Charlie Sheen is Completely Self-Destructing
- Thread starter Phil C. McNasty
- Start date
It was quoted right out of the Toronto Star written by a Holloywood reporter, I don't make that kind of shit up, wouldn't even know where to start.
His latest is that his mother (Janet Templeton) is Jewish hence he is Jewish (even though he was raised as a Roman Catholic), and hence it is ok for him to make remarks about "other Jews."
Oh, and he is going to Haiti with Sean Penn.
Oh, and he is going to Haiti with Sean Penn.
ustream don't block anyone as far as i know. it's an internet streaming service not network/broadcast tvI just saw that on the TMZ site.
I'll bet that we'll be blocked out because we're in Canada.
Charlie is testing the feed right now. it's working fine for us canucks
http://www.ustream.tv/charliesheen
lol Paris Hilton has tweeted the info and says she'll be watching. apparently they live close
already 60,000 viewers and it doesn't officially air untill 10pm
it's being broadcast from Charlie's house
http://www.ustream.tv/charliesheen
lol Paris Hilton has tweeted the info and says she'll be watching. apparently they live close
already 60,000 viewers and it doesn't officially air untill 10pm
it's being broadcast from Charlie's house
If his mother is jewish, he is jewish. That does not give him any special rights.
That is true providing certain conditions are met.
However, is his mother actually Jewish? It does seem peculiar that he brings this up now.
He said "Haim Levine", not "Hymie Levine".. and it's a name, not a thing. He didn't call him "a" Hymie Levine.
By Geoff Pevere
Entertainment Reporter
Toronto Star
I interviewed Charlie Sheen once, back in 1986. It was during the New York promotional junket for Platoon, and the 21-year-old actor was sitting in a room, bleary-eyed but cheerful, shucking oysters, imbibing a cocktail, and apologizing for his debilitated state.
“I flew in last night on the red-eye,” is just about all I remember him saying. “The jet lag is killing me. Want an oyster?”
I can still see that kid in Sheen’s face today, as drawn, pale and deathly as it now is, during these weeks of high-diving look-at-me free-fall. Back in the day, he was clearly primed for the life of stardom, with its burdensome pressures of overnight flights, unrelenting media interest and mid-morning oysters washed down with anything but milk.
It occurs to me now that Charlie Sheen, middle-aged boy, has finally seized the role he always wanted and perhaps was even born to play: himself as the exploding extraterrestrial body, burning as brightly and ferociously as only dying stars can do, determined to leave as big a bang as possible before finally sparking out.
I’m not predicting his death here, at least not of the literal variety. (Although who would be surprised?) I’m talking about the kind of death that Sheen’s kind of star is most terrified of, and which they rage against with such explosive internal combustion. It’s the death of being ignored, of no one bothering to care anymore, of the sound of the last camera crew closing the van door and driving away. This is the mother of all deaths for the star who lives only to burn, and it ends only in their worst nightmares: When the last ember dies, and no one’s there to watch.
Charlie Sheen has been a star just about all his adult life. It’s all he’s known, and just about every action that has otherwise seemed so baffling over the past few weeks is perfectly explainable in its context. This is a guy who knows nothing else but how to keep himself buzzing, and for whom there is no life imaginable outside of the frame. To not be watched is to cease existing. In the face of losing it all — his family, his top-rated TV show (and long sought-after validation of his own stardom), his credibility and his youth, he’s going berserk on the brink of extinguishing.
I’m not so sure he’d disagree, at least if he stands behind all this infinitely YouTube-able talk of being a warrior, loving and hating violently, crushing all who oppose him and generally bringing a kind of backyard Beverly Hills apocalypse on all those who dare not yield to his awesome (dude) will. It’s interesting that he’s not the only one talking this talk this week. The other besieged and dangerously deluded celebrity is the dictator of Libya, and arguably entitled to such catapult-flinging barbarian rhetoric. Charlie's the star of Two and Half Men.
