When I saw Howard Stern on your cover, I knew there would be a great article on the King of All Media. Howard may offend a lot of America, but at least he says what’s on his mind. He knows what the audience wants to hear, and he delivers. Stern is no dummy, either, or he would have taken the first idiotic script that came along. Instead, he waited for a script that would win over some of those who hated him.
Hey, Howard, if all it takes to be the King of All Media is to belittle people and make jokes about sex and bodily functions, count me in! I wish someone had told me earlier that I could be rich and famous if I just told the same jokes my friends and I did in my tree house when we were kids.
Thank you for the article on the elusive Van Morrison. Van’s music has given me many hours of great listening enjoyment. He is truly an icon among icons in the music world. I just wish my music money could keep up with his music productiveness. Long live Van Morrison!
KEVIN HARRIS email@example.com
As someone who is neither black nor white, I found the article on the race question very interesting, although the piece seems like it is confusing two separate issues — who has the ”right” to tell a racial story, and the entertainment value of doing so. The fact that black and white filmmakers are arguing over these issues seems to be a good sign. All events, regardless of race, have to be told from the filmmakers’ point of view, simply because film demands subjectivity. What seems most important is that filmmakers are continuing to make these films, and to explore and discuss these issues.
When John Singleton and others say only blacks can convincingly direct black stories, they are also saying hetero Mike Nichols, male Herbert Ross, and white Richard Attenborough had no right to direct The Birdcage, Steel Magnolias, and Gandhi, respectively. Maybe Singleton & Co. would like to go one step further and ban Orson Welles’ Othello.
Black directors, white directors; black experience, white experience…. How sad that we cannot see it as human directors making movies about the human experience.
Xena is an icon for the ’90s on and off the screen. When some jerk cuts me off on the freeway, I don’t get angry. I envision Xena, somersaulting and war-whooping down from an overpass. Landing on the hood of his car, she raises her chakram, looks him square in the eye, and says with smirking disgust, ”Hey pal, where’s the fire?”
Santa Monica, Calif.