Meryl Streep was on a narrow street, imitating Marsha Mason trapped in a Martian basin. “Next,” she said, “Diane Keaton kisses a dying cretin, then Goldie Hawn rushes past a moldy lawn.” Glenda Jackson took action, reset the agenda. She, Faye Dunaway, and a stray runaway went to Mississippi, where Sissy Spacek had lost her paycheck to the wiles of a man in a Honda. Jane Fonda saw it plain as day. Sarah Miles had lost her salary to the same man. Valerie Perrine stood in a bank line to explain. Diahann Carroll drove by in a sedan, screaming that they were all imperiled. “No one has been harder hit,” she said, “than Ann-Margret.” Talia Shire, endeavoring to inquire, was told that one man had the answer. He was an ex-felon, a fan, but he had cancer and was in Somalia. The situation worsened. In came Ellen Burstyn.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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