Or was. Now that’s got to smart. Really smart. I mean bad enough to make you go full-on spoiled-brat star-warrior, Apocalypse Moi berserk. Because when you think about it, Charlie’s actual stardom, which is to say the one directly proportionate to the work he’s done to earn it, is frankly pretty dim.
The early notoriety of such movies as Platoon (1986) and Wall Street (1989) now seems as much the result of the passing whim of the comparably humility-deficient writer-director Oliver Stone as anything innate in Sheen’s own abilities, which is perhaps why he bumped down to Hot Shots and the Major League movies as promptly as he did. (Actually, I'd never realized Major League was a “classic” until Sheen himself recently claimed it so.) This was no who-is-this-kid? Leo DiCaprio in his youth, nor was he even the Zac Efron of his day. Sheen was a modestly likeable mini-me of his hugely more gifted father Martin, and I’ll bet you that knowing this, deep down, is one of his more scorching manias.
His most successful role was always the one that he played off screen but always on camera: the serial relapsing bad boy Hollywood stoner stud, always good for a headline as long as headlines were to be made by ripping up five star hotel rooms, consorting with porn bunnies, pulling weapons on loved ones and boasting about the sheer amount of rock that could be wedged up one’s nose.
Then along comes Two and Half Men, a standard-as-dishwater primetime network sitcom that provided Sheen not only with the heaven-sent opportunity to play a family-hour version of himself — it beats working — but to finally essay the synching up of his actual and imagined stardom. With Two and a Half Men, Charlie Sheen finally became the guy he always knew he was: Charlie the Superstar. Now they've taken it away.
Is he on drugs? Probably, but does it matter? All the dope does for the properly misaligned ego is artificially reinforce its sense of imperious entitlement. It’s the perfect baby food for the fully grown infant. If anything, it merely lubricates the delusional machinery and makes sheer foolishness feel like courage. It makes lying even to yourself sound something like the truth. It makes your own voice sound just like God's.
So watch now, if you must. This is Charlie Sheen’s spotlight moment, and he’s not going to give it up until everyone’s gone home and the power has been switched off. Here’s the question: When no one’s looking any more, what will be left?
Entertainment Reporter
Toronto Star
I interviewed Charlie Sheen once, back in 1986. It was during the New York promotional junket for Platoon, and the 21-year-old actor was sitting in a room, bleary-eyed but cheerful, shucking oysters, imbibing a cocktail, and apologizing for his debilitated state.
“I flew in last night on the red-eye,” is just about all I remember him saying. “The jet lag is killing me. Want an oyster?”
I can still see that kid in Sheen’s face today, as drawn, pale and deathly as it now is, during these weeks of high-diving look-at-me free-fall. Back in the day, he was clearly primed for the life of stardom, with its burdensome pressures of overnight flights, unrelenting media interest and mid-morning oysters washed down with anything but milk.
It occurs to me now that Charlie Sheen, middle-aged boy, has finally seized the role he always wanted and perhaps was even born to play: himself as the exploding extraterrestrial body, burning as brightly and ferociously as only dying stars can do, determined to leave as big a bang as possible before finally sparking out.
I’m not predicting his death here, at least not of the literal variety. (Although who would be surprised?) I’m talking about the kind of death that Sheen’s kind of star is most terrified of, and which they rage against with such explosive internal combustion. It’s the death of being ignored, of no one bothering to care anymore, of the sound of the last camera crew closing the van door and driving away. This is the mother of all deaths for the star who lives only to burn, and it ends only in their worst nightmares: When the last ember dies, and no one’s there to watch.
Charlie Sheen has been a star just about all his adult life. It’s all he’s known, and just about every action that has otherwise seemed so baffling over the past few weeks is perfectly explainable in its context. This is a guy who knows nothing else but how to keep himself buzzing, and for whom there is no life imaginable outside of the frame. To not be watched is to cease existing. In the face of losing it all — his family, his top-rated TV show (and long sought-after validation of his own stardom), his credibility and his youth, he’s going berserk on the brink of extinguishing.
