It was the first time that I didn't think about having -- or not having -- a drink. I lost myself in the joy of that matinee performance and the exuberance of the performers who were happy to be alive despite -- or because of -- the years of baggage behind them.
Collins' influence stretches beyond the festive hand tossing of Tinseltown glitter, however. Her charitable outreach -- from The National Center for Learning Disabilities to the prevention of child cruelty in the UK -- stand out.
In adulthood we discover that other gay men had adopted these women in exactly the same way in childhood. Why do we, as individuals, gravitate to women, even the same women, before we are part of a gay scene, and before we are swept up in any collective gay groupthink?
For the most part, I've avoided the psycho killer sub-genre as that would merit its own piece. Instead, I've focused on films that betray mental illness in somewhat subtler, but no less striking, ways.
I like Oscars that go a little crazy. And not in those golly-gee speeches where someone -- say, Anne Hathaway (the inevitable winner tonight) -- reacts with such feigned shock that she giddily exhibits an actorly, cute-as-a-button manic depressive episode.
Dale was the voice of damage-control, the pen of Oscar campaigns, and the heart of a movement that cultivated compassion in modern Hollywood. Laughter and caring were Dale Olson's trademark, entertainment was his business.
Hollywood is finally making an effort to give women and their stories the blockbuster treatment. In doing so, the film industry is hearkening back to what was once a strength of classic Hollywood: the blockbuster women's film.
Jessica Sherr has been playing the raven-haired 1940s cinema icon Bette Davis for two years. Sherr sat down with me to discuss how an off-hand comment about her bright green eyes sparked a burgeoning career.