Behind the Candelabra

[Joe Guy]

Last night HBO showed Behind the Candelabra starring Michael Douglas as Liberace and Matt Damon as Scott Thorson, Liberace's lover.

The story was good and very well acted. It had Debbie Reynolds in it as Liberace's mother and Rob Lowe as his plastic surgeon - both barely recognizable. Also, Dan Akroyd was in it and I didn't realize it until well into the movie.

But I laughed through most of the entire show. It was so funny to see Michael Douglas playing a gay man that it cracked me up. They must have had a lot of fun making the movie. Sometimes it looked as though Michael & Matt were about to burst out laughing and it made me think more of the making of the movie than the story.

Seeing Michael and Matt kissing a few times and laying in bed made me cringe, but it made me laugh too.

Anyway, I haven't read any reviews on the show. I suspect most of them will be fairly good.

If you have a chance to see it, give it a try. Even if it's only to see the first 10 minutes or so.

"What's better than roses on your piano? Tulips on your organ."

[Lord Jim]

We'll probably watch it sometime later this week...

It's nice to see way Douglas has rallied from his struggle with throat cancer. A couple of years ago, he looked like he was at death's door; it didn't look like he was going to make it.

[Gob]

"He is the summit of sex - the pinnacle of masculine, feminine, and neuter. Everything that he, she and it can ever want.

I spoke to sad but kindly men on this newspaper who have met every celebrity coming from America for the past 30 years. They say that this deadly, winking, sniggering, snuggling, chromium-plated, scent-impregnated, luminous, quivering, giggling, fruit-flavored, mincing, ice-covered heap of mother love has had the biggest reception and impact on London since Charlie Chaplin arrived at the same station, Waterloo, on September 12,1921.

This appalling man - and I use the word appalling in no other than its true sense of terrifying - has hit this country in a way that is as violent as Churchill receiving the cheers on V-E Day.

He reeks with emetic language that can only make grown men long for a quiet corner, an aspidistra, a handkerchief, and the old heave-ho. Without doubt, he is the biggest sentimental vomit of all time. Slobbering over his mother, winking at his brother, and counting the cash at every second, this superb piece of calculating candy-floss has an answer for every situation."

"There must be something wrong with us that our teenagers longing for sex and our middle aged matrons fed up with sex alike should fall for such a sugary mountain of jingling claptrap wrapped up in such a preposterous clown".

Cassandra.


"I cried all the way to the bank!"

Liberace