Look what the homosexuals have done to me!

Tag: Bernadette Peters

Bernadette Peters’ Lesbian Turn in Bobbie’s Girl

Bobbie's Girl screen cap of Bernadette Peters crying
Rachel Ward and Bernadette Peters contend with cancer in Bobbie’s Girl.

Having Bernadette Peters as your whimsical lesbian aunt sounds great on paper, but Bobbie’s Girl might make you rethink that. Here her whimsy is such that it can’t be contained even as she tells her 10-year-old nephew his parents are dead. Addressing Alan (Thomas Brodie-Sangster) in the headmaster’s office of his boarding school, her Bailey Lewis somberly informs him “There’s been an accident.”

That’s as far as screenwriter Samuel Bernstein lets her get before she launches into one of her scatterbrained digressions. “That sounds funny, like some old mystery drama,” she babbles without awareness as a child, his life now changed forever, stares at her. They’ve never met before and her impulse is to play his parents’ death for yuks. Then she lets him drive her home since she’s a disaster behind the wheel.

Home is the Two Sisters bar in Ireland, owned by Bailey and her longtime partner Bobbie Langham (Rachel Ward). Bobbie is Alan’s biological aunt, who by her own admission never met him or gave his existence any thought. As Alan takes in the merry karaoke scene at the bar, Bailey broaches the subject of Bobbie’s brother and is again inexplicably tone-deaf.

No, No, Thanksgiving Didn’t Kill Me

For no reason whatsoever, Steve Martin and Bernadette Peters dancing in The Jerk.

Neither did an evil fetus, if you thought that was a possibility. I’ve just been busy lately, as everyone is this time of year, and unfortunately (or perhaps very fortunately, depending on how you look at it) it has kept me from posting all manner of nonsense here.

You can imagine the mental anguish this caused when, the week before last, I read that Miranda Richardson — who still hasn’t called me, I’m sad to report — apparently expressed her desire to play a Calamity Jane type role in a Western-themed hypothetical fifth season of Blackadder. (If you guessed my response was going to involve some kind of speculation that Richardson might have sung “Secret Love” to an audience of pillows in her bedroom once or twice during her formative years, you know me all too well.)

Or the way my fingers have itched to write, enthusiastically and at great length, horrible things about Mike Huckabee every time he opens his yap about “the gays” and violence and our terrible oppression of Christians and whatnot. (If you guessed my response was going to involve some kind of link to this photo of his family, you — well, you know the rest.) It has been exasperating to me that I haven’t had time for any of that.

Hopefully I’ll be back to making all of you roll your eyes and murmur, “Christ, what an idiot,” within the next few days. Until then, I leave you with one of the greatest clips in the history of movies. Nary a week goes by that I don’t find the opportunity to work “Is this the Cocksucker residence?” or “Listen to your filthy mouth, you fucking whore!” into a conversation. Preferably with my grandma.

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