Just a reminder that we’ll be celebrating the publication of “Water Music” with “A Night of Beauty” at Bloomingdale’s in White Plains, N.Y. March 13 6-8 p.m. Join me for a reading, some nibbles and bonding over makeup. Check-in is at 5:30 p.m. For more info or to RSVP, email lorna.simpson@bloomingdales.com.
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In “Frozen,” Elsa embraces her magical powers as she sings “Let It Go.”
It’s been a week since the Oscars, but Cate Blanchett’s Best Actress acceptance speech is still trending with me. Or rather, Maureen Dowd’s riff on it is.
Blanchett implied that her Oscar win for “Blue Jasmine” proved that films with women at the center aren’t “niche experiences.” Dowd’s March 5 column “Frozen in a Niche?” demonstrated otherwise:
“The percentage of women directing, writing, producing, editing and shooting films has declined since 1998, according to an analysis of the top 250 grossing films of 2013 by the Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film at San Diego State University. (The anticipated halo effect from Kathryn Bigelow becoming the first woman to win a directing Oscar for 2009’s “The Hurt Locker” never happened.)
“The center’s latest report had some stunning stats: Women accounted for 6 percent of directors, 10 percent of writers, 15 percent of executive producers, 17 percent of editors and 3 percent of cinematographers. And women are still more likely to be working on romantic comedies, dramas or documentaries than the top-grossing, teenage-boy-luring animated, sci-fi and horror movies.”
Sound like a niche to me. Mais pourquoi?
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World Tennis Day – which was celebrated March 3 with marquee matchups of past and present stars around the globe – featured something that Andy Murray said we were not likely to see again. He and Novak Djokovic squared off in the “BNP Paribas Showdown,” an exhibition that reminded us what makes tennis and friendship so great.
A tennis exo – as exhibitions are sometimes called – is a bit like a rock concert mixed with a boxing match. There’s smoke (no mirrors). There are lighting effects and an irresistible beat. There’s an announcer who pronounces everyone’s name dramatically.
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How great was it to see Jared Leto – who left Hollywood to front a band – win the Best Supporting Oscar for his role as a transgender prostitute in “Dallas Buyers Club”? (Actually, the win was sort of a no-brainer. Hollywood loves to reward actors who transform themselves and stories that have their hearts in the right place.)
Leto seems to have his in the right place, too. Of course, there was plenty of Internet snark about his acceptance speech, in which he told the “dreamers” in Ukraine and Venezuela that we were thinking of them. (Apparently, actors aren’t allowed to be human.) I came late to his speech, but I’m glad I caught the end: "This is for the 36 million people out there who have lost the battle to AIDS.” He concluded, “To those of you who have felt injustice because of who you love and who you are, I stand here with you and for you.”’
As he left the stage, host Ellen DeGeneres shook her head and said, “Beautiful.”’
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If you were to ask me – a woman who considers herself to be a great connoisseur of beautiful men – who is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, I’d have to say Jared Leto. He is it for me (though Johnny Depp is a close second.) I’m not talking beauty plus brains, personality, character or anything else but just sheer physical beauty. It’s no wonder that Oliver Stone cast him as Hephaestion – the love of Alexander the Great’s life – in “Alexander.”
So naturally, I was delighted to see Leto as the frontrunner for the Best Supporting Actor Oscar March 2 for his role as a transgender prostitute in “Dallas Buyers Club.” And just as distressed to see a fatuous Time magazine piece titled “Don’t Applaud Jared Leto’s Transgender ‘Mammy’,” in which Steve Friess likens Leto’s gender portrayal to the racial cliché of Hattie McDaniel’s Mammy in “Gone With The Wind.”
There are so many misguided ideas in this article that it isn’t even funny.
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So Jonathan Martin – the Miami Dolphin who was so tormented by teammates that he’s checked himself into a psychiatric facility – doesn’t want to return to the Dolphins. Gee, what a surprise.
This as we’re learning more about the teammates who abetted Richie Incognito in harassing him – John Jerry and Mike Pouncey. Apparently, Incognito, who’s been suspended, has tried to make nice with Martin while telling Pouncey that Martin is a snitch. It would all be so very high school if the abuse weren’t so striking and the reactions so distressing. Many posters on ESPN have called Martin a pussy, suggesting that his emotional fragility may make him a liability for any team. (The misogyny is palpable.) Apparently, an unwillingness to take any more racist and homophobic slurs, sexual remarks about your mother and sister or unwanted simulated sex acts makes you a wuss.
What’s wrong with these people? To hear some fans tell it, nothing.
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Jason Collins has rejoined the Nets with a difference: He becomes the first openly gay athlete in any of America’s four major sports.
There’s lots of symbolism here: The team now plays in Brooklyn, where Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in baseball. The Nets are owned by Mikhail D. Prokhorov, from Russia, which has taken a tough anti-gay stance. And Collins will wear his regular No. 98, in honor of Matthew Shepard, the college student who was murdered for being gay in 1998.
Collins may soon be joined in pro sports by Michael Sam, who’s just come out and is on-target to be drafted by the NFL.
All of which makes me look prescient for publishing “Water Music,” a novel about four gay athletes and how their shifting rivalries color their personal relationships with one another.
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