Celebrity Detox by Rosie O'Donnell - I don't watch daytime TV. I don't watch nighttime TV, come to think of it. So it was really something of a remarkable coincidence that the one time I happened to have the television on during The View was the day Rosie O'Donnell and Elisabeth Hasselbeck had such a vitriolic argument that I stopped what I was doing and sat, dumbstruck, at this train wreck of a broadcast.
I'd heard about the feud with Donald Trump. Who could miss it? It was everywhere. In both instances I could see both sides. It seemed like Rosie lashed out unnecessarily at The Donald, but his overreaction was stunning and unkind. And I could see how Rosie's remarks about our soldiers and the terrorists could be misconstrued, so I felt like Rosie was being a bit bullheaded in her insistence on being right, even though I do think Elisabeth is naive in her support of the war in Iraq.
After the Big Bad Broadcast and Rosie's premature departure from the show, I clicked onto her blog to see what she had to say. A person needs thicker skin than I have to be able to withstand the hatred being spewed at this saucy Irish woman. But there's a lot of love being tossed around as well. Rosie seems to bring out the best and the worst in people. On her blog, she bares it all -- her home life, her anger, her joy, her art, her family and friends. She invites people into her life through this new medium in a naked, honest fashion that few celebrities would dare to do.
So when her book was announced, I ordered a copy. True to form, Rosie bares everything -- warts and all -- in an effort to make sense out of the madness that is the world -- hers and ours -- against the backdrop of her childhood, which was marred by the untimely death of her mother. She showed us, unflinchingly, what loneliness and isolation she felt as a child, and despite my early insistence that I wouldn't get sucked in, I found myself shedding tears for this little damaged girl, who in so many ways remains damaged to this day, but is also strong and brave and solid.
She readily admits to flaws that many of us would not -- selfishness, narcissism, self-loathing. She talks about her weight problem with a candor to which I could relate, having suffered the barbs of my own toddler's honest assessment of my more-than-ample derrière. Even though she laughs about it, I could feel the pain beneath that laughter.
I was surprised that so much of the book focused not on her feud with Elisabeth, but on the fray with Donald Trump and her feelings about Barbara Walters, whom she felt did not come through for her when the going got tough, and found myself wanting to explain to Rosie what terror some people feel when faced with confrontation. I know, I know. Walters is a journalist and should be unafraid of unpleasantness, but it seemed to me that she was simply being human. I've heard Walters is upset about the book, but really I felt like Rosie went out of her way to show how much she loves and respects her.
There's a large portion of it devoted to her admiration for Barbra Streisand, an affection that was nurtured by Rosie's mother before she died.
I think what struck me most about this book is Rosie's intensity. She seems to feel things more intensely than others, and in ways that would make me take to my bed for days. It's probably what makes her an artist, but what also gives her pain. In the end, I was left a little sad by this woman whose life is so open for people to see and pick apart, and I wish her all the best.
www.bambooks.biz
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2 comments:
You read with both an open heart and an open mind, Elodie. Maybe I should send you my manuscript.
I can relate to that intensity of emotion; it does fuel art, but it can be a trial, or at least a challenge, to maintain emotional equilibrium at the same time one retains the permeability to the world that's necessary for an experience that can really be translated for the art's imbiber (what a word for it, but art's a drug at least as much as sex or food is, and I prefer that to consumer or user, don't you?), many of whom miss a lot of life (albeit also a lot of pain) by thickening up the skin.
I look forward to reading more of your reviews! Beautiful.
Thank you, Wendy. Yes, I agree that art is imbibed. And I can relate to that intensity, as well. I can see why so many artists (of every media) have types of depression, personality disorders or psychoses. In order to express life with such intensity, one must experience it (the good and the bad) more deeply. While it is almost always a blessing for those who enjoy partaking of the artist's creations, it can often be a curse for the artist. In the best of both worlds, it's a blessing for the artist, too.
And this leads me to another question. On Rosie's blog yesterday, she mentioned a documentary about Marla Olmstead, a four-year-old painter who's hailed by many as a prodigy. http://www.sonyclassics.com/mykidcouldpaintthat/main.html
There's another child who's being hailed as such -- 12-year-old Akiane, whose paintings of Jesus, heaven, etc. are very sophisticated. http://www.artakiane.com/
In both cases, it just so happens that each child has a parent who happens to paint. And no one has ever been able to observe either child do a complete painting from start to finish. Olmstead's parents filmed her doing several paintings, but they're time lapse, and it seems each time there's a jump in time, she's done more work on the painting that we didn't see her do.
Now, personally, I think there's a sucker born every minute, and there are suckers lined up to pay $10,000 or $25,000 or even more for one of their prints, much less one of their paintings.
I have a hard time believing many children are capable of such feats. One reason I think this is because children this young generally haven't developed those "wonderful" malaises that embue artists with the vision necessary to do it. Oh, there may be one or two of them...somewhere. What do you think?
Oh, and I'd love to see your manuscript. I'd be honored.
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