I finally fall asleep around 7 am. That’s been the pattern for the last few days and last night/this morning holds true to it. Haven’t gotten much actual rest in weeks, so all of my decisions always feel suspect to me, especially when I give up just a little bit of control. I turn off the lights and flip on the TV, clicking to some random channel and hitting the mute button.
Whatever the channel is, there’s Laura Leighton on the TV, formerly of Melrose Place. And last year’s sequel/rehash. She’s starring in some TV movie here, looking very concerned about whatever the script is telling her is important, and yet, she looks radiant. It’s a nice last image before I lay down on the hard surface I’ve been calling my bed for far too long and slowly make my way into dreamless sleep.
Petty little things wake me constantly over the next several hours. Again there’s no real rest. A half an hour later, forty five minutes later, an hour later, just like that I keep getting called back to the waking world rather rudely. Sometimes it’s a dog barking, sometimes it’s a phone call or a knock on the door, sometimes it’s someone in the other room screaming that they can’t find their medicine. Where is it? Right there in front of them. No apology. Exchanged vulgarities. Again and again. And again I try to retreat back into sleep.
On the TV again, there’s Laura Leighton. It’s hours and hours now since I first turned on the TV and there she is in a TV movie. Still. A different one this time. This is possibly two or three TV movies after I’ve turned on the television, isn’t it? Have I discovered the all Laura Leighton channel? I’m tired so that’s funny to me right now. But then I stare at the screen a little longer. Her latest male co-star is a B-level television actor, the kind of guy who probably once had a show on Sci Fi channel that got canceled, back when it was Sci Fi channel, before it got canceled/warped into whatever SyFy is supposed to be.
If they don’t surrender themselves back into daytime soap operas, I guess TV movies are where actors go in the wake of the 90s (though I know that Laura Leighton has a small role in Pretty Little Liars, which isn’t that different from TV movie quality). A commercial for another television movie, this one starring Shannen Doherty as someone trying to grow the world’s largest pumpkin or something, confirms this for me. How sad. And, of course, Laura Leighton’s movie looks terrible. Lifetime channel or Hallmark channel or ABC Family quality. Or worse, even.
And yet, Laura’s radiant. She glows in a way that only someone who’s trapped and going through the motions can. The guy who plays Freddie Rumsen on Mad Men appears to be the villain here. He’s barking orders to some other guy, probably one of the only 10 or so native American actors working Hollywood these days. One second Laura’s ducking down behind something with a new male co-star, then they’re running, then they’re in a diner somewhere with a bunch of older ladies. Is that Ann-Margaret? I can’t tell what’s going on, but I’m positive it doesn’t matter.
I try to get some sleep. It won’t last, but I’ve got to keep trying. Laura Leighton’s acting career has told me that, if nothing else. No matter how bleak it is, you gotta keep going. Also, there’s a paraphrasing of Churchill in there somewhere too. It doesn’t matter now. I unmute and then mute the TV again. As my head hits the pillow again, I realize that Laura Leighton’s hair color has gotten darker and darker as it’s gotten brighter outside my window. That seems incredibly significant to me for a moment and then it doesn’t.
I was all set to fill in for Marco and write up a Mad Men recap, but then I noticed that OS X now blocks screenshots of protected content. I don’t know when they worked in that wrinkle, but well done sirs. I’m far too lazy to search for screencaps online, so I’ll just drop some general thoughts.
Don: Is it a problem that I now root for Don Draper the same way I do for Jason Stackhouse? I’m like, “Attaboy, Draper! For an encore, do your neighbor!” Probably. I don’t know if television has ever given us one character, let alone two, who deal with this kind of “pussy overflow” on such a regular basis. Old Don would be hopelessly drawn to to the self-assured marketing analyst, because just like Rachel Mencken, girls who say no turn him on. New Don… well, we’ll see how much he’s really changed. He’s single now, so women are viewing him as a potential partner instead of just a fling now, and he’s having trouble getting used to it.
