A princess was born and died in LA LA Land. And made us laugh...and think...along the way.
It was Carrie Fisher we always wanted to watch the Oscars with because it was Carrie Fisher who managed, simultaneously, to care deeply about Hollywood while at the same time not really caring too much at all. That was her secret. As one might regard one’s own family—or Carrie Fisher’s famous family—as equal parts revolting and inviolable, midway on the spectrum of human dignity that spans John Waters and Tolstoy, we ought to regard the Oscar enterprise and all it entails with Fisher’s brand of play. In so much of what she wrote and said, she seemed to convey, I know Hollywood is only a game, but it’s a game I love, a necessary attitude to adopt if one is to survive the movie business with any kind of well-being.
That’s not a word typically associated with Fisher, but take a look at any one of her interviews and you’ll find she was, like Yossarian in Catch-22, wholly underrated in the sanity department, laughing up deep reserves of revulsion and amusement, Stage Manager emeritus of our Our Town, and making a lot of sense. But don’t kid yourself; if Carrie made sense, it was only because she pointed out where her world, Hollywood, didn’t. And so, while some may comfort themselves thinking it was right, somehow, that one day after Fisher died, her mother followed, I never will. It makes absolutely no sense to me.
PHOTOGRAPHY BY (CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT) JERRITT CLARK/GETTY IMAGES; SUNSET BOULEVARD/CORBIS VIA GETTY IMAGES; ROBIN PLATZER/IMAGES/GETTY IMAGES; RON GALELLA/WIREIMAGE; KEVIN MAZUR/WIREIMAGE; KEYSTONE/GETTY IMAGES; EXPRESS/ARCHIVE PHOTOS/GETTY IMAGES; CHARLEY GALLAY/WIREIMAGE