Ghosts of Shitty Men Past
One thing that is absolutely depraved is showing the trailer for The Man Who Invented Christmas (a scam) before Lady Bird (a triumph).
The movie is about known tool Charles Dickens writing A Christmas Carol which is not inventing Christmas, but maybe inventing Christmas as a celebration of capitalism. Dan Stevens (The Beast) stars, but unfortunately, his face is not CGI'd to look like the troll he is portraying, because the producers presumably were only interested in casting Taylor Swift's Exact Type.
But the thing that actually shook me about the trailer is that Dickens is not emotionally abusing his wife and ten children children in it, which was more the real Charlie D's speed. TMWIC (may I be the only human to ever use that acronym) presents him as an underdog genius, which is a role successful white men who are actually assholes get to play. This was five years after Oliver Twist.
Anyway, he's total garb. He had a son called Plorn (not his birth name but STILL how do you let that nickname happen) and once said, "On the whole, I could have dispensed with him." CD blamed his wife, Catherine, for ruining his life by getting pregnant so much, which, I'm pretty sure was not a solo act. He's just like the dad in Alias Grace, but none of his kids went on to become a celebrated murderess. It was the best of times, it was the Plornest of times
Eventually, he left his wife, Catherine, for Nelly, an actress 27 years younger than him, (of course he did) and totally ghosted his family to the point of not bothering to show up to his son's funeral. One of the few instances of him remembering that they exist was when he accidentally sent a bracelet engraved for his new chick to his estranged wife. Oops! The general public only found out about Nelly after he died and was buried in gd Westminster Abbey under a much bigger tile than Rudyard Kipling's.
Byeeeeeeee
And this is the fairy tale version we have left! Respect to Claire Tomlain for writing a biography of Dickens and one of Nelly that expose him to the degree historical records will allow.
But, ugh, I can't totally hate Charles Dickens even though he's a slimeball. Partially because he's so, so dead. Thousands of people walk on his corpse every day! From one Victorian ghost to another, it's what you deserve, Charlie.
There are also two cultural interpretations of his work I hold near and dear to my heart.
First off, MUPPET CHRISTMAS CAROL. It's actually a great, dark as fuck, sweet holiday movie and the only Christmas Carol movie we need is the one that has Beaker in it. Also the film Carol, a film for every holiday.
I also adore everything about Alfonso Cuaron's 1998 Great Expectations. First off, we have Anne Bancroft doing my personal leading lady, Miss Havisham, justice.
This sleeveless tneck/icy glare? Possibly my favorite Goop moment, and I love her! I made an almond milk, espresso, cacao power, chia seed, and cashew butter smoothie today. It was great.
This separates look is also exquisite. In the movie, she wears matching satin heels, but I like this snap from the set because I imagine she's listening to Ben Affleck whining on the phone and not. caring. She's said, "Ben makes life tough for himself," which seems polite to the point of being vicious. But maybe that's just me interpreting the quote with full knowledge he went the Suicide Squad premiere with his pants unbuttoned.
But yeah, speaking of Ben Affleck!
I worry a lot about the inevitable backlash to The Reckoning we're in right now. These men are issuing the same boring statements claiming that some but certainly not all of the accusations have a sprinkle of truth. They don't own up to any specific misdeed or even work an apology anywhere in there and return to their mansions.
It's a chore, and a useless one at that, because all they really need to do is wait it out before one by one, Hollywood welcomes them back. I fear that even Jeremy Piven will work again. (RIP Wisdom of the Crowd)
I know it's coming because even in the thick of this so-called "witchunt" we have proof in the other man who invented Christmas, Daddy's Home 2 star Mel Gibson who is "Once Again Family-Friendly."
In 2011, just a few years after his the most famous of his many hate filled rants became public, I remember stumbling past the premiere of The Beaver at SXSW, catching a glimpse of the face the satan emoji is based on, and knowing that I needed to start making better decisions in my life immediately.
Here is what The Beaver is according to a description under the trailer:
While none of this is untrue, holy shit, way to bury the lede! The Beaver is about a sad sack jerk (Gibson, obviously) who discovers a talking beaver puppet. He hands Jodie Foster (who for whatever wrote herself the role of the long-suffering wife of a vile man) a note that says, "The person that handed you the cared is under the care of a prescription puppet designed to help create a psychological distance between himself and the negative aspects of his personality." And from there, the healing begins. It's basically A Christmas Carol, but I'm not sure whether or not the titular beaver haunted. Probably, right?
An emo German poster.
Weirdly, though, The Beaver didn't make money! It cost 21 million to make and only brought in 6.4 million at the box office. Also, um, reviews weren't great. So Mel Gibson was officially dunzo, right? Here is a headline that was written in July 2016:
A few months later, he was nominated for an Academy Award for directing Hacksaw Ridge and watched Casey Affleck pick up a trophy.
I do think we're dealing with a net gain, though. It's a numbers game, and that's why it's crucial to keep up this exhausting stamina until the people who have been denied a fair shake since the beginning of time are the ones calling the shots. The Pivenaissance is nigh if we're not careful. In five years, it will kick off with a Netflix show, where Danny Masterson still roams free.
But eventually, this crop of Bad Men will all die, except Woody Allen, who even death does not want. Maybe they'll get an In Memoriam slide, maybe they won't. In time, their legacies will be sanitized while they rot away as is the Dorian Gray nature of death.
But, as Charles Dickens reminds us, you gotta stay alert when ghosts of Oscars past provide the itinerary for the heirs to their scumbag thrones. And he would know.
