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John Waters comes up with the goods again

Posted: Tue Dec 11, 2007 11:53 pm
by andrew
I really wasn't sure where to put this but I felt I had to share it with you all....

Selected highlights from the John Waters eulogy for Katy French in the Irish Times yesterday:

After a brief introduction, in which he explains that he once said hello to Katy French backstage at the Late Late Show, Waters gets down to business:

She had a beauty that suggested itself as emanating from an infinity within. She seemed to believe anything was possible and her smile convinced you, for an instant, that she was right. I wanted her dreams to come true. She was a child. She was my daughter and Eoghan's daughter and Eamon's daughter and Pat's daughter and Bertie's daughter. She was your daughter, your little sister. She was a child of Ireland in the time of its rebirth.

Katy French was a personification of our fantasies, of our sense of what we were becoming, of how we might unfold ourselves. She was not the only one, but in the immediate past was perhaps the most spectacular light on the skyline, a meteorite of desire plummeting through the Irish zeitgeist… Katy had found a way of being that promised her it could slake all her human cravings. She had manoeuvred herself into a position where everything humanly desirable seemed to be within reach, and was careering forward on the path opening up in front of her. She did not, other than literally, die of whatever it will say on her death certificate. She died of desire, of being utterly human.

As Pope Benedict reminds us in his new encyclical, we have no idea what we would really like. "We do not know this reality at all; even in those moments when we think we can reach out and touch it, it eludes us." All we know is that it is not what we have. God is a concept by which we measure our longings. I'll say it again. God is a concept by which we measure our longings. As Katy did not comprehend the limits of her human capacity to pursue her angelic yearnings, neither, anymore, do the rest of us… And so, dear friends, we'll just have to think it up all over again. The dream is over. Our daughter Katy is dead… The dream is over .

Words fail me....as I suppose they clearly failed John Waters many years ago

Re: John Waters comes up with the goods again

Posted: Wed Dec 12, 2007 12:39 am
by Martha
andrew wrote:
Words fail me....as I suppose they clearly failed John Waters many years ago
Looks like John Waters snorted one line too much himself, when writing this eulogy for Katy French....

Posted: Wed Dec 12, 2007 11:43 am
by bipedalhumanoid
You should have heard George Hook giving him hell last night on Newstalk. He had a go at Bertie for sending a representative to KF's funeral... calling it elitist and had a go at the media (and waters in particular) for their handling of the whole thing.

I agree with everything he said. The media have shown that they look after their mates on this one. They've been very slow and carefull to report the fact that she was using a class A drug in a respectfull manner (if at all)... something not offered the boys in waterford who died in the same way. And then there's John Waters' rant.

Re: John Waters comes up with the goods again

Posted: Wed Dec 12, 2007 11:32 pm
by FXR
andrew wrote:I really wasn't sure where to put this but I felt I had to share it with you all....

Selected highlights from the John Waters eulogy for Katy French in the Irish Times yesterday:

After a brief introduction, in which he explains that he once said hello to Katy French (and has been pullin' his plum ever since) backstage at the Late Late Show, Waters gets down to business:

She had a beauty that suggested itself as emanating from an infinity within. (In other words she had big tits) She seemed to believe anything was possible (she was rabidly ambitious) and her smile convinced you, for an instant, that she was right. I wanted her dreams to come true.(so did her pusher) She was a child.(is there something you want to tell us?) She was my daughter and Eoghan's daughter and Eamon's daughter and Pat's daughter and Bertie's daughter. (fuck! Her Ma really got around, will there be a DNA test?) She was your daughter,(don't drag me into your swingers club) your little sister.(now you'r really gettin weird, this is the immaculate conception gone nuclear) She was a child of Ireland in the time of its rebirth (as an upperclass drug lake).