Peggy: Her talk with Freddy was a little “on the nose,” as they say, but we get the picture. Peggy knows this dork isn’t marriage material, so she’ll fuck him for now, knowing this will hasten his exit. While we’ve certainly gotten hints of feminist angst from her before, I think this episode was the closest she’s come to outright voicing them. I liked the half-grimace she, Joan and the marketing chick all seemed to share when White Pants were brought up in the meeting.
Roger: I think SCDP will not end the season with Lucky Strike as a client.
Betty: Fuck Betty.
Glen: Him too. Creep. The world, August Bravo aside, was not asking for more Glen.
——-
But what’s really on my mind tonight/this morning is the new Arcade Fire album: The Suburbs.
As soon as I read about the title of this LP, I had a feeling I’d like it. I’ve always had a complex connection with suburbia, and it sounds like Win Butler does too. I’m only on my second listen-through, but I can tell that this is an album that’s going to keep growing on me.
It’s a sort of choppy, stream of consciousness series of vignettes on the love/hate relationships between the suburbs and the city. The sprawl is an inescapable malaise of crushed dreams, but go downtown and maybe those shallow hipsters aren’t your kind either. Two years into an economic catastrophe and a lot of those downtown bohemia promises can start to sound like so much happy bullshit. Something fascinating about the line, “Now that San Francisco’s gone, I guess I’ll just pack it in.” There’s a theme of weary resignation here. But in The Suburbs, resignation feels a lot like growing up, and who says that’s a good thing, even if it’s unavoidable.
Most of the kids in my generation — if they could afford to, if they didn’t get shackled with a burdensome spouse or child, or military service — they moved to the city as soon as they could get away. Me, I moved back to the suburbs. I guess I’ve always felt there was something important going on here. Something that, if I came to understand it, would understand everything about modern American life. I don’t think I do yet, but I’m getting closer.
I’m confident that one day I will, and then I’ll leave.
Right off the bat, let’s lift a shadow off this evening: The only people for us are the mad ones and there’s nothing nearly eloquent enough to explain our excitement about the return of Mad Men tonight (and the return of us gabbing about each new episode afterward) with the fourth season premiere, “Public Relations,” but August is going to start us off with…
August Bravo: One of those guys is going to leave New York with a VD.
Is it me or shouldn’t this episode have been titled “Don Fucking Draper,” right?
Marco Sparks: Seriously. That would have been a great title for the season premiere of the show for rich people and rich minds alike.
August: Seriously. This episodes taps into the psyche of Don and who he is now. Maybe who he always was.
Marco: I feel like every single season we’re told that there’s a larger question hanging over that particular year or story arc, and there is no resolution, not clearly. There’s milestones. There’s totems on that timeline. There’s road blocks and rest stops, but that probing question only gets more complicated, more faceted…
But it’s nice that no matter how despicable some of Don’s actions can be, he’s still one of our better role models for men on television. Right? Well… no, probably not. There’s obviously a very masculine energy to him, a complicated creature of intrigue and overflowing with a talent that can’t be denied and a certain enviable confidence. But it’s a weird time for men now, not unlike the 60s in some regards, and it’s hard to find good male role models in this day and age…
Though it’s interesting to watch the new era of Don Draper. The single Don, a man living a sadder life perhaps? It’s like watching an actor without a real role. Don’s always a little more in his zone when he’s lying to a woman effectively and it’s got to be hard for him when the possible new girl in his life sees through a little of the old tricks of his. But, Don being Don, and knowing the ways of the world like he does, and being in advertising after all, he relies on kindly women from the oldest profession who can give him what he wants, a literal expression of what has happened to him thus far: A good slapping around.
August: No need for the hooker to take off her brassiere, she already knows what Don wants.
Marco: Even if perhaps Don himself doesn’t.
