April Winchell

So this morning we’re watching TV, and a L’Oreal commercial comes on with Diane Keaton.

I used to like Diane Keaton. I really did.

I thought she was charming and original, even when the press made fun of her for showing up at premieres dressed like Uncle Pennybags.

In fact, one of my favorite films is a documentary called Heaven, which she directed in 1987. It’s a collection of interviews with some spectacularly odd people, exploring their personal views on the afterlife. It is just jaw-droppingly surreal, and expertly put together.

The first time I saw it was on video tape about 15 years ago, and I immediately rewound it and watched it again. I probably sat through it about 5 times that week.

It’s hard to believe that the visionary artist who made that film is the same woman helming dreckfests like Because I said So (which John and I alternately refer to as Mothers Are Like That! or Oh, MOM!).

If I had to pinpoint the moment of her artistic mudslide, it would probably be signing on to play Mrs. Steve Martin in Father of the Bride. Which, coincidentally, is about the time he also resigned from the Credibility Club.

It’s hard to know why this happens to people. So few artists retain their vision and perspective throughout the whole of their careers. I tend to think the lure of middle America’s bland approval after years of toiling on the fringe might be overwhelming.

This is not to say that people who participate in popular entertainment are all sellouts. I’m not one of those people that believe the only good art is art that doesn’t sell. I can point to a lot of actors, directors and other creative people who are making good money doing good work.

No, this is more about trading in a big slice of who you are for the relative comfort of safe work and big paychecks. And maybe this happens to everyone eventually; maybe the weight of our integrity and idealism becomes too much to bear as we weaken with age and experience.

But that doesn’t excuse a fucking L’Oreal commercial. For fuck’s sake.

Speaking of celebrities and commercials, I saw a really wonderful commercial last night. It was so good I made John rewind the Tivo so we could watch it again.

Isn’t that amazing?And you know what makes it even better?

PATRICIA HEATON ISN’T IN IT.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed that Albertson’s came to their senses and shitcanned that homophobic witch. If this is indeed the case, I urge all of my wonderful gay friends to head down to their nearest Albertson’s and stock up on Crisco.

But back to Diane Keaton.

I had a sort of vision while I was watching that L’Oreal commercial. I saw Celebrity Math in my head, just like Russell Crowe did in that movie I don’t remember because I couldn’t look at anything but that fat cyst between his eyes.

Bottom three: Phil, Haley and Gina.Phil goes home.