Come on, mate. Get a move on, we yell! She’s halfway up the wall creeper, skirts hoisted up, and you’re flirting like Adam in the Garden of Eden before he realized there were other women in the world other than bunny boiler/snake charmer par excellence, Eve.
He’s poor. She’s rich. He’s disenfranchised. She’s entitled. And they’re both really, really angry. Two people. Thrown into each other’s paths on their own very different, very bad days.
Hollywood has always presented itself as a great moral arbiter. As they did last night, actors take the opportunity, in their speeches, to lecture everyone else about what they should or should not be doing – before they get in their Bentleys en route home.
Bravo’s Real Housewives of Beverly Hills’ had two contenders – Dorit Kemsley and Lisa Rinna, whose lips wouldn’t look out of place in a furniture shop. Kemsley wins it by a muscle, each season returning with a mouth that now looks in serious danger of devouring her head whole.
It’s the greatest normalization of weird, and their relationship is at the heart of a show that celebrates love and friendship in utterly bizarre and often insane ways.
In terms of popularity, the warning signs that now accompany the start of every program are red rags to a bull. ‘Substances, language, violence, nudity, gore, sexual violence, smoking.’
It’s a good, old-fashioned rags-to-riches, capitalism-versus-socialism yarn about what happens to privileged people when they’re brought down to size and are forced to realize what real life is like for pretty much everyone else.
What is it about a global pandemic that brings out the love of murder in people?