#i will admit the 1970s felt off for a date on the photo

[piquantpiper]

A Reading of "The House That Jack Built" As A Scathing Condemnation of Misogynistic Directors and the Complacent History of Hollywood

This contains spoilers for every bit of the film.

Lars von Trier's latest, "The House That Jack Built," features an architect-turned-serial killer named Jack traveling down the River Styx at the end of his life and telling anecdotes about the gruesome murders he has committed. He explains that he began taking post-mortem photos of his victims and dubbed his serial killer persona "Mr. Sophistication." His once-overwhelming OCD waned, and he became better at faking emotions, confidence, and charisma.

My reading of the film was that it was one huge takedown of directors who frequently employ cheap or gratuitous violence, especially against women. It highlights their resistance to criticisms and uses symbolism to call out the stagnation and complacency of the industry.

Jack drives a big obvious red van, leaves a trail, is clumsy, and is a terrible liar, yet he gets away with everything for over a decade because of everyone's willingness to look the other way, and also likely because it was “a different time” - the 1970s and 80s. The complacency of men and the law is underlined here. Cops in this film are ignorant as hell and never catch Jack even when he's daring them to or admitting his crimes to their faces. Al, the clerk at the end of the film, has known something has been fishy about this customer for years but he doesn't call the police until the very end, when Jack finally yells at him for once.

Jack stuffs dozens of women he's randomly killed into a walk-in freezer, literally "fridging" them and acting out a bad entertainment trope. The street sign here - Prospect - is broken off and only reads "Pros." It is featured every time he adds a body. The freezer is also filled with hundreds of cheese pizzas, representing the need for instant gratification and the homogeneity of the industry. "Fame" by David Bowie blares several times during the film until it nearly becomes a gag.

Like every insecure film school grad, Jack over-explains and over-justifies everything on his ride down the River Styx, going so far as to give little meta PowerPoint presentations about William Blake, the protocol of wild game hunters, how cool Albert Speer was, and how everyone who doesn't agree with him is a sheep who will never become a beautiful tiger embracing savagery as he does. He thinks he is explaining and justifying his choices, his influences, and his pursuit of artistic perfection. This is all utter bullshit and good ol' Virgil calls him out on it at every turn. When Jack says that we should look at the works of a person, not at their actions - an all-too-common comment on abusive but revered directors like Polanski, Kubrick, Allen, and von Trier himself - Virgil basically replies "you lost me when you started abusing children."

Uma Thurman plays the first victim. It seems significant that she would be involved in this project, given how vocal she has been this year about her experiences with Weinstein and Tarantino. In fact, her scene here seems like meta commentary on her own conflict with Tarantino during Kill Bill: They drove up and down a road a few times in preparation for a stunt. She felt unsafe and wanted a stunt driver. He kept pressuring her to do it herself. She did, and she was seriously injured. So when her character here insults Jack repeatedly and calls him a wimp, he snaps, killing her in his passenger seat after she's made him drive the same road three times. Both people in the car represent Thurman in real life. She "snaps" and finally does the stunt scene after being taunted, but she's the one who pays dearly.

Jacqueline Simple is the only character/victim we actually witness screaming for help, leaning out her window at night. Her name is a clue - she is a mirror to Jack, a representation of his fear of being unintelligent and his fear that he is merely screaming into the void with his art and will never be listened to. He cuts her phone line earlier that night while on a date at her apartment and enters into a feedback loop with her/himself, reassuring her and lulling her into a false state of security before he attacks. Jacqueline's scene could also represent the relationship between actress and director - her line to the outside world is severed and she now derives all validation from her abuser. He holds the keys to her freedom, literally.

Jack represents problematic creators, specifically directors, throughout the film. Chief among these parallels is his proclivity for post-mortem photography of his victims - posing their bodies to suit his whims. Jack finds the negatives of his photos more interesting than the originals - having an obsession with violence and drama. We see him shooting people often, either with a gun or a camera. He tries to rewrite the experiences of some of his victims by means of grim taxidermy, putting smiles on their faces before they freeze in storage.

If something is methodical and informed by theory and research, it HAS to be good, right? Boring directors probably think so. That's all the effort and thought that they care to put in. Jack explains the ethical pattern in which to shoot a family of deer: fawns first. If you miss the doe, she can survive without the fawns, whereas inverse is not true - and that would just be cruel! Jack even says he considers himself a gentleman for following this pattern as he shoots down a human mother and her two sons. (There's another layer of symbolism here, hinted at by the sign-off of von Trier's video that prefaced the screening of the film I saw in theaters: "Remember: Never another Trump." The clueless family had all donned red baseball caps at the start of this scene as visibility/safety gear at the shooting range, yet the caps make them into targets once Jack begins his spree. The caps represent MAGA caps, and the family's refusal to remove them even when in danger shows how reluctant Republicans are to admit that they were wrong. The apple pie at the picnic and the act of feeding it to the dead child further comments on von Trier's view of America.)

"Why are all the stories you've told about dumb women?" Virgil asks him. "I killed men, too." Jack answers. "But you're only telling me about the dumb women because you need to feel superior," notes Virgil.

