Richard Roeper Blog

Christina Raines, the young woman who at one point apparently believed Drew Peterson was the only man in the world for her, has returned the ring and moved out of his home. Her father called Bolingbrook police this morning to let them know she was moving out, and FIVE SQUAD CARS showed up. Peterson is telling the media his former fiance was upset by the “Nightline” feature last night; she’s saying she was going to move out anyway. Perhaps it was the mustache, or the 30-year age difference. Or maybe she took a closer look at Peterson’s batting average: four marriages, one wife dead, one missing and two who got the hell out. Kinda tough to examine that record and think, “I’m going to grow old with that man.” Well, older. When Christina’s 74, Drew would be well north of 100. (And presumably still dating.)

Meanwhile, this just in from the great Lynn Sweet of the Sun-Times (don’t miss her blog on the S-T web site):

I just chatted with Justin Herndon, one of the publicists who put together the media blitz for now former Gov. Blagojevich. The blitz did not prevent the Illinois State Senate from removing him from office on Thursday, but it did, Herndon told me, show his “personality” and people are interested in him.

While Blagojevich has nothing booked through the weekend, he may hit the shows again next week, Herndon said. Blagojevich still faces a federal criminal indictment on public corruption charges.

“There is a whole host of requests we have,” Herndon said. He said it was more than news shows; the late night outlets are interested.

Watch Ten Chick Flick Cliches That Are Not In “He’s Just Not That in Funny Videos  |  View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com

Just posted my take “New in Town” in the Review section.

For the first time in nearly a decade, I’ll be home for the Academy Awards—so I thought it’d be fun to host an Oscar viewing party and help a good cause.

Viewing party

To the surprise of absolutely no one, Rod Blagojevich’s Denial Tour ‘09 ended where it was always destined to end–with Blago still in the state of denial no but longer “leading” our state. To the end of his once-promising political career-this guy once had White House dreams–Blagojevich refused to directly address the most damning allegations against him.

It was a farcical week, beginning with the madness in New York and ending with the sadness in Springfield. (Sadness for the people of Illinois, that is. And yes, sadness for the downfall of a human being and the pain it has caused his family.) Blagojevich avoided the tough questions from Barbara Walters and Diane Sawyer; he filibustered on other shows. He talked about his children and how he and his wife bought a new puppy to help them get through these difficult times–as if those difficult times weren’t brought about by his own actions. He soaked up the media spotlight and seemed oblivious to the laughter and the jeers.

In Blagojevich’s final act as governor, he delivered a me-me-me speech. It was an utterly futile gesture. Now the veteran grinder Patrick Quinn is the governor of Illinois, and Blagojevich’s life is in tatters, with the worst yet to come.

When Blagojevich stepped outside his home at about 6:10 p.m. Thursday, it was as a private citizen. The former governor of Illinois. Blago ran throught the usual list of wondrous things he did for the citizens of Illinois. He was the Health Care Governor, the Wage-Raising Governor, the Education Governor. “I want to say to all of you, the people of Illinois…that I love the people of Illinois today now more than ever before…and the fight goes on…those simple values that they teach us in Sunday school, the Golden Rule…those are the things I’m going to keep fighting for, now that I’m in the private life…I haven’t let you down…” Some may differ with that, sir. Blago walked up the steps, then came back down, pulled a neighborhood kid into a photo op-and then launched into yet ANOTHER self-aggrandizing monologue about his accomplishments getting health care, creating jobs, etc., etc. “The fix was in from the very beginning…if they don’t allow you to bring witnesses…” blah blah blah.

He’s still giving a campaign speech.

What will we in the news/entertainment press do without Blago? Where will we get new material? The man was a fountain of fresh set-ups, day after day after day. From the New York Times to the “Tonight Show” to the Sun-Times, Blago was the go-to guy. Now what?

Never fear, this just in: Drew Peterson tells “Nightline” of his latest love, “She likes me, she likes me a lot. I’m a good guy.”

