Dying never looked so good
Seeing Love Story on television, I have to give Ali McGraw credit for her immense talent. It wasn’t for her acting, though. It was for her death scene. While some inoperable disease (I think it’s cancer) ravages her body, she manages to look more glamourous as she steps just a little bit closer to the cinematic inevitability of her character. I call it Ali McGraw Syndrome (AMS, for short).
Me, on the other hand, do not have that talent. True, I am not dying and I have the flu (which sometimes feels like death), yet I manage to look like I have one foot in the grave. Why is that?
Love Story portrays an illness rather unfairly. As Ali lies in her deathbed, and (rather irritatingly) calls Ryan O’Neal “Preppy,” she has the whole Paramount production team making her look her best (it also helps she was married to Robert Evans, the head of the studio). Her gypsy/bohemian chic clothing looks more Von Furstenberg than vintage, her wavy tresses are styled to frame her face and her glowing skin is luminous (probably due to the right foundation and light filters). She should be vacationing in Monaco, not visiting the mortuary.
As I lay in bed, on my side, my itchy pyjamas irritate my already aching body. The hair on my head is flattened on one side, yet remains curly on the other. My face presses against a pillow, leaving deep creases on a complexion that breaks out with a plethora of blemishes because I haven’t the energy to proactively handle another crisis (that would be considered vanity, and I’m too sick to look good). To top it off, there is a trickling of dry drool off the side of my mouth because I can’t breathe through my nose and have to sleep with my mouth open.
I am positive that if I had Ali’s team behind the scenes of my illness, I’d resemble someone suffering from AMS (and I’d have better clothes). But, I don’t. So, here I am, lying in bed, looking like crap just vomited all over me.
Maybe Ali had it right all along: act like an unsympathetic imp; make Ryan O’Neal fall madly in love with you; get a death sentence; die; and have your man feel guilty for the rest of his life. Love means never having to say you’re sorry? Of course it doesn’t. If you look that good when you’re dying, you don’t have to say nothing at all.
Me, on the other hand, do not have that talent. True, I am not dying and I have the flu (which sometimes feels like death), yet I manage to look like I have one foot in the grave. Why is that?
Love Story portrays an illness rather unfairly. As Ali lies in her deathbed, and (rather irritatingly) calls Ryan O’Neal “Preppy,” she has the whole Paramount production team making her look her best (it also helps she was married to Robert Evans, the head of the studio). Her gypsy/bohemian chic clothing looks more Von Furstenberg than vintage, her wavy tresses are styled to frame her face and her glowing skin is luminous (probably due to the right foundation and light filters). She should be vacationing in Monaco, not visiting the mortuary.
As I lay in bed, on my side, my itchy pyjamas irritate my already aching body. The hair on my head is flattened on one side, yet remains curly on the other. My face presses against a pillow, leaving deep creases on a complexion that breaks out with a plethora of blemishes because I haven’t the energy to proactively handle another crisis (that would be considered vanity, and I’m too sick to look good). To top it off, there is a trickling of dry drool off the side of my mouth because I can’t breathe through my nose and have to sleep with my mouth open.
I am positive that if I had Ali’s team behind the scenes of my illness, I’d resemble someone suffering from AMS (and I’d have better clothes). But, I don’t. So, here I am, lying in bed, looking like crap just vomited all over me.
Maybe Ali had it right all along: act like an unsympathetic imp; make Ryan O’Neal fall madly in love with you; get a death sentence; die; and have your man feel guilty for the rest of his life. Love means never having to say you’re sorry? Of course it doesn’t. If you look that good when you’re dying, you don’t have to say nothing at all.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home