I’m not so sure he’d disagree, at least if he stands behind all this infinitely YouTube-able talk of being a warrior, loving and hating violently, crushing all who oppose him and generally bringing a kind of backyard Beverly Hills apocalypse on all those who dare not yield to his awesome (dude) will. It’s interesting that he’s not the only one talking this talk this week. The other besieged and dangerously deluded celebrity is the dictator of Libya, and arguably entitled to such catapult-flinging barbarian rhetoric. Charlie's the star of Two and Half Men.
Or was. Now that’s got to smart. Really smart. I mean bad enough to make you go full-on spoiled-brat star-warrior, Apocalypse Moi berserk. Because when you think about it, Charlie’s actual stardom, which is to say the one directly proportionate to the work he’s done to earn it, is frankly pretty dim.
The early notoriety of such movies as Platoon (1986) and Wall Street (1989) now seems as much the result of the passing whim of the comparably humility-deficient writer-director Oliver Stone as anything innate in Sheen’s own abilities, which is perhaps why he bumped down to Hot Shots and the Major League movies as promptly as he did. (Actually, I'd never realized Major League was a “classic” until Sheen himself recently claimed it so.) This was no who-is-this-kid? Leo DiCaprio in his youth, nor was he even the Zac Efron of his day. Sheen was a modestly likeable mini-me of his hugely more gifted father Martin, and I’ll bet you that knowing this, deep down, is one of his more scorching manias.
His most successful role was always the one that he played off screen but always on camera: the serial relapsing bad boy Hollywood stoner stud, always good for a headline as long as headlines were to be made by ripping up five star hotel rooms, consorting with porn bunnies, pulling weapons on loved ones and boasting about the sheer amount of rock that could be wedged up one’s nose.
Then along comes Two and Half Men, a standard-as-dishwater primetime network sitcom that provided Sheen not only with the heaven-sent opportunity to play a family-hour version of himself — it beats working — but to finally essay the synching up of his actual and imagined stardom. With Two and a Half Men, Charlie Sheen finally became the guy he always knew he was: Charlie the Superstar. Now they've taken it away.
Is he on drugs? Probably, but does it matter? All the dope does for the properly misaligned ego is artificially reinforce its sense of imperious entitlement. It’s the perfect baby food for the fully grown infant. If anything, it merely lubricates the delusional machinery and makes sheer foolishness feel like courage. It makes lying even to yourself sound something like the truth. It makes your own voice sound just like God's.
So watch now, if you must. This is Charlie Sheen’s spotlight moment, and he’s not going to give it up until everyone’s gone home and the power has been switched off. Here’s the question: When no one’s looking any more, what will be left?
This guy is winning, he made $1.8 million per episode, has banged thousands of the hottest women in the world, most people would love to experience what it's like to be Charlie Sheen for just one night.
I have to admit, even though it appears to us heathen masses that CS is re-entering Earth's atmosphere too hot and he's gonna burn up, I have to respect the dude. Forget banging all the babes, forget all the money, etc etc. He's doing exactly what he wants to do, takes no shit from anyone and is totally unapologetic about it.
Gotta respect that.
Going to watch my DVD of Platoon tonight.
All you have to do is google it, it's all over the internet, here's just one site for you to see what he said:
http://www.showbiztime.com/charlie-...rre-a-“turd”-bashes-aa-rips-thomas-jefferson/
Here's one excerpt from the above site:
He calls Men creator Chuck Lorre a turd, a clown, and says his genuine name is “Hymie Levine,” an anti-semitic slur.
That's your opinion and entitled to it, I happen to think Perry is a much better actor overall and much better at comedy and could fit into this role easily, but I'm not, or you, the producer, but Perry doesn't have that cocky, arrogant prick personality that Charlie has. I think you're boxing Perry into his Friends' role too much, but he has many more dimensions to his acting than that. I think we're focusing on something that is IMO irrelevant for this thread and other Terbites couldn't give a shit, the focus is whether Charlie is self destructing.
