http://www.nypost.com/seven/05162009/postopinion/opedcolumnists/angel_fa rrah_fawcett_crosses_the_final_f_169596.htm
With Friday night's airing of the two-hour documentary "Farrah's Story," Farrah Fawcett became the first American celebrity to film herself dying. But amid this week's non-stop media coverage of the special, replete with a red-carpet premiere and interviews with her on-again paramour Ryan O'Neal - who, ever the gentleman, referred to Fawcett in the past tense - one question has yet to be asked: Is this weird? Or is this just the natural progression of things, the logical next step in a culture where the pace of oversharing and electronic communications are perfectly, symbiotically matched? Sharon Osbourne allowed her battle with cancer to be filmed for her MTV reality show, "The Osbournes," though her case was not terminal, and she did not allow herself to be shot, as Fawcett did, undergoing gruesome treatment. Jade Goody, the late British reality star, discovered that she had cancer on the phone, on camera, while living in a "Big Brother" house. Goody, 27 and the mother of two young children, sold her story to UK tabs, who covered every gory, dehumanizing moment of her suffering. Her new story became, in a sense, a satellite reality show, drawing worldwide media coverage and the attention of the British prime minister. But Goody, who said she took the tabloid payout to provide for her children, did refuse a lucrative deal that would have allowed a camera crew to film her death for a reality special. It seems that was too much, even for a tacky reality star who initially got famous for uttering a racial slur on national TV and whose 20-year-old fiance was doing time. So what are we to make of the Farrah special? Her intentions seem sincere, her bravery beyond admirable. Yet watching bits and pieces of the story parceled out, like treats to insatiable children, on ancillary NBC programs such as "Today" and "Access Hollywood" undercuts any pretense of nobility. So do scenes of Fawcett and her best friend Alana Stewart yelling at the paparazzi as Stewart films away for the documentary. And when was the last time you saw so much of Ryan O'Neal? Then there was the premiere, with rope lines and flash bulbs - quite possibly the most tasteless party for a somber project since the splashy world premiere, in New York City, for Oliver Stone's 9/11 melodrama "World Trade Center." Also: the timed release of photos of a wraithlike Farrah on her sickbed, eyes closed, mouth open in silent agony; the suit filed by an aggrieved producer of the special, who claims he was cut out of the process; O'Neal publicly musing that now may be the time to finally marry Fawcett, who is on her deathbed. "To this day I don't let her see how I feel, 'cause I feel awful," says O'Neal, on-camera. It is not cynical to assume that NBC - which declined to send out advance screeners of the documentary (Why? Because that would be in poor taste?) held on to this footage until Fawcett was in her final days. Fawcett herself, as she has throughout her career, comes off as extremely likeable and well-intentioned, if - like most celebrities of her era - a bit unhooked from the actual world. She rails against the lack of funding for research into cancers such as hers, and bemoans the lack of experimental treatments in the US. Yet it does not register with her that her wealth and fame, which afford her private jets to Germany and an international team of doctors, are unavailable to the vast majority of cancer sufferers, and that, if not for her station in life, she would not have had extra time. She does not seem to wrestle, at all, with the notion that there may be some experiences best kept private, that the unintended consequences of oversharing can be a cheapening and coarsening of the most meaningful moments. Towards the end of the documentary, Fawcett and O'Neal's young son, Redmond, is ushered to his mother's deathbed. He is in leg shackles and wearing a jumpsuit emblazoned with the LA County Jail logo, on an hours-long furlough to say goodbye to his mother. It is clear that the presence of camera crews does not seem weird to him, and this is one of the saddest things of all. He climbs into bed with her, whispering "Mommy? Mommy?" She does not recognize him. O'Neal squeezes himself into the shot. The night before "Farrah's Story" aired, 17.5 million people tuned into "Grey's Anatomy" to watch another beautiful blonde, this one a fictional character, die a morbidly glamorous death from brain cancer, cosseted by a besotted new husband and dreams of prom dresses and vacations on the beach. Fawcett's story, of course, is real, and it will be interesting to see how many Americans watched, and if the nation's attitudes towards death - really the last taboo - begin to change. Maybe death will be discussed more openly, or maybe most people will decide that it's too ghoulish, too voyeuristic, to watch a deathbed goodbye, to watch an American icon of youth and beauty waste away. In the end, this may be Farrah Fawcett's legacy, whether or not it was what she intended when asking her friend Stewart, as she was projectile vomiting: "Why aren't you filming this?" *********************************** * POST TO MEDIANEWS@ETSKYWARN.NET * *********************************** Medianews mailing list Medianews@etskywarn.net http://lists.etskywarn.net/mailman/listinfo/medianews