August: I’m not sure a lot of people could have imagined Don throwing himself down to this level. But I don’t think it’s like that.
Marco: I’m sure the events of his life sure haven’t helped. The confusion at work as they build a new company. The constant struggle to move out of the darkened corners of invisible anonymity in the creative department to becoming the poster boy, the handsome cipher, the face of the company.
It’s 1964 at this point, it’s Thanksgiving, and Don isn’t finding himself a whole lot to be thankful for. This new found freedom isn’t necessarily good for him, it sure as hell isn’t glamorous in any way, and divorced guys are seemingly considered basically damaged goods. And I think a lot of people came up with a lot of reasons for why Don like or wants or needs a bit of the rough stuff in his sex life, specifically being slapped, but the very first thing I got out of it was a reminder of Betty slapping him back in the season finale last year.
August: Life is just slapping him around at this point. I think it’s about what he said earlier. Every day he works is an investment for the company. He has no time to pick up women and seduce them into copious amounts of sex, to play that particular game that he plays so well. He has work to do.
Marco: Cause in every single way, Don is the star of this show.
I love the use of “John And Marsha” by Stan Freeberg, one of the kings of early satire, and the song is both a lovely inside joke when it comes to the world of advertising and a nice joke on soap operas. And it only becomes so much more meta when you consider that that’s really what Mad Men is.
August: Johnnnnnn.
Marco: Marshaaaaaaa.
August: In the metamorphosis from Sterling Cooper to Sterling Cooper Draper Price I’m glad they’ve updated from their shanty of an office in a hotel room to an actual floor, which unfortunately enough for Harry Crane doesn’t have more than one story, with their name on the door. Sorry Pete, guess they did end up having a lobby. But still no table…
Marco: I think we’re all holding our breath in anticipation of more Joan. And the possibility of Joan and Don… you know. That’s the difference, in just some regards, between a show like Mad Men and True Blood… True Blood is all soft core fan service (at some point everyone on that show will have fucked everyone else on that show for our amusement) and Mad Men is cerebral teasing all the way. It’s about dangling and snatching away at the last moment.
I especially think that’s true in light of this episode of Mad Men, which is all about not being able to close certain deals and not wanting to close others. You gotta love Don’s orchestrated “fuck off” to the prudes manufacturing sex in swim wear and thinking they’re better than they are.
August: I enjoyed the ruse Peggy and Pete conjured in order to garner press for the ham company. Didn’t go as planned, but that’s life I guess.
Marco: “It was going great… until it wasn’t.” Is this the beginning of real publicity stunts as prominent and regular tools for advertising?
August: It’s hard out there for the boys and girls in America. Especially in the 60′s. 1964, if I’m not mistaken?
Marco: It certainly is.
August: Sad to see no one from the old Sterling Cooper in the episode, but I’m sure we will in due time.
Marco: Like your beloved Ken Cosgrove.
August: Ken had cool hair. Terrific few parts of the episode? Don and Roger bickering back and forth about the one-legged reporter and his inability to write a real story. Maybe they should talk to a whole reporter next time? Ha-ha. Roger sure as shit was the comedy relief in this episode as a lot of things/people were so morose.
Now back to Don, who has always been the main character of the show, I guess the protagonist, if you will, who really made this episode what it was. I think he feels this is temporary, this won’t last with Betty…
Marco: Henry Francis just feels like he’s about to get hit by a car or walk off the top of a skyscraper any moment now, doesn’t he? His patheticness almost makes Betty look even more cruel and horrid. It leaves where she ends up because of her frustrations from the past few years even more unchecked. Just as the kids are scared of their mother, I can’t imagine Francis not growing bored of her and then where will Matthew Weiner deliver her( and us)?
August: Will Don get back with her? Will he want to? The man with no key to his own house. I love his ability to take the jabs by his attorney and Roger in this episode. Usually so defensive, I think he’s just too shot down. Or just doesn’t give a shit anymore.
