Junk You Watch During a Pandemic

And, trust me when I say this...Ryan Murphy's Netflix mini-series "Hollywood" is junk.   Garbage.  Trash.   And not the kind you call a guilty pleasure.   After four episodes, I was looking for the hand sanitizer.   And the eye and ear sanitizer as well.   It's that bad.  I called it quits after Episode 4.

But, what were we expecting?   It's Ryan Murphy, the new king of Hollywood schlock.  And somebody who doesn't have a single creative thought in his head.  Indeed, I have heard from more than one person that Murphy pretty much steals ideas at random.   He's the Milton Berle of the one-hour drama.   In the case of "Hollywood," the whole series is blatantly ripped off from a documentary of just two or three years ago.   "Scotty and the Secret History of Hollywood."  I saw it myself.

Scotty Bowers was this Hollywood guy from the 40s and 50s who owned a gas station in town.   That was essentially a front as the service station employed young gay men who would hop in the cars of some notable and closeted Hollywood stars for an evening of...whatever.   

So Murphy basically does the same thing here.  There's a gas station.   There is a gas station owner.   There are lots of young gay employees.   And ultimately some very graphic gay porn.   As the scenes unfolded, I could picture Murphy sitting in the director's chair with a box of tissue.  It is gratuitous and plentiful.  Murphy's view of Hollywood in the late 40s was that the town was one big gay orgy at director George Cukor's house.   Indeed, you see scenes set at just that very location.

There's a host of stories that accompany the sex.   The would-be screenwriter. A couple of would-be actors...some straight, some gay.   All apparently willing to sell their bodies for the next big part...no pun intended.  And, of course, because it is 2020 and Murphy is super liberal, we have some African-Americans woven through the plots as quotas needed to be achieved.

To make this a bit more authentic, a few real people are peppered in amongst the characters.   A young Rock Hudson.  A perverted Tallulah Bankhead.   None of these folks are still with us, so defamation of character law suits are unlikely.  But that's part of Ryan Murphy's "creative" process.   He picks the carcasses of some Hollywood legends and tries to call it art.   He's already done one mini-series about the feud between Bette Davis and Joan Crawford.   This is just an extension of that cat fight, except with guys.

Again, because this is Ryan Murphy, some of his liberal cohorts show up in supporting roles.   The likes of Patti LuPone and Rob Reiner who will have reached that point in their careers where they are just happy to be cast in anything.

Surprisingly, the most embarrassing and offensive performance in "Hollywood" is offered by Jim Parsons as a mincing and nasty Hollywood agent.   There's not a single nuance or subtle touch in his performance.   After seeing Parsons' virtually criminal appearance in this, I am thinking he better ride this Sheldon Cooper business model as long as he can.   His range is as limited as the eye in a sewing needle.

Don't get me wrong.   I think there are probably some fascinating stories to be made about Hollywood in that era.  And, yes, you could deal with those actors who were unfortunately in the closet.   But those stories can't be told by the heavy-handed Ryan Murphy who uses a sledge hammer in everything he does.

More importantly, this is all a disservice to the normal and hard working gay actor who defines his or her careers with their talents and not their prowess in bed.

When looking for junk to watch during the pandemic, avoid "Hollywood."  There must be a sewer back-up in your neighborhood that is more entertaining.

Dinner last night:  The last of the chicken cacciatore.