Practically every pre-pubescent, red-blooded American male had the famous poster to your right hanging on the wall of his bedroom…except me, because quite frankly Farrah was never really my cup of Earl Grey. I was only thirteen years old when Charlie’s Angels made its debut on the ABC network, and even then it insulted my intelligence to the point where I would leave my younger sister Debbie to it, muttering about the lack of taste in modern television audiences (I was channeling my inner Brent McKee even then, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I told the neighborhood kids to stay off our lawn in Bill Crider-fashion). As an actress, Farrah was very limited and to me she came off as little more than a Stepford wife; but as we all know, The Blind Squirrel Theory of Film™ states that there’s always something on a performer’s resume that stands out as first-rate work…and in Fawcett’s case it was her mesmerizing portrayal of preacher Robert Duvall’s wife in the 1997 film The Apostle.
As for Jacko—well, the fact that I’m probably the only individual without a copy of his behemoth LP Thriller might demonstrate that I was never a huge fan (although sister Kat did have a copy…and played it endlessly much to my torment); but I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that I Want You Back is one of my favorite oldies—more so because a woman I once worked with in Morgantown broke out in a spirited dance when we played this on a CD player and demonstrated moves I didn’t think were possible for a person of her vintage (let alone mine). I’ll say nothing further about the tragic ending to his life and career—except that it won’t be long before the “Jacko isn’t really dead” rumors start…which is good for me, since I have sure-fire winning numbers in the pool.
R.I.P, Farrah and Michael. You will be missed.