[click picture]This makes me cry and cry, all over again. I cried and cried when somebody killed Haing S. Ngor, the guy who played him in the movie, The Killing Fields, too. Of course, these are nothing compared to how I cried when I saw the damn movie. Oh. My. God.
I was in L.A. visiting my friends in the business. I was out playing with a screenwriter friend that evening. I'd borrowed another friend's shiny Porsche to go out goofing with her. Picked her up in the afternoon and we went to the beauty parlor together, which is a scream because there was no beautifying me with my very long straight hair, and so they were trying to get makeup on me to make up for it. They ended up settling for mascara and fingernail polish because the rest of it just made me laugh or wail. So, Suzanne looked like a million bucks, and I looked like me... with black eyes. No matter. I was dressed in something brand new and very, very chic... and driving Herman's Porsche... plenty ritzy to go out for an ultraburger before we caught the movie at the Screenwriters' Guild. We chatted happily before the movie, while Dolly Parton held court with a bunch of swarthy Italians at the next table, and we kept chatting happily, so droll and intellectual, all the way in to our comfy seats in that exclusive theater.
Then they showed the movie.
We left the theater looking like someone had thrown buckets of sea water over us we'd been crying so hard. There were huge black streaks running down my cheeks and I felt like the biggest spoiled rotten brat ever born. Suzanne and I decided that the only decent thing to do was to call it a night and go home and cry ourselves to sleep. And that's what we did.
If you have never seen that movie, shame on you. It's a true story.
Ever wonder why I carry on like this about the people across the globe whose lives we are ruining?
Watch that movie.
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