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From a Guardian story on the condition of Owen Wilson’s career:
Many Hollywood insiders believe Wilson’s setback will be short-lived and that he will continue to enjoy big-screen success.
“He’s loved,” Bernie Brillstein, a veteran Hollywood manager who worked with John Belushi and Chris Farley, said Tuesday.
“‘He’s loved,’’ Bernie Brillstein, a veteran Hollywood manager who worked with John Belushi and Chris Farley, said Tuesday.”
Um.
Uh.
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
RUN, OWEN, RUNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!
And maybe it’s just me, but Bernie’s quote there sounds FAR too much like the pseudo “concerned” horseshit that the Fallen Uterus/Beastmaster prolly said following my multiple failed attempts. I worry for the boy, honestly. He REALLY needs new “friends” there, especially management-wise.
Wait. . .he had a career going already? . . .Stupid me
At least somebody noticed, Annti. I made several botched suicide attempts in my teens and early twenties (my preferred method was pills, which I soppose you’ll think is cowardly-even when taking 20-30 at a time.) I was chronically depressed and suicidal for about 10 years, and I swear, nobody in my family ever once picked up on it, even though I had no friends, and spent 90% of my time shut up in my bedrrom. They just said, “Oh, he’s a loner.”
But I can’t be too hard on them, because I think sometimes your family sees what it wants to see. In January of 1997, I lost an older brother, Pete, to suicide (he took strychnine). It was the single worst day of all our lives. My mom took it the hardest, I think. My younger brother Rich (who’s lost three other friends to suicide as well) found Pete (they were sharing a house at the time), and it shook him up enough to quit drinking. That’s the only positive outcome of course. (Rich appeared in a documentary that aired on Showtime a few years ago and talked about it at length. I’ve never seen it because I don’t have Showtime and it was never released on video. It was called “Tribute”. Anybody see it?)
I wouldn’t wish this on any family. I sincerely hope the Wilsons are taking this seriously and doing everything they can to prevent it from happening again.
As for myself I still go into occasional moods of depression, but I haven’t thought about offing myself-not once-in 16 years. I don’t expect I’ll be going that route ever again.
Mike, Owen Wilson’s been in 18 movies in the past seven years*. The combined box office earnings for them is well over $1,643,000,000 (rouned off, based on info from the Internet Movie Database, as of 2006. I didn’t bother adding up foreign grosses. I couldn’t find info on video sales, but I’m guessing, at least, that “Cars” was successful on DVD, since animated pictures usually sell spectacularly.)
So, yeah, I think he might have a bit of a film career.
*Most of those credits were either leads or second leads.
Depression is a serious illness. My family is afflicted with it, seems about every other generation in my family gets hit with some brain disorder. I think I’m ok 
But seriously though, suicide is nothing to joke about and I know that I’ve had some bad times myself when I came very, very close.
Also, I think the fact that the wealthy and famous get hit with it shows that it certainly is an illness that often has little or nothing to do with one’s real life, but what is going on in one’s head.
Hopefully he will have the support around him that he needs.
Damn, Bill, I had no fucking idea. I am so sorry about your brother. And dammit, if I can’t get off of this fucked-up fucking planet, NEITHER CAN YOU!!!!!!
It’s been almost 10 years since my last fuck-up, the one where I actually ADMITTED TO IT (second time getting “caught”, first time was when I tried to drown myself at 5, they yanked me out of the pool by my braids), and the motherfuckers who call themselves “my parents” put me into a state mental hospital (they tried for the MANDITORY COMMITTMENT BY THE CORONER, but he refused to participate in the charade, so I did a self-admit and got out of that particular hell-hole in six days) that did me NO fucking good.
What made the difference, what really ripped my guts out, and something for which I’ll never forgive myself, was when THEY brought my nephew Tater and his little sister to see me in the Bouncy Barn. That, I will never forget, and that showed me how fucking selfish and stupid that I’d been. Not that the pain wasn’t real, the pain that has followed me all of my life, the pain that vivisectioned me millions of times — the pain and unnecessary suffering was very very real. But the act of putting those kids through that, that was unforgiveable. Putting my Nannie through it. She had been through the same thing, 50 years earlier, and they had KEPT her, because she was “depressed,” (one of those “female nervous conditions,” of course) and they ECT’ed her until she couldn’t even drool. She went back to a successful career as a teacher, but they stole a chunk of her heart and soul when they fried her.
I still think about it, often, but I don’t try anymore. I made a couple of token attempts whilst living with THEM for 18 months of physical, emotional and psychological assaults (daily!), but unfortunately, none of them took, and I wound-up here at L’Hotel du Fucktards. Could be worse. I could still be living with THEM.
But thank you, Bill, for sharing that. I know that it wasn’t easy. And no matter how much time passes between then and now, it never goes away, missing somebody you love. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about Nannie and Tater. Not one fucking day. And how it should’ve been me, not them. Too late to fix it now, unfortunately.
Love you, though.
Oh, and Bill? Pills aren’t cowardly. They just don’t work, 9 times out of 10. Trust me on those odds. Been there, done that, got the drug tolerance that would make Andy Warhol and Keith Richards COMBINED look like pussies.
Lost quite a few brain cells from those O.D.s and the 3 years that Charity Hospital kept me on narcotics while fucking me around about fixing my back. In 1st grade, when they tested me for the gifted program, my IQ was 135. Between the big car wreck and the drugs, I’ve shaved off at least two dozen points.
And yes, I had a gun at one point, but it was a .22 derringer, and I was terrified of fucking it up and winding-up in some state-run rest-home, drooling for a living for the next 50 years. Didn’t seem worth the risk, to live through it.
And, ironically or sickly or whatever enough, it was a .22 that murdered Tater, one shot that ricocheted across his brain stem and severed it. And it WASN’T self-inflicted. If he had done it to himself, I could’ve understood. But having the organized-crime syndicate that calls itself the Sheriff’s Office cover up the murder is what I’ll never comprehend, except for pure fucking bigotry, class-warfare, and graft.
If you ever think about killing yourself, wait 24 hours and then reconsider.
(you probably won’t do it then)
That’s actually true. (Speaking from experience.)
Yes, because anyone who has managed John Belushi and Chris Farley is an authority on keeping a career long-lived.
If Brillstein sells gift certificates for his management services, let’s buy some for Ms. Coulter!
Lu-wee, Lu-wee, Lu-weeee, ya gotta be more fucking specific here — are you talking about ME, or that transsexual vampire, mAnn Coulter, St. Ann Of The Codpiece? ‘Cause we never use the pronoun “she” when referring to THAT.
My wifes’ native language has no words for gendered third-person pronouns, we need the English equivalent for the Beast from New Canaan, CT.
SHIM.
And why is it whenever I see your moniker, DA, that I think of Darkwing Duck?
Maybe it’s just the valiums…
Something to say?
hate to think of how he’d be doing if he were despised
Left by preznit giv me turkee on August 29th, 2007