Facebook users have doubtless spotted startling
notifications on the right-hand margin. Here’s one sample: “We Say A Sad And
Somber ‘Goodbye’ To The Wonderful Betty White . . . BREAKING NEWS . . . Betty
Is Gone.” There’s a pensive photo of White too, strongly implying that the 93-year-old comedy star has suddenly gone to her eternal reward. Staunch Betty
White fans will doubtless click on the accompanying link, only to find that
this is a sneaky ad for some kind of skincare miracle-product. I admit I’ve
succumbed to my curiosity and checked out a similar link connected with the
wonderful (and not very young) Judi Dench.
It’s amazing what we’ll do when we’re lured in by news of
dead and dying celebrities.
My mind is so boggled by the carnage of the past week that I
can barely focus on the conventional life cycle, from which people depart at an
appropriately advanced age. There’s a lot of that in Hollywood movies, often
featuring touching deathbed scenes that are far too sanitized to resemble
actual life. But Hollywood’s fascination with death also extends to the bizarre
and the gruesome demise. When I worked for Roger Corman, we took great pains to
pump up the gore in our movies and suggest it on our posters. For some folks a
film where no life hangs in the balance is simply not worth watching.
There are even movies where the phenomenon of death and
dying becomes its own sort of dark comedy. Quentin Tarantino films like Pulp Fiction know how to walk the fine
line between death as tragic and death as funny. But I’m thinking more of the
1971 cult favorite, Harold and Maude,
in which an unhappy young man plays at suicide and a wise elderly woman shows
him the meaning of life—and death. (They meet because both have the hobby of
attending funerals.) And I’m particularly thinking of The Loved One , the outrageous 1965 satire (based on Evelyn Waugh’s
novel) of Southern California’s extravagant funeral industry Even a simple
listing of the cast of supporting characters—Jonathan Winters, Milton Berle,
John Gielgud, Tab Hunter, and Liberace—hints at the skewed perspective in this
film. It has just had a major fiftieth-anniversary showing at Hollywood’s Egyptian Theatre, sponsored by the American Cinematheque along with the Los
Angeles Conservancy’s committee on modernist architecture, which appreciates
how this film features L.A.’s urban landscape on-screen.
It’s all too easy to think about dying these days. But I’ve
also been giving some thought to conventional funerals after attending a simple
but dignified send-off for a friend’s elderly mother. It took place at Hillside
Memorial Park, a freeway-close cemetery that many Angelenos spot on their way
to Los Angeles International Airport. What first catches the eye is a lofty
cupola and fountain dedicated to the memory of Al Jolson. There’s also a statue
of Jolson down on one knee in a characteristic pose. It’s all very Hollywood,
which is apt because many stars of Jewish Hollywood are buried here. Hillside
dates from the era where Jews, even famous ones, weren’t welcome in mainstream
cemeteries, like the legendary Forest Lawn. At Hillside they’re buried in
style, with many of the most celebrated interred inside a massive mausoleum,
complete with marble benches and stained glass windows. On a quick stroll I saw
the final resting places of comedians Eddie Cantor, George Jessel, and Jack
Benny (who, despite his tightwad reputation, rests in an imposing crypt). There
are younger celebrities too. One who surprised me was David Janssen, known for
TV’s The Fugitive. Who knew?
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| Al Jolson Memorial, Hillside Memorial Park |
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| Al Jolson Statue |
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