As the Tin Man falls, the Cowardly Lion rears his head. And the hits just keep on coming.

Of course NBC rejected—-not “banned,” rejected—-the PETA ad featuring scantily clad models going all Robin Quivers with various vegetables. Ten seconds into the spot, you knew it wouldn’t get past the gatekeepers. (PETA would have no trouble getting the ad aired in a number of European countries, which routinely run spots featuring nudity and innuendo.)

If NBC isn’t running the spot, how do I know about the content? Same way as you do—I watched the ad on the Internet. Most of the online news stories about the ad getting banned included an embedded video or a link to the spot in its entirety. By now, hundreds of thousands if not millions of people have watched it.

As usual, PETA knows exactly how to push the media buttons. Put a naked girl in a cage and plunk her down on a public street and BOOM, instant news coverage. Run ads of naked actresses telling us they’d rather go nude than wear fur, and POW, lots of attention. Produce an ad that is clearly beyond the boundaries of network sensibilities, let everyone know it’s been “banned,” and ZOW! You get your millions of dollars’ worth of exposure without spending anywhere near the money it would have cost to actually run the ad during the Super Bowl.

Brilliant.

Possible material for Blago to use for his big speech tomorrow:

This just in: Ill. Gov. Rod Blagojevich says he will end his boycott of his own impeachment trial and appear Thursday afternoon to make his case before lawmakers.

This could make for one of the most amazing and entertaining days in the history of Illinois political theater. Blagojevich will get 90 minutes to defend himself; House prosecutor David Ellis will get 60 minutes to hammer home the case against the governor. Under the rules that Blagojevich continually bitched about and misrepresented during his Denial Tour ‘09, Blago will NOT have to undergo cross-examination or take questions from the state senators who are keen to vote him out of office.

In other words, it’ll be 90 minutes of Blago-bustering. Will he quote Kipling, cite Gandhi, imitate Nixon, sing like Elvis, trot out the family’s new puppy, show off his souvenir cup from “The View,” discuss the most recent episode of “Lost”? Anything is possible! It promises to be one &$#! of a show.

Mr. Blago goes to Springfield

Last year, at the urging of the Sun-Times, I joined Facebook as a way to connect with readers and promote the column. I wrote a little profile, uploaded a few photos and started friending a few real friends before accepting friend requests from nice people that I’d never met in my life.

Now I have something like 3,650 friends. I know about 200 of them. The rest are folks that live in Croatia, Venezuela, Los Angeles, Pittsburgh, Chicago and dozens of other places. Lovely, funny, interesting people who update their status, post photos of their children and friends, and share sometimes intimate details of their lives with the world.

When I logged onto Facebook this morning, I had 13 new friend requests, 14 group invitations, 4 birthday requests, 11 event invitations, 1 “Cubs Suck!” wave invitation, and many, many other notifications.

If I accepted every invitation and request, if I commented on every comment about my comments, I could spend the entire day on Facebook. This would not be a productive way to conduct one’s time on this sphere. If you’re always talking about your life, when are you living your life?

So I’ll accept the friend requests, I’ll update my status, and I’ll move on to other things. I think Facebook is pure genius-essentially, a continually updated yearbook for grownups–and I love seeing photos of my real friends and their families, and hearing from people who are fans of my writing or my TV work. How can you not be flattered? But I just can’t get involved in accepting requests to join all those groups, and I’m probably not going to poke you back if you poke me (unless we’ve had dinner or a few dates first), nor am I going to take a survey to find out what kind of plant suits me best. There’s too much Lifebook to be lived to spend all your time Facebooking.

Even if you’ve never read John Updike’s glorious essay about Ted Williams or his brilliant novels such as “Marry Me” and “Couples,” or short story collections such as “Pigeon Feathers” and “Problems,” even if you’ve never heard the man’s name, you probably know his work. Updike penned “Rabbit, Run,” which became a movie starring James Caan, and “The Witches of Eastwick,” the source material for the 1987 hit film from George Miller starring Jack Nicholson, Michelle Pfeiffer, Cher and Susan Sarandon. The movies were good. The books were better.

