Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before: Hollywood, Desperation and Pathetic Grasps at Youth
Well, at a certain point, Demi Moore became that kid's mom.
If you've been following this story at all, you know the gist. Here are the high-level bullet points:
- Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher announce their split after months of rumors, generally placing blame on Kutcher's ceaseless quest for a younger sperm receptacle.
- Post-split, stories flew alleging an "open marriage" and threesomes and place blame on Demi. It is assumed (by me, at least) that these rumors come from the newly steadily employed camp of Asthon Kutcher.
- Demi Moore, in public appearances following said split, turns into Skeletor.
- Last Monday, Demi Moore was rushed to the hospital for some manner of substance abuse. Her rep said, "Because of the stresses in her life right now, Demi has chosen to seek professional assistance to treat her exhaustion and improve her overall health."
- Initial rumors have her being treated for anorexia.
- Said substance abuse is reported as being whip-its.
- Additional said substance abuse is later reported to include K2 spice, a fake weed situation.
- We learn that she may have been using Red Bull as a meal replacement.
- Stories keep coming out that Moore spent her weeks prior to this incident trying to bang Zac Efron and partying with her daughter, Rumer.
So that should about bring you up to speed. Well, up to speed with what we know/have heard. It probably isn't the full story, because celebrities don't get put away with an "exhaustion" stamp unless it's something publicists can't or won't admit to, which usually means it's either illegal or reputation-damaging, and, while whip-its and fake weed aren't exactly the pinnacle of elegance, one would imagine there's at least an element or two we're not hearing about. Which is fine. We shouldn't be hearing most of this, particularly her 911 tapes, but public record is public record and TMZ is the devil.
That said, what we know/have heard, assuming it's the truth, paints a picture. And I'm having trouble deciding whether or not that picture is sad or sad. Sick or just pathetic.
Because, with the exception of all the walking on sunshine, this isn't particularly surprising. Demi Moore, since somewhere around Striptease, has gone from genuine star to a generously appointed B-lister, one for whom getting work seems to be a challenge, not just because it's harder out there for "women of a certain age" but because she's done so much and spent so much money not to look like that aforementioned certain age. What do you do with a woman who is in her 40s and looks the way that she does? Yes, her work was completed with a more skillful hand than some of her peers, but how has that worked out for her?
So, the question becomes this: why can't stars just grow up?
Please note the very pointed use of the term "stars." Because that's the issue. This doesn't tend happen as often with "actors," people for whom the work is what matters, and who age at least somewhat gracefully, whatever the Hollywood version of graceful might be (light Botox, boob lift, no fillers?). Rather, it happens mostly to performers who outgrew the public's love for them, or those who can't seem to find their foothold. People we just got over, or still struggle with getting under. And because famous people are bottomless pits of need and insecurity, something in them said "it's because of the way I look" so they tried to fix it.
So, when Demi Moore, a genuine star, began her fade somewhere around the mid-'90s, perhaps due to poor project choices, or simply due to the fickle interests of the public, she attempted to fix things by shoving some saline sacks into her body and stripping in a movie. Fine, it happened, it didn't work out, sacks got removed, whatever. Then she took a break, and came back revitalized in Charlie's Angels 2, with this ridiculous body that put her younger co-stars to shame. That didn't work out either. She married a younger man, made some largely ignored movies and then her marriage completely implodes on the covers of Star Magazine, and every story is about her husband wanting something younger. Countless surgeries and millions of dollars, and you still can't actually turn back the clock. What kind of life is that? Can you really trick yourself, even for a moment, that it's worked? What do you do when it doesn't?
Apparently, whip-its and K2. Hell, it's not like I had a better answer.
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