Katy French was a personification of our fantasies, (So your were jerking off on her photo?) of our sense of what we were becoming,(drug heads?) of how we might unfold ourselves. (How the hell does anyone "unfold themselves"?. What kind of sexual gymnastics are you up to) She was not the only one, (so sales of coke have not been affected) but in the immediate past was perhaps the most spectacular light on the skyline, (if you lay on your back after mainlining) a meteorite of desire plummeting through the Irish zeitgeist (and landing in a grave after an autopsy) Katy had found a way of being that promised her it could slake all her human cravings. (Is that a fancy way of saying she was a drug addict?) She had manoeuvred herself into a position where everything humanly desirable seemed to be within reach,(I'd say that night was well worth the call out charge) and was careering forward on the path opening up in front of her.(a fancy way of saying she fell on her face) She did not, other than literally,(are we talking alternative reality here) die of whatever it will say on her death certificate. (Are you alleging a cover up?)She died of desire, (So the cocktail of drugs had bugger all to do with it then)of being utterly human. (as opposed to those other two poor idiots who were just coke heads who OD.)
As Pope Benedict (real name Herr Joey Ratzinger a notorious anti-human) reminds us in his new encyclical, (which we have been up all night reading, my bollocks) we have no idea what we would really like. (ahem I do, I'd like Herr Ratzinger to fuck off and join his predecessors) "We do not know this reality at all ( Hello! is this coming from the twat who said the fires of hell are real?); even in those moments when we think we can reach out and touch it, (cue music, cue slow motion shadowy figure on horizon) it eludes us." (Not if its your knob) All we know is that it is not what we have. (well there would'nt be much point in longing for something you already had, would there now) God is a concept by which we measure our longings. (Oh Oh Now the gawd thing is retreating to a mere concept) I'll say it again. God is a concept by which we measure our longings. (I'll say it again: Oh Oh Now the gawd thing is retreating to a mere concept) As Katy did not comprehend the limits of her human capacity (which is why she was shovelling kilos of drugs into herself) to pursue her angelic yearnings,(apparently she thought doing industrial amounts of drugs would help her grow wings) neither, anymore, do the rest of us…(speak for yourself you fuckin wanker) And so, dear friends, (don't be presumptious) we'll just have to think it up all over again. (No we won't: from the minute she died every minor nobody with tits and a modeling ambition was on the bandwagon milking it and hoping to replace her in Assets) The dream is over. (About time you fuckin woke up) Our daughter Katy is dead ((Give it over, her real Dad is staring at ya, don't you have kids of your own?)… The dream is over. (About time you fuckin' woke up, again)

Words fail me. ...as I suppose they clearly failed John Waters many years ago
I fell like opening a few beers: must be my bleedin angelic yearnings....

Posted: Thu Dec 13, 2007 10:22 pm
by adamd164
Yet again, Waters's vast, yet ridiculously unimpressive, linguistic armoury is hung on the washing line for all to see... "beauty emanating from an infinity within"..."personification of our fantasies"..."spectacular light on the skyline"... "angelic yearnings".

Surely, some day, he will just stop and think to himself "hold on a minute, what the f*ck am I on about?!". Surely... :?

Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2007 12:05 pm
by micfur
That was really cringe worthy from Waters. I wouldn't be as hard on him generally as others might but I can certainly see where they are coming from. He did another article a while back on Italy. He must have spent a few weeks there recently and was banging on about how stylish they were and he was going to make a big effort to dress as well as he can from now on. YIKES!

I guess it is the downfall of being a columnist, you put your thoughts out there for the world to see. Probably few of us would coming back smelling of roses were we to do the same on a regular basis.

Here is Kevin Myers take on the whole thing. He is another man who can blow hot and cold. On this occasion he did well in my opinion.


Irish Independent 12th December 2007:

Well, I suppose the presence of the Taoiseach's aide de camp at the funeral of poor Katy French finally puts an official endorsement on celebrity culture in Ireland, though, in all truth, I had never heard of the girl until shortly before her death.

I first registered her existence when reading a nasty, sneering piece in one newspaper about how no-one of note had turned up at her birthday party (what delightful people we journalists can sometimes be, and what a story to be able put on your CV). Next the girl was dead: and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest, Katy.

Many observers have often remarked upon the Irish characteristic of imitating other cultures, both shamelessly and badly.

Cross-channel television formats are copied, almost as if the derivative Irish versions were entirely new and original, though the qualities which usually distinguish them are amateurishness, ineptitude and inaccuracy.

