A train wreck that will inevitably lead to a ratings wreck.
Given all the world changing events in the news this week, I have decided to address the most important one: the catastrophic return to the air of Fashion Police.
What were you thinking, Melissa? Obviously no one can replace your mother, Joan Rivers. But Kathy Griffin???!!! Pullease!
The great thing about Joan Rivers was that she was an equal opportunity offender. Nobody was not a potential target. She never (or rarely) dragged politics onto the set. Why we could stomach the occasional unfair shot at Sarah Palin, for example. It was only occasional. We’ve learned, since her death, that Joan was actually pretty conservative. Perhaps the reason for her take no prisoners approach to comedy. She was bawdy, frequently crude, and yet impossible to classify as anything but funny. And, as befits a show about fashion, she was keenly aware of fashion and passionate about what was the good and the bad of it.
Kathy Griffin is the opposite of all this. She’s mean without the redemptive quality of being universal. Because most of her shots at humor have political roots. She’s ostentatiously leftist, feminist, pro-abortion, pro-LGBT, and merciless about attacking everyone whose politics don’t suit her. She’s not a comedian at all. She’s a “look at me” monologist who’s made a career out of irrational resentments and inexplicable personal grievances. She is not, like great comedians are, an observer but a shrieking victim of her own stupid biases and behaviors. For her that’s where the laughs are. And she’s a slob who knows squat about fashion.
No doubt Joan liked Griffin because everyone likes heirs to paths they pioneered. Joan made it okay for a female comic to be edgy and vulgar. But some heirs are bastards and not worthy of the name. With Griffin at the helm, Fashion Police will rot into an ETV version of The View, a barely disguised propaganda tool of progressive hatefulness.
It’s tempting to make some kind of racial point here. The contrast between a polished Manhattan jewess and a rude, raw-boned Irish tramp. But as soon as my mind went there, I bethought myself of Dylan Moran, who could be described in exactly the same terms I just used, except that he, exactly like Joan Rivers, is just plain funny. If he knew or cared about fashion, I’d pick him in a heartbeat to replace the irreplaceable Joan.
Of course, Dylan Moran is probably either drunk or unavailable or both. Which leaves us with the problem of how to replace Joan Rivers and save Fashion Police.
My nomination is Stacey London, late of “What Not to Wear.” Nobody knows more about fashion, and she’s feisty to a fare-thee-well. No standup comic, but let’s not forget the immense Dewey Decimal style catalogs of Joan Rivers jokes, the army of writers left behind by the great lady, and the screen presence Stacey brings to the table. Could she make vagina jokes and get away with it? She could, to a certainty.
Melissa. Honey. Listen to your audience. We fans of Fashion Police do not want a vicious banshee sitting in your mother’s chair. We want a shrewd, clever, irreverent woman who knows the ins and outs of every clothing store, boutique, and designer in New York and Los Angeles. We can get politics and causes anywhere. The Fashion Police have a unique and limited jurisdiction. Long may they rule on their chosen beat.
They won’t rule long with the likes of Kathy Griffin.
Ignore my advice at your own peril. Not happy with you at the moment, Melissa. Sorry.