I don’t like Russell Crowe. Just don’t like the man. Don’t like his attitude, the whole Meg Ryan thing, or his problem with anger management. Fortunately this didn’t affect my weekend viewing of the movie “Master and Commander” since he wasn’t in it.
Instead I went to see his character Capt. Jack Aubrey, who was great.
I don’t understand people who boycott entertainers because of the entertainer’s personal lives. If it has no effect on their work, who cares? Do the stars’ police records, twisted relationships, or remarkable alcohol absorption make their performances poor, their music jarring, their artwork substandard?
I mean, I don’t want to hang out or shoot hoops with these people. I doubt I would want to be alone in an elevator with most of them (and here I’m thinking Courtney Love). I just want to know if they can carry a tune, write a thrilling book, or keep me happily munching popcorn for two hours.
Admittedly, such a reaction makes sense when the despised star in question displays no discernible difference between acting, not acting, or unconsciousness, such as Tom Cruise.
Cruise has played essentially the same character (that character being, of course, Tom Cruise) in every movie he’s been in since 1981. Tom Cruise in a fighter jet, Tom Cruise in a racecar, Tom Cruise as a spy, Tom Cruise on Access Hollywood.
This weekend, with the opening of his new movie “The Last Samurai,” we get to see Tom Cruise in a dress. If you like Tom Cruise the person, you’ll like his movies. If you don’t, you won’t. Simple, like sticking with a detergent brand you like.
Similarly, if you spot Julia Roberts in the credits you already know what to expect and can buy your ticket with confidence. Or, if you’re like my wife, who may actually be physically allergic to Roberts, you already know to skip the movie altogether and do somethign more personally fulfilling, like regrouting your bathroom.
But not all entertainers are like this, and yet lots of people let their distaste for the performer keep them from enjoying the performance. It’s like refusing to eat at a five-star restaurant solely because you didn’t like the owner’s name, or disparaging a beautiful painting because you heard a rumor that the paintbrush was icky.
My friend Sean won’t watch anything involving Richard Gere, Barbara Streisand, or the Dixie Chicks because he disagrees with their outspoken political beliefs. I find this sort of knee-jerk attitude ridiculous and absurd.
Me, I don’t watch anything involving Richard Gere, Barbara Streisand, or the Dixie Chicks because their stuff bores me to tears, which I think is much more fair and open-minded.
It’s equally silly to watch performers simply because their private lives fascinate you. When I watched Paris Hilton’s new reality show “The Simple Life” last night it was because I thought throwing two professional debutantes onto a working farm was a cute idea, not because blurry clips from her teenage sex tapes were all over the Internet.
Although I did wonder about the appropriateness of the show’s commercial: “See Paris Hilton as you’ve never seen her before!” What, clothed? Upright?
I think artists should be separated from their work. Which helps explain why, despite the recent media barrage, I still sing along with the song “Thriller” by alleged child abuser Michael Jackson. (I do a mean Vincent Price impersonation, too.) Doesn’t matter to me what he did or didn’t do, the courts will decide that. It’s still a good song. And if he gets convicted, I’ll still sing along with it.
I’ll probably stop singing “Billie Jean,” though, because that would be creepy.