Marco: I’d be hurt if Benjie Light doesn’t have a few words to share with us about Betty, but I like where they’re taking the kids here, story-wise and post-divorce, the way they’re building on what we’ve seen so far concerning Sally and Bobby Draper. Sally, of course, is going to rebel and be repulsed by the way her little life is going so far and Bobby is going to grow up to be fucking creepy. If they ever do an episode flashing forward to where all the characters ended up, I want to see Bobby Draper, with his new striving to be liked by everyone now, as a politician.
And since they cast Matt Long as Peggy’s little partner, I’m wondering just out of curiosity since I never actually watched Jack And Bobby (and I don’t believe that anyone else did either)(though I think John Slattery was on there too), but didn’t Bobby end up being the one who grew up to become President?
August: No need for Don to try to defend his failing marriage, he’s got other things to worry about. Like mentioning jai alai…
Especially since Henry’s idea of recapturing the magic between involves them fucking in the car, seemingly echoing back to when they had to sneak around? Only one episode in and I already feel like these characters feel like they can’t handle the a-changin’ times around them and they’re flirting with the soft seduction of the past and all of it’s elements, the moments when they felt happier or more dangerous.
August: I couldn’t tell you where this episode may take us, as far as the new season is concerned. I’m just hoping I get to see more of Pryce.
Marco: And Joan. And maybe more Trudy/Alison Brie? And maybe we can slowly grasp our way towards something resembling that eternally elusive question that this show constantly is hanging over us…
Right, so now each month on Counterforce, at the end of the month as that chapter closes, I find myself looking back on my posts and just wondering about all the puzzle pieces left strewn about. Some things planned, some things decidedly not planned, some accidents, some just flat out mistakes…
Sometimes your blog is both a testament to you and a museum devoted to your mistakes and victories. It can be a lovely display of all those things you loved, or hated, or sometimes a combination of the two, and usually more about yourself than anything else.
I’ll never forget that an ex once told me that “nostalgia is for people who have no future.” I found that to be a rather curious statement and when I pressed her for clarification, she told me that, to her, too many people use the mirror as a reflection on the past and only rarely on the present. I asked her what was wrong with that, in certain doses, and she responded with, “You shouldn’t have time for that. You should be moving so fast that when you pass by the mirror all you see is a blur.”
She said that and then she was gone. I felt like all I got out of that was the blur.
This relationship was a long time ago. It was short, but it felt longer, and it feels like it was longer ago than it was, but it was probably circa the first Arcade Fire album (not the EP). And now they have another album coming out.
If one of the leaked songs had been called “Month Of June” instead “Month Of May” that would’ve been a lot more convenient for my blogging concerns, thank you very much.
The first thing you should know about me: The other day, on twitter of all places, I was self analyzing out loud and wondered if I hold better conversations via the phone or if my stronger quality is my voicemails (which are, quite frankly, amazing)(to the point that, ladies, you would have to hold the phone away from your ear for fear that said voicemails could put you instantly in heat), you know, from the perspective of whoever the fuck it is I’m calling. Honestly… I don’t care.
But that lead me to realize: When I talk on the phone, you can tell if I’m actually active in a conversation not so much by what we’re discussing or who I’m talking to anymore, but what I’m doing physically. I mean, obviously if I’m sitting there watching TV, then I’m not listening to you, but it’s more of a kinetic thing. If I’m up, walking around, pacing, then there I’m there, I’m really a part of the thing, the process, the bullshitting, whatever. My other mode, oddly enough? Staring at myself in the mirror.
It’s weird. You could call me up, we could be having a fascinating conversation and I’ve noticed that, without thinking about it, I might just walk into the bathroom and start looking into the mirror. At myself? No. It’s hardly ever a really conscious thing. Maybe it’s self reflexive, like staring out at the horizon, only in this case, the horizon is my face and it’s a portal to a larger gateway of either the honesty or just flat out sexy bullshit that I’m going to peddle your way.
