If a female movie star, driven crazy by all demands and expectations, does go ahead and under the knife or other assorted tortures to pump up and fill all there is to fill, the same vicious attack by the cruel Hollywood hounds is launched like a weapon. So, damned if you do, damned if you don't, this being the blue print for women's lives worldwide.
From time to time we have pre-conceived notions about people. As much as we try not to, we do. Last week while I was on my way to hear Madeleine Albright speak, I feared that her presentation might be dull and boring. After all, talking about sanctions against Iraq or the American policy in Bosnia is certainly educational, but it can also be very dry. I couldn't have been more wrong.
Joan Rivers sat at life's table. She demanded the finest linens, china, and utensils. She always had fresh flowers. She was always served food that was seasoned perfectly. But when the food called for it, she ate with her hands. When she dropped her napkin, she wiped her face with the corner of the tablecloth. If she belched, she didn't apologize.
To get to the bottom of Louis-Dreyfus' appeal, one has to examine the facts: She's irrefutably beautiful, but is no girlie-girl and prefers the company of men who better appreciate her bawdy, take-no-prisoners outlook on life. Though she was born in New York City, the actress taps into an easy accessibility that makes her a relatable "everywoman."