First there was Joaquin Phoenix's cringe-inducing appearance on David Letterman a few weeks ago, looking all una-Bomber with his shaggy beard and sunglasses, sounding all differently-abled with his muttered, mono-syllabic responses to Dave's questions, which eventually turned into snarky remarks as it became apparent Phoenix might nod off at any moment.
"Joaquin, I'm sorry you couldn't be here tonight," Letterman quipped at the end.
And Phoenix rose out of his daze long enough to get this and respond, "Funny, he's funny, he's a funny dude..."
It's hard to know what the talented actor-turned-jaded musician was, or was not, thinking. Was he hopped up, or down, on something? Should we worry he will suffer the same fate as his older brother, River? Or was he merely playing the part of the disaffected celebrity in an attempt to bolster his music career, separating the old movie actor Phoenix from this new incarnation - a persona that cannot be bothered with anything, and is bothered by everything?
In either case, it was a little heart-breaking and a lot annoying to watch - a sign of unpalatable self-indulgence.
Then, last week, another talented actor, Billy Bob Thornton, fancying himself a musician of merit and longevity so much so he would seem to have abandoned his old career as an actor all together, gave a bizarre interview on Canadian radio...
Except this one was less bizzare, less hard to figure out, and more dripping with unwarranted attitude. Light a match, and crack a window! Billy Bob Thornton has stunk up the studio with how much he can't be bothered.
I have zero tolerance for celebrity ego, whether it's coming from Thornton, Phoenix, Jerry Seinfeld, Kanye West, or in days past, Frank Sinatra, Mickey Mantle, or Joan Crawford (it seems to me, 'No wire hangers!' was as much a celebrity tantrum, a fussy ego out of control, as it was a woman battling inner demons and the ravages of alcoholism). I find it very difficult to reconcile behind-the-scenes personalities with celebrity personas. I don't think their talent, however stellar it might be and whether it entails sports, music, stage or cinema, grants them the right to be arrogant, rude, demanding or expecting of deference, because I simply don't think many or any of them have contributed anything of lasting impact. None of them are going to cure cancer, are they? They're not the ones who will figure out what to do if an asteroid's about to strike Earth. They're not teaching our children how to be productive members of society. They're not the people we call when we hear a noise outside, walk to a window and see a shadowy figure creeping across our lawn, or awake to find our kitchen on fire. So what claim do they have to the self-important view they hold?
Whether we, as fans, lend them their self-important view, is not really the point. The responsibility to keep it in check is all theirs.
Thornton was touring Canada with his band The Boxmasters, opening for Willie Nelson. He appeared on a Canadian Broadcasting Corporation radio show called 'Q', hosted by someone named Jiam Ghomeshi.
I had never heard of Mr. Ghomeshi, but he is someone I now have a tremendous amount of empathy for.
There is a video of the radio interview (doubtless shot to be webcast later, and now available on YouTube). Silently fuming because Ghomeshi introduced him as 'Oscar-award winning actor and director Billy Bob Thornton', after allegedly having been instructed to make no mention of Billy Bob's acting career at all, Thornton spent the 15-minute interview making poor Ghomeshi squirm.
Great. Billy Bob wants to stand on his own two feet. Wants people to come see The Boxmasters play - or buy albums or whatever - by virtue of their music, not his stardom. Fine...I get it. But Ghomeshi could hardly have been accused of making a big deal out of Thornton's acting career, of depending on it as the only possible segue into the discussion. He made a mere passing reference to it in his introduction, then lavished the actor with a barrage of well-meaning, entirely music-oriented questions, which Thornton, marinating in his own indignation by this time, apparently feeling the whole interview was ruined because listeners knew who he was, refused to answer or answered by changing the subject all together. Ghomeshi was nonplussed and increasingly flustered by Thornton's relentless refusal to let it go, and eventually turned to the band mates (shifting uncomfortably in their own seats, it would appear) to answer questions when it became clear - not that Thornton couldn't, but wouldn't.