Or, maybe, by looking at myself, with a certain visually conscious part of myself shut off, I’m actually subconscious recording myself looking at myself looking at myself looking at myself looking at myself as I talk about myself looking at myself looking at myself looking at myself… in some kind infinite loop of recursive blogitude?
The second thing that you should know about me right now, right this very second is that I have every intention of making this song the jam of the summa summa summertime:
I mean, that’s my intention, but as for you? You’re so vain, you probably think that summertime jam is about you, don’t you?
More and more this blog feels like a book to me, in a way. Like you could collect it into a hot mess of an interactive coffee table curio. A book in 12 parts, chronicling the year in which we make contact. But contact with… what? Ourselves? Each other? Slow dancing in the burning hotel room that is the past? Or staring at ourselves in the mirror, reflecting on the future? Or is “the future” just another aspect of right here and now because all times are one (especially on the internet)?
All of those and more, maybe. Maybe not. But, so far, in the section of this starship/book/beast/blog entitled “June” we have so far been subjected to:
And all accumulating to but quite possibly falling way short of a certain sense of… thisness.
But, as we already covered, tomorrow is another day. With a different mirror to look into. And a different version of ourselves reflected back in. Perhaps we’ll start to look more like ourselves as we strangely believe that ourselves should look or perhaps we’ll look like another stranger in a strange land.
I will agree that woven through some of the negative reviews for Sex And The City 2 has been a not too subtle undercurrent of sexism, but that’s not to say that some of the reviews haven’t been accurate in how terrible the movie appears to be. I say “appears to be,” of course, because I haven’t seen it and I hated the first movie. And as Fern Diaz points out, whatever the series used to be about or mean to it’s fanbase, it doesn’t seem to mean that anymore, does it?
3. This:
4.The other day I had a moment to Crowded House’s gorgeous 80s masterpiece of a song, “Don’t Dream It’s Over,” and today I had a similar experience – well, sort of – to another magnificent pop ditty from the same decade…
That’s “There She Goes” by the La’s and I defy you to not get that stuck in your head now. I defy you! And if you do get it stuck on endless repeat, it’ll be okay, because it’s just a lovely song, whether it be about an actual girl or heroin or whatever, it’s all kind of the same, yes?
I was out somewhere today and this song, “Don’t Dream It’s Over” by Crowded House, came on…
…and I just stopped and had “a moment.” Not so much an epiphany, not really. Not really a moment of flashback revelatory importance either, though I did briefly ponder all the moments in my life that I’d heard this song, either on the radio somewhere in my youth, or in a movie or a TV show, or what have you. It was on a mix that a friend gave me years and years ago as I was moving away from a place and doing a thing and leaving a lot behind. The friend said, “Track 2. That’s my favorite track.” And track 2 was, of course, for the purposes of this anecdote, this song. Also, it was played in the TV miniseries adaptation of Stephen King’s The Stand. I remembered that it was covered in the 90s by Sixpence None The Richer (of “Kiss Me” fame), but listening to it, I looked and I searched and I pleaded for an answer, a sign, a glimpse of… something. And what came? Nothing. What lies beyond here? Nothing. Well, probably nothing, but I don’t know. The song sure isn’t answering that question. But it’s just a song. What does it know? Nothing. And just thinking about it reminds me of that episode of Seinfeld, the one where Elaine’s boyfriend is obsessed with “Desperado,” by the Eagles (and the works of Karl Farbman), and he won’t share the song with her. She tries to suggest “Witchy Woman” by the Eagles as something that could be “their song,” but he won’t have it. And so when “Desperado” comes on, and he spaces out listening to it, she starts singing along with it, prompting him to return from that other place and say, “Elaine, would you just shut up for a moment?” That’s how I felt listening to this song today. Well, sort of.
