Conflating Themes in McCarthy's 'Brat Pack' Doc
Blum Misses the Point of Young Talent and Old Pop-Celebrity Writers
Last night at dinner, I watched Andrew McCarthy’s Brat Pack documentary and this morning read the Blum piece (link below). I had thoughts before returning to studio where I create unfearfully if I’m lucky.
I Called Them Brats, and I Stand by It
“…a once-vibrant celebrity culture that minted movie stars to last a lifetime, not a year or two."
Blum states this un-ironically, appearing to overlook the foundational perversion of Western culture, rife with subtext and marginal salience, if there is such a thing.
Any well-made documentary (this is surely one, not merely "cleverly edited") will provoke thought, self-reflection etc. The subject of this film's treatise isn't victim-hood (which Blum, from initial line here to first frame therein, seems more than eager to embrace, seething with 'how dare he/they impugn MY equally important profession) but rather later-in-life reflection upon one's quest for artistic expression and the fear that accompanies its very process. In film and other pop industries (yes, I suppose journalism is one) that journey is mitigated/exacerbated by the high-dollar gravity weighing every decision, negotiation and navigation. I was once a youngster in that industry, too. We all were. I remember many daunting how-does-this-thing-work intersections to ponder. That theme prevails ubiquitously throughout show biz history from Elvis and Norma Jean to Macaulay Culkin and Suzie Cowsill.
Celebrity culture has become "vibrant"ly malignant, and we're presently witnessing its manifestations that indeed have already cut millions of lifetimes short. If that brings a sense of importance to those clamoring "journalists" who fuel and exploit it, so be it. Nothing new there, other than the death of epistemology which begs another more grave discussion. With age should come accountability. Big disappointment there, America.
We grow older (if sufficiently lucky) and learn acceptance of our younger selves, (Estevez comes off as the truly humble sage in that regard unlike the pontificating Moore) contrition for regrettable wrongs (to ourselves and others) and a higher way forward, the elixir brought "back to the village" to improve our common humanity. McCarthy slowly becomes elucidated with this spiritual awakening: he was fearful of so much that was at the time yes, awesome.
That was the film's take-away already resonating when the Blum encounter brought all those multi-dimensional adventures back to the surface world of one-dimensional defensive self-aggrandizement, resentment, jealousy and thinly-veiled cheap opportunism--the compulsions of many a "pop/celebrity" reviewer/writer.
I don't think "clever editing" had much to do with the seeming paucity of wisdom, contrition and acceptance evidenced by Blum. It could have been so interesting, hopeful. The subsequent takes seem to show McCarthy and the producers nobly struggling to splice in moments of grace during and after the meeting. Alas, they came up short-- not surprising when the subject of the scene (not the film) was apparently unwilling to rise to the occasion of a truly meaningful opportunity.