Ghomeshi did not deserve this. He was just trying to promote The Boxmasters. That's why he gets out of bed in the morning, that's what he does, as surely as that's why Thornton and his band show up for interviews and show up to play: Promotion. The goal is to get as many asses in the seats of the venue they're playing as possible.
Right?
I have experienced this brand of celebrity foulness myself, unanticipated and unwarranted, and I can assure you it is not pleasant to be on the receiving end.
Years ago, I was a staff writer for a newspaper. I was given an interview with a B-list (if that) celebrity, a comedian who had attained a measure of stardom decades ago, but in recent years had been relegated to playing smaller venues.
That's why my publication was involved. This individual was on tour and playing a restored downtown theater. It was a big deal in my little hometown. We had tickets to give away, paid ads to run in the paper and had devoted page space to help promote the event by landing a phone interview with the comedian.
B-list or not - and my aversion to celebrity ass-kissing notwithstanding - I was suitably nervous, in a deferential sense, as the moment approached. A pre-interview consultation with the comedian's agent did nothing to ease my anxiety, as I was given a laundry list of things I was allowed to ask him and things I was definitely NOT allowed to ask him - emphasis on 'NOT allowed.'
I called the phone number I was given precisely at the time I was told to, and could sense immediately something was not right. First of all, the comedian did not answer the phone, a woman did. She apparently had to go searching for him, as I was kept on hold several minutes. When finally he did answer, he had no idea what the call was about, and there was a surliness in his voice.
I had not been expecting it, yet I was aware of it right away.
For the next 15 minutes, I was treated to the same kind of ego-driven defiance, same snoot full of crappiness, as Ghomeshi: the comedian 'enduring' the interview, but only so as to make me feel stupid. I was pleasant, and once again deferential, for the sake of my job. I stayed away from the guy's hot button topics as instructed, and did everything I could to welcome him to the area. I made mention of his celebrity without leaving a bad taste in his mouth (or mine). I asked him a couple of noncommittal questions about his career, and for my efforts suffered a shit storm of angry effusions about how he was a star, how he didn't have time for this, how I was a lousy interviewer and I better learn how to do my job before wasting any more of his time.
All of it in STARK contrast to the persona he had affected back in his hey-day.
Like Mr. Ghomeshi with Thornton, I shifted in my seat, bit my tongue, swallowed my pride, and tried to keep the interview going smoothly, going FORWARD, but this guy would have none of it. He kept going on and on, batting my questions back at me with sarcastic remarks, asking me where the hell I'd gone to school, treating me not only as if I were incompetent, but had thoughtlessly ignored his agent and asked him all those no-no questions, one after another.
Eventually, I'd had enough, and stopped trying to act in the finest patient tradition of David Letterman or Jiam Ghomeshi. After a truly unfunny pregnant pause following the comedian snarling, Did you even do your homework for this!?..., I sighed loudly and said, "Soo...do you want to do this interview or not, buddy? I can go either way."
"No!" he raged, "what I want you to do is go to journalism school, then call me back!"
*Click.*
On the phone the next day, his agent suggested he must have been having a 'bad day, or something.'
This was probably the truth, because within a week he had cancelled his show in our area. I don't think I was the reason for this, but it's a fair assumption the decision to cancel may have been connected to the 'bad day' he was having.
Big deal. Don't talk to me that way.
I expect celebrities to be human, to have bad days. In other words, I do not hold them to some impossible standard. But that being said, because I expect nothing special of them, I hold them to the standard I hold everyone to. Don't be rude. Don't be impossible. Conduct yourself with kindness and dignity. Be patient. Understand. Try to connect with those you come in contact with every day. Really connect; not celeb to fan, but human to human.
And most importantly, when it comes to those who are interviewing you, those who are trying to, in whatever capacity (whether it's David Letterman reaching a nationwide audience or l'il old me writing for a circulation of 7,000), help your career along, how about showing a little deference for that? How about not wasting our time?
How about kissing our asses a little?