The first ever Counterforce post was me kicking dirt on the corpse of Sex and the City. Naturally, Hollywood zombie-fied that corpse and made a sequel two years later.
No, I haven’t gone to see it. I don’t hate myself.
Ai! Ai! A balrog! A balrog!
Yes, I’m going to heap even more scorn on the oxygen thieves responsible for this franchise. Because lets be honest, reading about how terrible this movie is has to be more entertaining that suffering through its 2.5 hour running time. It’s rocking a 14% right now on Rotten Tomatoes. Many are calling it the worst movie of the year. I’m calling it cultural terrorism. That touchstone you can point to when you’re talking about what’s wrong with the world.
Kudos to Horseface and her hack director Michael Patrick King for producing the first Hollywood-financed Al Queda propaganda film. I mean, that’s what this is, right? You’re trying to make the world hate America, aren’t you? You aren’t? Seriously? No, come on, tell me this is some sort of extremely bold satire. You want us to stab women who say “fabulous” too much. It’s all a big put on, right? At least spin me some bullshit about camp and the queer gaze. No? Are you fucking kidding me? You meant this? You really put in a scene where this rich bitch who doesn’t work and has a housekeeper AND A FUCKING NANNY is whining about how hard it is to be a parent? You intended this? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?
Was the goal to validate everything haters like me always said about the show?
I find it repulsive that this tripe still gets passed off a progressive in some circles. Contort your ideals all you want, there’s nothing empowering about consumerism and staring at your belly-button isn’t Feminism.
* not pictured: reason, accountability, self-awareness, shame, respect...
Some choice review quotes:
“Everyone’s phoning it in for the first two hours. And let me point out something that I’ve just said there: ‘The First. Two. Hours.’”
“The most grotesque aspect of Sex and the City remains the central characters, all four of whom (to varying degrees) are obsessed with the trappings of wealth. They exist to consume. It’s a three-ring circus of materialism, narcissism, and entitlement.”
“Carrie immediately reveals her kiss to Big, who ultimately forgives her because “I took a vow”—and gives her a big fat diamond ring to “remind her that she’s married.” Charlotte and Miranda bitch about their kids, then raise a glass to the hard work of stay-at-home mothers who do it all—and without help.”
“The stakes are so low that, during the girls’ final madcap sprint through an outdoor market disguised in burqas, the unspeakable outcome they’re trying to forestall is the possibility of having to fly home in coach.”
“The tagline states that we should ‘Carrie on.’ The publicity dept. almost got it right, but the spelling’s off. It needs to be ‘Carrion’ because nothing says putrefying, rotten and vile quite like this sequel.”
“When Carrie asks Big, “Am I just a bitch wife who nags you?” I could hear all the straight men in the theater — all four of us — being physically prevented from responding.”
This is actually David Duchovny in a wig and shades, SJP was busy the day of the promo shoot.
and finally
“Some of these people make my skin crawl. The characters of Sex and the City 2 are flyweight bubbleheads living in a world which rarely requires three sentences in a row. … Carrie also narrates the film, providing useful guidelines for those challenged by its intricacies. Sample: “Later that day, Big and I arrived home.”"
“They sat us all down, girls and boys, in this horrible school hall. This tweed skirted, dykey sort of woman with short, cropped hair comes on, and tells us about the miracle of childbirth. Then this film comes on, which is a midwives educational film. There is a close-up of a woman having a baby, a close up straight up her vagina, and that’s all you see, and these are thirteen year old boys and girls, and its bloody and disgusting. Within thirty seconds two boys had fainted and the lights went on and they were carried out. I put my hands over my face because I realized I couldn’t watch this. I swear it traumatized me, I haven’t had children and I can’t look at anything to do with childbirth, it absolutely disgusts me.”
Here at Counterforce we’d like to both celebrate and say thanks to all the mothers out there, and we’d also like to salute who knew that path wasn’t the one for them.
