The truth about 2024 – part 3
Brooklyn. Bonking. Box. Bennifer. Brother.
In the final Mood Ring roundup of 2024, seven pop culture events I couldn't help but cast my eye over on The truth about everything* – the paywall has been removed (for a short while) on every linked post, some of which for the very first time! Enjoy!
Part 2 – Bang. Brat. Rat. Hippo. Trio. Who? READ NOW
Part 1 – Wonka. Wicked. Wet. Winning. W•nker. READ NOW
BROOKLYN
From photographer to model to chef to sommelier to air-fryer enthusiast to fully paid-up wife guy and, at time of writing, proud figurehead of a new range of sauces: Brooklyn Beckham is a constant source of fascination, despite all his attempts to the contrary.
Much like the children of mummy and daddy influencers, baby Brooklyn had no agency, carried into the middle of pitch celebrations after cup finals, hoisted on stage during music concerts, and scooped up into blacked-out jeeps while cameras flashed and paparazzi jeered. You cannot accuse Brooklyn of craving fame; he possesses it whether he likes it or not, and however misguided and myopic his projects as an adult have been, they suggest he is at least trying to make sense of the fame thrust upon him, perhaps even give it meaning, or value. This presents a problem: there’s no doubting his parents’ work ethic, but what’s left for you to achieve once your mum and dad have slogged away so you want for nothing?
Watching this video made for GQ, you quickly get a deeper understanding into what makes Brooklyn and his wife Nicola tick. In short: the real world has yet to present itself to them and if it did, it would likely destroy them:
If we resent Brooklyn for exploiting his connections to take up ridiculous pet projects, we must ask which career trajectory would be acceptable? What else are people like this supposed to do? Get jobs in Five Guys? Would you want them in your office, doing a coffee run? Brooklyn would 100% forget your sweeteners.
READ MY (SYMPATHETIC BUT MIDLY SCATHING) REPORT ON BROOKLYN
RIVALS
Jilly Cooper’s eighties bonkbuster Rivals was finally adapted for the big screen, and it would be fair to say that Disney threw a fair few quid behind the production. The ridiculous romp was packed with stars – from former Doctor Who David Tennant, to Poldark’s striptastic Aidan Turner and Danny Dyer, of Danny Dyer fame.
Set in the sexy, sassy, seedy underworld of… independent television franchises – likely a boardroom bloodbath back when the novel came out in 1988, despite seeming rather quaint now – the show had a launch campaign surpassed only by Wicked in length and lavishness. It also made an unlikely sex symbol of Danny Dyer, wearing the worst wig this side of Liberace’s storage unit after a serious leak, thanks to his wholesome affair with Katherine Parkinson, who played author Lizzie Vereker.
Perhaps the only scene that even bothered skirting realism was another character holding up a copy of Lizzie’s book and comparing her flattering author photo with her face, soundtracked by a deafening silence.
SNL
Often derided and dismissed, Saturday Night Live, US weekend institution for the last forty-nine years, is frequently unfunny to a near indefensible degree. Its sketches are at least one and a half minutes too long and the endings just… fizzle. It wrings a joke by the neck until it is dead, and delights in ignoring better ones. Some sketches arrive to internet bandwagons and memes weeks too late. The accent work is agony. Every third show, the musical guest is a white man in a lumberjack shirt with face tattoos.
And yet, it is still a force to be reckoned with and brilliant and lovable in its own way. As the show celebrated its 50th season, I investigated what actually makes SNL worth watching and why it’s better to take a risk that fails than never try.
My post about SNL was my most-read of the year and attracted the attention of quite a few Americans who were very mad at me and/or the show! (But some agreed too.)
CHRISTOPHER CICCONE
It’s easy to dismiss relatives of superstars as hangers-on and also-rans but Madonna’s brother Chris Ciccone, who died in October, more than earned his place in his sister’s lore and beyond.
