You know what the world needs to take our minds off of the crushing economic depression and the ever-widening divide between the haves and have-nots? A very public, bitter, acrimonious celebrity divorce. Thank you, Madge and Guy! (Also, when exactly did Madonna transform into a flesh-colored skeleton?)
It’s kicking off to a promising start: She called him “emotionally retarded” to a small gathering of a few thousand fans; he compared having sex with her to “cuddling a piece of gristle”. Well, he does kind of have a point.
To add spice to the delicious stew of public humiliation, there are accusations of stalking; that weird thing with A-Rod (complete with Madonna dressing son David in a Yankees jersey with A-Rod’s number in order to get Guy’s goat), who’s allegedly studying Kabbalah while he lurks offstage; Guy talking smack about Kabbalah; the fact that there’s no pre-nup; and Gwyneth Paltrow’s insistence on sticking her enormous lollipop head in the middle of the whole thing. What the hell? It’s not 1998, Gwynnie. No one cares what you have to say about anything. Go back to doing what you do best: Giving your children retarded names and chastising the unwashed masses for not having individual nannies for each of them.
Oh, and they both had movies released this month, and both of them are stinking up the joint. (When I saw the trailer for Filth and Wisdom, Madonna’s directorial debut, my initial reaction was “Why is Madonna directing the Dov Charney biopic?”) It’s like Madonna somehow sucked all the talent out of Guy Ritchie without managing to absorb any of it.
The only thing that keeps me from thoroughly enjoying this trainwreck is Lourdes, who I kind of have soft spot for. She’s like Madonna v. 0.1; before decades of fame, gallons of bleach and eyebrow wax, about 25,000 hours too many of working out, macrobiotic diets and bad marriages and insane faux religions thoroughly screwed her up.
