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Mel, Mel, Mel. Remember when you were courageous, tall and dreamy? Oh those eyes that peered at us all through the movie screen. Those lines that we all remember, that build us up, that remind us of good times:

  • “They may take our lives, but they’ll never take our FREEDOM!!” (Braveheart)
  • “That’s the open road calling my name, and I was born to answer that call” (Chicken Run)
  • Look, any longer out on that road and I’m one of them, a terminal psychotic, except that I’ve got this bronze badge that says that I’m one of the good guys.” (Mad Max)
  • “Aw, come on. It didn’t hurt that bad. Just looking at you hurts more” (Tequila Sunrise)

How the girls of Generation ‘X’ (and beyond) held you high and swam in those crystal blue eyes. You were a hunk, the hunk…once upon a time.

I remember all the posters of so-called ‘hunks’ I had plastered over my bedroom walls: Johnny Depp, Richard Grieco, Corey Haim, Rob Lowe and yes, Charlie Sheen. But now they are older and so am I. We all know (or think we know) what happened to former ‘hunk’ and Hollywood heavyweight Mel Gibson. So, so sad what drinking and womanising and the rest does to a man’s reputation and life. It makes me feel a little foolish for looking up to the former Aussie.

And then we have Charlie Sheen. I must jump on this bandwagon because Charlie and I were great mates when I was growing up. His face stared into mine from the pages of TV Guide and whatever else I read in those days. We had dreams, me and Charles, and to see him like this is downright disappointing. The girls of the eighties are not impressed.

As a ‘star’ and child of a ‘star’ you must get to the point, years down the track, where you simply lose the plot. You have money, status, cars, houses, possessions, everything a person could need or want. What else is there to do except shock the world with your ridiculous behaviour. Perhaps it’s the new sport for ageing stars? Whoever appears the most screwed up wins?

Remember little Leaf Phoenix, now Joaquin Phoenix? How messed up has he become recently? First there was the beard, then the crazy behaviour. Was he bored? I am deciding that these poor little rich and famous boys simply want attention and to play a new game. Which leaves the rest of us suckers wondering why we built the darn pedestals in the first place and can success really bring one happiness?

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I do hate Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. I hate the big and the small, the bottles and cakes filled with magic. There’s something too easy about that.

I hate Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, the Cheshire Cat and the Mad Hatter. And the queen… she’s not so scary. I hate the way this story makes me feel. Weird, weird, weird! While I appreciate creative thinking, this story just makes me feel uneasy. My son LOVES Alice in Wonderland, so I try and get my husband to read the book to him because I find it boring and weird. (Did I mention it’s WEIRD?)

Being a literature lover, hating Alice is difficult. I feel a little ashamed. I feel like an uneducated swine. How dare I? But really. C’mon!

photo by Nicogenin

Last night I accidentally hired out the new Tim Burton Alice in Wonderland. I say accidentally because I love Johnny Depp movies and there he was all weird and green eyed, calling my name… “watch me”. So I did.

Love, love, loved it! It may seem a little hypocritical because of my previous rant, but Tim Burton is an expert at weird! Who would have thought to make Helena Bonham-Carter’s head 70% bigger or double the size of dear Johnny’s eyes? Brilliant! And Burton added action! Thank you Timmy. Dragons and robot card soldiers and talking animals. Yes! Well done. I love it.

So, does this version of the Alice story redeem the entire thing for me? No. I can’t stand reading that slow, boring book. But I’ll watch the Burton movie any day.

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