In fact, we’d especially like to thank those who chose not to become bad mothers or were responsible enough to know they just weren’t or aren’t ready for something so huge. It’s a choice that belongs to you and no shame should come with either decision. What you should feel is pride. After the fact, there are no accidents and kudos to you if you realized that a certain path wasn’t yours before you got to that particular fork in the road. To be a mother takes a kind of courage and strength and grace that is incredibly enviable. And we should all call or visit and spend time and maybe do something nice for our own mothers or someone you know who’s a mother and make them feel special if, for nothing else, this one day out of the year.
What did they say the first time they were alone together in the same room? What did he say when she had removed her veil and he could see that she was not a voice but a body and therefore finite? What did she say when she discovered that she had left one locked room for another? They talked of love, naturally, though that did not keep them busy forever.
I finally fall asleep around 7 am. That’s been the pattern for the last few days and last night/this morning holds true to it. Haven’t gotten much actual rest in weeks, so all of my decisions always feel suspect to me, especially when I give up just a little bit of control. I turn off the lights and flip on the TV, clicking to some random channel and hitting the mute button.
Whatever the channel is, there’s Laura Leighton on the TV, formerly of Melrose Place. And last year’s sequel/rehash. She’s starring in some TV movie here, looking very concerned about whatever the script is telling her is important, and yet, she looks radiant. It’s a nice last image before I lay down on the hard surface I’ve been calling my bed for far too long and slowly make my way into dreamless sleep.
Petty little things wake me constantly over the next several hours. Again there’s no real rest. A half an hour later, forty five minutes later, an hour later, just like that I keep getting called back to the waking world rather rudely. Sometimes it’s a dog barking, sometimes it’s a phone call or a knock on the door, sometimes it’s someone in the other room screaming that they can’t find their medicine. Where is it? Right there in front of them. No apology. Exchanged vulgarities. Again and again. And again I try to retreat back into sleep.
On the TV again, there’s Laura Leighton. It’s hours and hours now since I first turned on the TV and there she is in a TV movie. Still. A different one this time. This is possibly two or three TV movies after I’ve turned on the television, isn’t it? Have I discovered the all Laura Leighton channel? I’m tired so that’s funny to me right now. But then I stare at the screen a little longer. Her latest male co-star is a B-level television actor, the kind of guy who probably once had a show on Sci Fi channel that got canceled, back when it was Sci Fi channel, before it got canceled/warped into whatever SyFy is supposed to be.
If they don’t surrender themselves back into daytime soap operas, I guess TV movies are where actors go in the wake of the 90s (though I know that Laura Leighton has a small role in Pretty Little Liars, which isn’t that different from TV movie quality). A commercial for another television movie, this one starring Shannen Doherty as someone trying to grow the world’s largest pumpkin or something, confirms this for me. How sad. And, of course, Laura Leighton’s movie looks terrible. Lifetime channel or Hallmark channel or ABC Family quality. Or worse, even.
And yet, Laura’s radiant. She glows in a way that only someone who’s trapped and going through the motions can. The guy who plays Freddie Rumsen on Mad Men appears to be the villain here. He’s barking orders to some other guy, probably one of the only 10 or so native American actors working Hollywood these days. One second Laura’s ducking down behind something with a new male co-star, then they’re running, then they’re in a diner somewhere with a bunch of older ladies. Is that Ann-Margaret? I can’t tell what’s going on, but I’m positive it doesn’t matter.
I try to get some sleep. It won’t last, but I’ve got to keep trying. Laura Leighton’s acting career has told me that, if nothing else. No matter how bleak it is, you gotta keep going. Also, there’s a paraphrasing of Churchill in there somewhere too. It doesn’t matter now. I unmute and then mute the TV again. As my head hits the pillow again, I realize that Laura Leighton’s hair color has gotten darker and darker as it’s gotten brighter outside my window. That seems incredibly significant to me for a moment and then it doesn’t.
