Dominick Dunne, a correspondent for Vanity Fair for 25 years, has died. "His first article for the magazine appeared in March 1984-an account of the trial of the man who murdered his daughter, Dominique," the magazine wrote this afternoon in an obituary. The summer of death takes no prisoners. By Labor Day, there'll be no one left.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
25
I imagine the Skakel clan alibis' are rock solid today.
sheesh..."clan's alibis..."
I am officially dying next week--the party has clearly moved to another dimension. This life is so OVER.
When there are like 100 times as many (sort of) famous people as there were 15 years ago, a lot of them are going to die.
More like the era of death.
I thought you were about to say,
"When there are so many we shall have to mourn,
when grief has been made so public, and exposed
to the critique of a whole epoch
the frailty of our conscience and anguish,
of whom shall we speak? For every day they die
among us, those who were doing us some good,
who knew it was never enough but
hoped to improve a little by living..."
The span for the dying-in-threes rule is contracting at an alarming rate.
Sad. There is something I like about almost everyone in his family--and usually not the things they are really known for: Joan Didion wrote a collection of essays I still think are as good as it gets for creating a portrait of time and place (White Album); John Gregory wrote the screenplay for Panic In Needle Park; Griffin Dunne was pitch perfect in After Hours; Dominick was known for the Vanity Fair articles but I really liked him when I had to sit brain dead in front of a television and he narrated the bad behavior of rich people. Of course his daughter was murdered; killed by a chef.
Murdered by a creep with a history of violence toward women, who got a slap on the wrist because his priors were not admitted as evidence, and the judge was a clown. The guy was about twice her size and he strangled her to death.
Don't get me started. Just read the Vanity Fair article, and weep.
Quite so!
The portrait of the four of them at the end of the VF obit is bullseye.
Exactly about the family - although I did think it was funny when Dominick was called "Judith Krantz in pants." I did so love his Vanity Fair stuff. I loved all the Lily Safra stuff!
His VF stuff was definitely entertaining, readable, diaristic. He made you feel he was letting you in on private info, and he was- gossip and quotes from a rarefied place about scandals as dark as Safra's.
I admire his hitting bottom in Hollywood, and getting his life back. His daughter's murder might have sent some back to the bottle. Must've taken some strength.
So sorry to hear of this.
And come on, his OJ stuff was the guilty pleasure to end all guilty pleasures.
In re: his daughter, I always liked that whenever he appeared on Larry King Live he made a point of naming her murderer, always using his newest alias.
And now I have to break this to my mother (who thinks his first name is "Dominican" Dunne, adorably)
And let's not forget the screenplay for True Confessions, one of my favorite movies, and one that makes the Catholic Church lookj as slimy and dirty as it is.
Am I in a mood? Nah.
(That screenplay BTW was by John Gregory Dunne.)
Has anyone checked Cloris Leachman today?
Dont even joke about that.
*zips fly
'She's fine.'
http://www.slate.com/id/3029/#sb38504
Jesus Christ, I somehow have never read that Dunne piece linked above until now.
Goddammit, who dropped the ball and read Balk read it? It's going to be nothing but smoking through tear-stained fingers for the rest of the night.
LET Balk read &c...
This is the summer of the death of my typing, am I right?
The guy was the best kind of dilettante. He lived to upscale slum--but he knew we got the vicarious thrill from it. He put you at the table with royalty; he let you drop your fork at Liz's feet. High-minded, sanctimonious, precious in every sense of the word.
Who the hell is going to go to dinner with all these people now?
Why am I more broken up about this than Ted Kennedy? Maybe because I knew Kennedy was sick and thought Dunne just needed a little break from his VF column? He was a guilty pleasure but also insightful. And I'm really going to miss seeing pictures of him in his rumpled little tux, gnawing someone's ear off at some Oscar party.
The podcast linked here, (http://blog.92y.org/index.php/weblog/item/92y_podcast_dominick_dunne/) from May 2, 1993, features Dominick Dunne at the 92nd Street Y talking about his book A Season in Purgatory. In a nutshell: Martha Moxley, William Kennedy Smith, Vanity Fair, Michael Skakel, Ethel Skakel Kennedy.
Now that's synergy.