I first became aware of Updike’s elegant, sometimes achingly accurate prose when I read his short story collection titled “The Music School.” A story called “In Football Season” captures the essence of a long-gone American era, but also contains universal and timeless truths about how young men feel about young women:

“Do you remember a fragrance girls acquire in autumn? As you walk beside them after school, they tighten their arms about their books and bend their heads forward to give a more flattering attention to your words, and in the little intimate area thus formed, carved into the clear air by an implicit crescent, there is a complex fragrance woven of tobacco, powder, lipstick, rinsed hair, and that perhaps imaginary and certainly elusive scent that wool, whether in the lapels of a jacket or the nap of a sweater, seems to yield when the cloudless fall sky like the blue bell of a vacuum lifts toward itself the glad exhalations of all things. This fragrance, so faint and flirtatious on those afternoon walks through the dry leaves, would be banked a thousandfold on the dark slop of the stadium when, Friday nights, we played football in the city.”

Gorgeous.

Then there’s the last line of “Marry Me,” a line so simple and so filled with regret and longing and sadness and the burst of a thousand emotions, that I can still remember how I felt when I was in my early 20s and I first read it. It was devastating.

Updike’s “Couples” was so frank it would have made me blush, if I ever blushed in my life. His Harry “Rabbit” Angstrom–star of four novels and a novella–is one of the enduring characters of the last half-century. His famous short story “A&P” remains a staple. He penned more than 800 pieces for the New Yorker.

John Updike died today at 76. His abundant and elegant body of work will live on for generations.

Mickey Rourke showed up at the Golden Globes dressed like the villain in a Snoop Dogg video circa 1997. When his name was called for his brilliant performance in “The Wrestler,” Rourke was given a hearty ovation by his peers as he nearly tripped on his way to the stage.

And then he thanked his dogs, alive and otherwise.

Post-Globes, Rourke has reportedly hooked up with attention-slut Bai Ling and has announced his interest in participating in Wrestlemania–possibly even engaging in a match with Chris Jericho. At the SAG Awards last Sunday night, Rourke was dressed like a pimp in a 1980s film, and he slipped his hand inside his belt as he chatted up Kate Winslet and posed for photographers on the red carpet. Throughout these appearances, he looks like he hasn’t shampooed since Election Night.

None of which SHOULD matter when it comes time for AMPAS voters to cast their ballots–but will it matter? In a town that loves second acts (see Robert Downey Jr.), is Rourke’s behavior counterbalancing some of that goodwill he’s been getting for his career-crowning performance in “The Wrestler”?

To put it bluntly, is this guy just too greasy-crazy-scary-wacky to win an Oscar?

Sean Penn isn’t exactly Mister Congeniality, especially with the press–but when Penn does show up at awards ceremonies, he usually dresses well and he’s respectful of the process. Rourke is being true to his eccentric self with the sartorial insanity and the scary coif and the oddball behavior, but he’s coming across like a graduate student in the Gary Busey School of Public Relations. You wonder if some Academy voters will feel as if Rourke isn’t appreciative enough for this second chance. Maybe the nomination should be reward enough for this guy. He looks like he’s ready to fall right back into oblivion come Feb. 23. You can imagine some voters thinking that way.

When you’re voting for a performance, personal feelings about the nominees shouldn’t play a factor, but let’s not kid ourselves. If a veteran voter feels Rourke, Sean Penn and Frank Langella were equally impressive in their respective films, will he cast the vote for Langella because Penn has already won and will no doubt be nominated again, Rourke is acting the fool and Langella may never get another chance? Believe it. Judging by the ovation Langella received from his peers at the SAG Awards–and keeping in mind that the acting branch is by far the largest group in the Academy–don’t be shocked if Langella’s name is called on Feb. 22nd.