Watching their relationship play out in the 1991 documentary Truth or Dare, filmed as Madonna toured the world with Blond Ambition the previous year, was fascinating to me. I grew up without brothers or sisters – they would come later, once I left home – and even though I didn't know it yet, I was gay like Christopher. There was a sense of intimacy, faith, and loyalty between them that I may not have experienced, but immediately understood.
It was quite brave of Madonna, in a way, to embrace having someone alongside her who knew everything about her, all the family secrets, a man who saw beneath the glamorous veneer. People you can trust act as searchlights, rooting out flaws and bad actors.
Madonna, a self-confessed control freak, needed an extra pair of eyes who had her back but would tell it to her straight – it makes perfect sense that those eyes would belong to another Ciccone.
READ MORE ABOUT CHRISTOPHER CICCONE
BENNIFER
Despite an enthusiastic cast, a committed team behind the scenes and legions of fans, Affleck and Lopez Productions announced that the starry sequel Bennifer 2: This Time They’re On Instagram was to close earlier than expected (by some). The company blames creative differences, clashes with sponsors Dunkin Donuts, poor reviews of the lead performances by Ben and Jen – from each other – and a failure to connect with a reworked plot that involved numerous social media posts. Insiders say a revival is not ‘an impossibility’. See you in 2040.
You have to wonder, at what point did they realise nostalgia ain’t what it used to be. When did the truth hit them, that they’d probably be better off as f•ck buddies? They forgot the golden rule of going back to the ex – nothing has changed but the date.
READ MORE ABOUT THE BENNIFER BREAKUP
THE BOX
We reached the end of a music television era in June when The Box was finally taken off life support. The Box ruled the nineties with its playlist that enthralled stoned students, bored stay-at-home parents, toddlers with impressive cognition and motor skills, and record company employees engaging in guerrilla marketing. The Box was the soundtrack to late nights with essays unwritten, to reclusive housemates stumbling out of their room in tatty boxers, being still up from the night before, overflowing ashtrays on our laps, the glug-glug-glug of vodka into the stolen pub glassware, or days off from college vegetating as the Backstreet Boys and the Spice Girls whirred past in a nonstop zoetrope flicker. In memory of The Box, I picked the videos I remembered most from my misspent salad days, including TLC, Barbie Girl, and Jimmy Ray, whoever that was.
READ MORE ABOUT THE SAD DEMISE OF THE BOX
CELEBRITY SATURDAYS
Your first thought when reading one of those ‘a day in the life of a celebrity’ columns should be either a) my goodness, how fascinating or b) my goodness, how regular and ordinary. The Telegraph’s ‘My Saturday’ column, however, has the poorest aim since I last drank five Kronenbourgs and decided to play darts, sailing past both targets. Instead we are treated to a terrifying amount of early morning workouts, bizarre sleep rituals, and shameless namedropping of whichever hokey fitness get collaboration they’ve slapped their name on.
Thank goodness, then, among all this wholesome calm and rigid routine, for Dame Joan Collins, a proper f•cking celebrity who behaves like the kind of famous person we all imagine i.e. Norma Desmond with a favourite amphetamine dealer only minutes away by Uber. “At 10am,” she says, “I’ll slip on my marabou-feather bed jacket and call down to whoever is in the house for scrambled eggs with caviar to be brought up.” YES JOAN. You can almost forgive her fondness for lunching with Piers Morgan and that voting pattern. Almost. But while she may be a Dame of the realm, Joanie has moments of realness. No weird nighttime rituals for her, oh no. “For 40 years I’ve been taking my make-up off with Nivea,” she says. “I use their £5.50 cleanser. I just put it on my face with a Kleenex and wipe it off with one.” A thrifty legend. Plus, she doesn’t plug her new book at all! A true star.
READ MY INVESTIGATION OF THE ‘MY SATURDAY’ COLUMN
Thank you, again, for reading me in 2024.
Agree with Margaret - your posts have been a highlight this year and I’ve shared them with so many people. ❤️
Justin your posts are always eagerly anticipated and enjoyed. Thank you