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Joy Behar heated … Anderson Cooper acting like a real journalist … Joan Rivers bitching. Mr. wOw’s armchair tour of the entertainment world Continue reading “A Brief Channel-Surf With Mr. wOw (Video)” »

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Carrie Prejean, ‘Jon & Kate Plus 8,’ Elizabeth Taylor tweets about Michael Jackson’s death … Our Mr. wOw shares the headlines that gave him (and most of us) heart palpitations. Continue reading “Scandals 2009: Mr. wOw Selects This Year’s Most Twisted Newsmakers” »

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Here’s hoping the golf star doesn’t go all Hugh Grant on us
Continue reading “Mr. wOw Says – Let’s Get Out of Tiger Woods’s Driveway” »

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“You should go back to Austria and learn some manners! Learn what Mama Schell didn’t teach you! Nobody has ever walked out on me, like a prima donna!”

That was Marlene Dietrich, raging at her documentarian Maximilian Schell toward the conclusion of Schell’s brilliant, nasty, mesmerizing 1984 film “Marlene” (now just out on DVD). 

Schell, who had also appeared in one of Dietrich’s last films, “Judgment at Nuremberg,” had come to Paris, where Marlene was holed up, a recluse, to talk to the great star. But more than anything, he wanted her on camera. 

Dietrich was having none of that. The very reason she was a recluse was to prevent the world from seeing her in old age, infirm, stripped of her glamour (the polar opposite of Miss Elizabeth Taylor, who has gone where no great beauty has gone before, almost merciless in her advocacy of the attitude, “This is it, this is life, this is aging and illness, get over it!”).

And so began a fierce battle of wills between the temperamental pair of divas, Dietrich and Schell. Mr. wOw loves a good bitch-fight. 

Perhaps even more galling to Schell than the star’s refusal to be filmed was Marlene’s maddening unelaborate yes-and-no answers, her denial of certain aspects of her career that were indisputable facts. She was going to tell her story the way she wanted to: “This is a documentary on my career, baby; it’s about my work.” Often, when Schell would compliment a certain movie, Dietrich would dismiss him — “Eh, kitsch!” Or she would deflect a question with, “It’s in my book; read it.” The documentary is studded with fabulous clips of Dietrich, the fantasy figure of movies, Josef von Sternberg’s creation who left her creator in the dust, forging a spectacular 40-year career in movies and on stage.

Throughout the film, Dietrich is pragmatic, practical, unsentimental. “When you’re dead, you’re dead. That’s it.” (She is hardboiled until the powerful conclusion.) 

Marlene was in this only for the money, and she reminds Schell he is there for the same reason — and that he is in her presence to do it her way. This is “only a documentary,” and Schell should not kid himself that he could compare with any kind of director that she had ever dealt with.

When she can get away from battling the nettlesome Mr. Schell, Marlene speaks of her work during the war years and her burning hatred for Hitler. (Dietrich entertained the troops in WW II close to the battle lines. Had she been captured by the Germans — her own people — she would surely have been put to death as a traitor.)

It behooves every fan of Dietrich, and every student of film and stardom, to watch “Marlene.” She’s Norma Desmond with Prussian discipline and good sense! She’s not looking to make a comeback; she wants to make some cash!

And what a blessing for Schell that he was unable to capture Dietrich. It led him to fashion a far more fascinating glimpse of the icon in twilight than any revelation her 80-something face would have provided. 

Mr. wOw’s one complaint? The DVD box cover. They use a shot of Dietrich from one of her early films, “Morocco,” perhaps. It’s beautiful, but doesn’t compare to the original art — a sketch of Dietrich in her famous top hat and men’s tuxedo, holding a mask of her own face. It’s a perfect image; rarely has a movie poster conveyed so accurately what the film delivers.

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Well, the reviews are in on “This Is It,” the Michael Jackson rehearsal footage that has been put together as sort of a special feature film. (In two weeks it’ll leave theaters and head for a DVD package near you.)

So, is it the greatest movie ever made, per Elizabeth Taylor’s overwrought, over-the-top tweets, or is it closer to the mess of Lou Lumenick’s devastating New York Post review?

Probably somewhere in between and much depending on how you felt about Jackson when he was more or less alive. His rabid fans will love it, and like Miss Taylor, feel cinema history has been made. (I wish Elizabeth cared a little bit more about her own legendary career and less about Michael Jackson’s legacy. But that’s La Liz, loyal to a fault.)

Sony will make a bundle, no matter what.

Mr. wOw is being – gasp! – judgmental. He hasn’t seen the movie and is not likely to plunk down 11 bucks for the pleasure. We have very little interest in the final gasps of Mr. Jackson. Just wasn’t a big fan. As soon as MJ started looking like a tranny version of Diana Ross, all interest ended. I mean, we had Miss Ross. How much more tranny could we go? As an artist, he just wasn’t Mr. wOw’s shot of vodka. Millions of other disagree.

I do have sympathy for Michael as a person, but he chose his own path. Like Judy and Marilyn, his constant cries of “I had a terrible childhood, I can’t help myself!” wore thin. Even if those childhoods were terrible, people need to grow up and deal. Especially if they are on the receiving end of adulation, wealth and the opportunity to seek the best therapy.

Big P.S. Will people please stop paying attention to Joe Jackson? Maybe he will go away. Though I suppose that’s impossible with the likes of Al Sharpton calling the dysfunctional patriarch a great person. “Imagine anybody criticizing a man for being a stern father!” exclaimed the Rev. Al recently.

Uhhhh … Michael said Joe beat him, which goes beyond “stern.” The Rev. wants it both ways. He lauds Michael, but essentially calls him a liar.

Michael hated his father. And he’d be disgusted to see Joe Jackson praised now, as some beacon of good parenting. Though he’d be not at all surprised to see how the elder Jackson has profited from his son’s death.

Beautiful Ivanka, before her wedding day

Cheers to Ivanka Trump.  She didn’t look like Grace Kelly — as some insisted — in her fabulous Vera Wang wedding gown, but she looked good enough. She is lovely, for sure, and would have a terrific figure even without the implants.

Good luck to Ivanka’s groom Jared Kushner. He has The Donald to contend with as a father-in-law. Go with God, Jared.

Miss Trump — I doubt she’ll opt for Mrs. Kushner — is an interesting young woman. She turned out considerably more assured, savvy and work-oriented than might have been expected, as the daughter of a self-obsessed gazillionaire. She is no spoilt child of privilege. Well, she is, but she’s no Paris Hilton, let’s put it that way. (Her many titles are associated with her dad’s business, but from all accounts, she doesn’t coast.)

I like her a lot, from what I’ve seen. But marriage is going to be a hell of a journey, for her and Mr. Kushner. Did I mention her father?

One tip. Stop Tweeting, honey. You are too smart for such foolishness. Please, I don’t need to know what you two had for breakfast the morning after.