PHONING IT IN
by Daren Foster

ALSO ON SITE

PHONING IT IN
By Daren Foster

There ought to be a law requiring mandatory retirement on all entertainers who inhabit our popular culture. I’m not talking anything age related, here. I mean, I can’t be the only one who saw 62 year-old Helen Mirren in that red bikini. Is that the fountain of youth she’s wading in or what?

Not that I’m suggesting up and onto the junk heap if you don’t age well. The mandatory retirement to which I refer is that point of time in one’s career when creatively, things begin to slip. Quality sags. The output is wrinkled and misshapen, a hideously distorted shadow of its former self.

It’s not a question of the odd dud here and there. Everybody has an impacted artistic piece of crap they have to pass every now and then. (Allow me my pun here). Shit happens. (There, that feels better). Unadulterated, unalloyed success is an impossibility, a goal all should strive for but never expect to achieve.

But greatness acknowledged can never be unconditional. That’s not to say you’re only as good as your last ______ (fill in the blank for yourself). We just shouldn’t allow artists to merrily coast on a reputation based simply on earlier success. The once great and one-hit wonders who refuse to walk away once it becomes obvious that’s all they got.

Continuing the musical analogy, look at the rock and roll Hall of Fame. Rod Stewart and Elton John certainly earned their respective spots but should’ve been evicted long ago due to subpar productivity for, well, probably longer than either one was productive. If I were boss of the world, Paul McCartney would now have to pay to gain admission. Ditto any inductee who goes out on a reunion tour without having a new album of songs that doesn’t make you cringe at ever having liked them. The Stones? It breaks my heart but pack up your memorabilia box, gentlemen, and don’t let the door hit ya where the good lord split ya. (A tip of the hat to you, Mr. Colbert).

Whoopi Goldberg should give back her Oscar for everything she’s done post-Ghost especially reviving Hollywood Squares. Robin Williams needs to keep his under lock and key if he continues along the deplorable path he’s traveled since winning the thing a decade or so ago. Robert DeNiro and Al Pacino are in imminent danger of extinguishing all the greatness they achieved in what seems a lifetime ago. Have they simply stopped reading the scripts they agree to do? What other explanation could there be for their continued dismal output? If you don’t care, retire already.

Which is exactly what I’m talking about with my mandatory retirement plan. Once an artist who had given off sparks in their career shows a steady and wilful disregard for projects, their right to be gainfully employed in that particular field of endeavour is revoked. Maybe the time away would do them some good, let them clear their head a little bit, allow them some time to reassess their commitment to the craft. If they realize the error of their ways and can prove their heart is back in it, by all means, they’d be welcomed back with open arms to strut their stuff again.

At the age of 62, Jimmy Cagney called it a day not to return to the big screen for another 20 years. Part of the decision may’ve been because of his decades’ long battles with various studios but as an actor, Cagney had nothing left to prove. Cary Grant wasn’t far behind, quitting the pictures 5 years after Cagney at the very same age. He never acted in front of the camera again. Thank you and good night.

Unfortunately, most actors can’t bring themselves to step out of the spotlight, holding on tightly to the Molière myth of dying on stage with his boots on. That’s dying as in dead not as in bombing. Like the inscription on a New York City post office, neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night or a precipitous decline in ability or concern for the work itself will stop most performers from embarrassing themselves and their reputation if the pay and/or location is/are right.

In a review for Eddie Murphy’s latest bomb, Meet Dave, it was suggested that Murphy was in desperate need for alimony payments. If true, this would explain, well, most of his film career. Industry scuttlebutt has it that Murphy blew his chances for a Best Supporting Actor statue in Dreamgirls with his appearance in Norbert. While the Oscars are certainly no marker of artistic excellence, Murphy’s career might have taken a more interesting path had he at least paused briefly before stepping back into the latex fat suit.

The latex fat suit is a potent indicator that you might not be taking your craft all that seriously anymore. Let me add another clause that would bring on mandatory retirement: any actor who agrees to wear a latex fat suit. (Yeah, I’m looking at you, Steve Carrell, in Get Smart. Was that really necessary? And while we’re talking here, how can someone who is an integral part of one of the smartest comedies on TV right now, The Office, not to mention having spent years on The Daily Show, wind up doing Evan Almighty? Do you just love working with animals or John Goodman?)