps in the absence of firm parenting–they want to bepunished; and lo, there she stands, cat-o’-nine-tails in hand. I think hershow must be the most powerful sadomasochistic orgy in the history of massmedia.
I admit, a hunger for the judgmental might be one reason I like Maureen Dowdso much, as I detailed last week. That said, she disappointed me in her columnyesterday, in which she attempted to view the current, “gross-out” politicalscandal in the context of “gross-out” movies. It’s hard to argue with herabout Jerry Springer, but have we really devolved so much culturally? Shescores easy points by citing the Farrelly brothers, but I’ll take There’sSomething About Mary over its Reagan-era counterpart, Porky’s, any day.There’s a vein of sexual anxiety that the Farrellys explore with realtenderness; if anything, There’s Something About Mary suggests that the gross-out genre can come of age. And the idea that Clinton was elected by panderingto the baser elements of our culture seems wide-of-the-mark, too. He mighthave played sax for Arsenio, but unlike Reagan’s B-movie homilies and Bush’sJohn-Wayne-meets-Liberace machismo, Clinton actually entered the presidencywith the intention of elevating discourse–and held endless seminars thathad columnists like Dowd dubbing him a policy wonk. I still love Maureen, butshe is a bit of a puritan. I suspect the last episode of Seinfeld fell flatbecause of her blistering attack on the series–which must have hit LarryDavid so hard that he incorporated her criticisms into his final script. Ashow that could, on occasion, spin urban neuroses into dazzlingly intricatefarce was suddenly paralyzed by self-loathing.
Speaking of self-loathing, my mom and dad have stopped by my apartment to playwith their new granddaughter, and my mom points out that by pumping antibioticsinto me from an early age she not only compromised my immune system but putyellow wavy lines on my teeth. This Breakfast Table thing is gettingprofitable: I’ve shamed her into offering to pay to have them capped.And staying with the theme of self-loathing, I direct you to AnthonyTommasini’s Times review of a major new Tristan and Isolde in Seattle. TheIsolde is Jane Eaglen, who prompted much of the “obese opera singers”discussion in rec.music. opera. Tommasini likes her but does say this:
Inevitably with Ms. Eaglen comes the issue of her size. She is a large,thick-limbed woman. Obviously this limits her dramatic impact, but it alsosomewhat affects her singing… there is sometimes a lack of rhythmicincisiveness and energy in her singing that seem related to her physicalsluggishness.
Tommasini knows he can’t mention her girth without noting thather Tristan, the fabulous Ben Heppner, is a “hefty” fellow. “But,” saysTommasini, “it does not seem to impede the vitality and trim of his singing.”This is a weird area, obviously. I wonder if all the Web gossip has it made itimpossible to ignore what used to be unmentionable.
You’re right about Dr. Weill! Are you too a follower? (What’s your antioxidantregimen?) Weill does say to take vacations from newspapers, radio, and TV,which I intend to do beginning this Friday. Meanwhile, I have to head off tosee a new movie: Brian De Palma’s Snake Eyes, which I’ll tell you abouttomorrow if I like it and Friday if I don’t. (Studios don’t mind a bit if youwant to jump the gun when you like a film, but pan one four days before anopening and you won’t get invited to many more screenings.)
I’m off to skewer some pigeons.