This degrading business of copying like ill-bred monkeys is not new: the hideous showbands of yesteryear attempted to be what they were not -- Nashville, Elvis, even the Beatles. Sad, pathetic stuff, yet it is so common in Irish life that one can only presume it is actually part of the national character.

So, of course, we emulated celebrity culture when it arrived, though we didn't have the raw product, and in the absence of the real thing, we even turned a solicitor to the "stars" -- or rather the fool's gold that masquerades as such -- into a celebrity.

Utter non-entities became famous merely because the media said they were famous, when they simply weren't. It was post-colonial mimicry at its most embarrassing. Yet, with the Katy French phenomenon, we got a genuinely new and very Irish slant on celebrity culture. The poor girl only became a national figure for being on the verge of death and then dying.

Thus, once again, we got an Irish solution to an Irish problem -- from Wolfe Tone to Patrick Pearse, from Terence McSwiney to Bobby Sands, and once again unleashing a convulsion of hysteria.

But this time, the hysteria hasn't been in the streets, but solely in the media. Katy French was invented by the print media; celebrated in life in the same media -- though in a way which escaped my attention entirely; was turned into an object of acidulous media scorn towards the end of her days; took some drugs; hovered on the verge of death, to the intense satisfaction of some journalists; and, like the good girl she was, then did what was expected of her, and died.

But now it was the media imitating what they expected the plain people of Ireland would be doing; only they weren't. They were sorry for the girl, to be sure, and rightly, and felt for her family, as they should.

They also felt for the families of the Waterford lads, Kevin Doyle and John Grey, who apparently died of similar causes. But around where I live, the talk wasn't so much of Katy French but of Tracy O'Brien, who was seven-months pregnant in her 4 x 4 when she was hit and killed around the same time Katy died. A caesarean did not save her baby, and on Monday, he, baptised Cameron, was buried in her young arms.

And so her husband, David O'Brien -- an officer in the Army of this Republic, than which there is no higher calling for an Irishman -- must make sense of this world, after the greatest catastrophe that can befall a man. And of course, he cannot.

A week ago he was a proud and loving soldier-husband and about to be a father; now he is a childless widower, and outside the ranks of the Army, and rural Ireland, his tragedy is largely unknown. Dublin-based journalists may prattle about poor Katy (see pages 5,6,7 & 8 et cetera) but in terms of human catastrophe, the instant deaths of Tracy O'Brien and her unborn baby are far more shocking and tragic. But it doesn't make such lurid copy.

Moreover, one gets the pungent whiff of desperation in all this. Newspaper circulations are declining everywhere, and few people under 30 read newspapers, either broadsheet or tabloid, at all.

So the "Katy" phenomenon only becomes really explicable in the context of a newspaper war in a declining market. There are too many titles chasing too few readers: the result is a downward spiral in taste and decency.

That being the case, we must brace ourselves for more Katy Frenches, though it is unlikely any will fit the requirements of the tabloids as she did so perfectly: beautiful, young, glamorous and thoughtful enough to give the tabloid-media all they wanted -- a drug-related tragic end, with the kind of protracted death-bed drama that our beloved carrion-devourers prefer.

From vultures, we can only expect beak and claw. Similarly, from the Government, surely, while drugs remain illegal, we might expect a single clear message on the subject.

But if the Taoiseach continues to send his ADC to the funerals of high-profile drugs-users, what possible chance of success has any government campaign against cocaine consumption?

Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2007 8:26 pm
by FXR
I think you're right there Mic, for once he hit the nail on the head.

Posted: Tue Dec 18, 2007 4:56 pm
by Stublore
But if the Taoiseach continues to send his ADC to the funerals of high-profile drugs-users, what possible chance of success has any government campaign against cocaine consumption?
How sad but true.

Posted: Tue Dec 18, 2007 8:34 pm
by bipedalhumanoid
adamd164 wrote:Yet again, Waters's vast, yet ridiculously unimpressive, linguistic armoury is hung on the washing line for all to see... "beauty emanating from an infinity within"..."personification of our fantasies"..."spectacular light on the skyline"... "angelic yearnings".

Surely, some day, he will just stop and think to himself "hold on a minute, what the f*ck am I on about?!". Surely... :?
Not sure how old he is but he strikes me as a victim of the 60s. His ramblings could be the result of a purple haze.