Back in my youth, I travelled to New York and was amazed to score a writing job for a celebrity public relations company. The reality was quite different.
Peter Cook and John Belushi were two comics cut from the same cloth, dosed in booze, stuck in the top of a bottle and lit afire.
Presumably consensual fumblings in a public forum might seem banal. The celebrity, no matter his fame, was equipped with a power differential to leverage. Which he did. I complied, until I didn’t.
Kim Kardashian: A much maligned, buxom figure with a strict control of her image. Sounds familiar?
From my meeting him, an émigré from Venezuela, to seeing him on stage at the Melbourne Comedy Gala, it’s been a wild ride for my friend.
While easy to envy UFC, basketball and other sporting stars, pointing to invasions of privacy, dehumanisation and injury, Alexander Porter questions whether the fame is all it’s cracked up to be.
Jasmine Tridevil, she of the “Total Recall-esque” rack, has Tom Jacobs and the rest of the world bamboo(bs)zled, begging the question “How low can entertainment go?”