When Jack starts killing men in the last fifteen minutes of the film, it's all intricately planned: he monologues, gives a bunch of backstory, brings up the military, and reminisces about hunting trips with his best friend, the elderly S.P. (Standards and Practices? ...Am I reaching now?) before shooting him to death. This stands in contrast with the earlier, fumbling murders of numerous unnamed women throughout the rest of the movie, which were sometimes even played for laughs. Jack finally gets caught, right after he murders his first man onscreen but before he can pull the trigger on another seven he had prepared.

There is no way in hell that we are supposed to sympathize with Jack or think he is a cool, slick killer. There is no way the director sympathizes with him. Jack is a massive joke who keeps getting away with things due to dumb luck and the utter complacency of the world around him, yet he gives more than one "you're all sheeple who can't understand my art!" lamentation. He even goes on a "men have it so hard, men are always assumed guilty" rant as he's skinning a woman alive. Hi, irony, nice to meet you.

Jack has absolutely no hope of redemption at the end. Virgil knows his narcissism will compel him to try to cross the broken bridge that no one has ever conquered, which results in him falling and burning in the very deepest pit of hell. Turning the screen to a negative exposure at the moment of the fall is the film's final taunt to Jack's character, as in "now let's see him try to find the beauty in that, in his own suffering."

We never see Jack at work at his day job as an architect/engineer. He buys a picturesque lakeside plot of land. The house that he demolishes and restarts multiple times at that location was supposed to be his real masterpiece, but instead he became fixated on his identity of "Mr. Sophistication” and the accompanying photography. He confuses this compulsion for his true calling, all while Bowie's "Fame" plays on loop. The house is never completed.

It is easier to destroy than to create, and it is easier to talk yourself into thinking destruction is some grotesquely beautiful esoteric art than to actually challenge yourself and endeavour to create anything original.

The character Virgil repeatedly reminds Jack that the greatest works of art have been borne of love. True art needs love, humanity, and feelings, which Jack will never understand because he is a stubborn psychopath.

This film is an overt callout of creators who think that stylized violence is a substitute for substance and that anything that is informed by theory is inherently good. Those who refuse to admit they're wrong or may have taken an unfulfilling life path, leaving a cheap and hollow legacy with no new message to impart. Those who think it is easier to paint someone's suffering as artistic than it is to unpack their own suffering and the root causes of it.

[imsickoftheseshadows]

London - A Short Story.

Harping did not define the emotion I experienced, for several months, after Axel had left me. 

Of course, Axel was not the only man I had pined for; in fact, there was Jack, the other musician who had flown across the Atlantic at summer’s close; there was Tim, a film professor at my university, and Enrique, a South American artist who had told me he was possessed by the devil. But Axel, the New York singer and delicatessen owner, had been special – He was thirty-five, six-foot three, and rail thin, with a vague Williamsburg air that was pretentious enough to clot a Californian cocktail. His first record, evocative of Blade Runner’s score, was perpetually spinning in my bedroom. He was a frequent collaborator with James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem, who I had admired twice as much as Axel, though had little fantasies about (I will admit I had developed crushes on several of my favorite artists, though James was lower on the totem pole aesthetically than someone of Axel’s caliber).

This recollection isn’t about Axel, but I cannot tell this story without him.

My twenty-first year had proven uneventful – I still spent too much time in collegiate cafes, scrolling through online-dating profiles, and reflecting on whether or not I would ever be ready to leave my comfortably suburban dwellings. I sensed a trace of finality about this season. It was my last autumn enrolled in university, and I would be deciding whether to pursue a professorial path, or obtain stability between the walls of a cubicle. My distraction, Axel, visited biyearly, when we would meet either at The Standard or The Roosevelt, and I would make the pilgrimage to Los Angeles. Already half a year had passed, and Axel was not to return until the following January.

My town was in its final stretch of Indian Summer on this particular evening – The saffron sun unfurled the paper night, brittle and arid. I settled into my bedroom, arrested by the mushroom clouds of milk enveloping my black tea. Halloween was a fortnight away, though I would be spending it in class. I thought about Axel regularly, simultaneously a daydream and a diversion, envisaging the perpetual cigarette dangling from his mouth. Tonight, he weighed heavy in my mind. I picked up my phone, and began to stalk his social media.

Nothing remarkable, I thought, as I peered at his posts. One of Axel’s newest videos, a capture of him expertly playing with a Moog synthesizer, had an entrancing, obscure comment. My ex-girlfriend told me she hates music. The commenter was familiar. I tapped on his thumbnail. The eyes, mass of ginger hair, and Cheshire grin, were reminiscent of Malcolm McDowell in A Clockwork Orange. His profile betrayed him. Beneath his portrait was the name of his band, which I instantly recognized as the English musicians who had scored my first break-up, and had several alternative hits in the US. Lovehurt, I recalled, and began to murmur the lyrics. I thought nothing more of it, and decided to follow him.

I returned to my homepage, and began to think of getting ready for bed. A silent banner flashed across my screen -- GeorgeGibson has followed you. I reclined, falling betwixt my pillows, and held my phone over my head.

No harm in liking a few of his photos – Is three years ago too far? I sensed my desperation. I was in bed, fully-clothed, and it was nearing midnight. My tea had gone cold, and my cat was fast asleep at the foot of my bed. George was sensationally attractive, though I couldn’t imagine being so ambitious as to write to him.

My phone vibrated with another notification.

Hello Madame, it read, in the form of a direct message. I hesitated to respond. Is this really happening? I rolled over onto my belly. Where are you from, I typed. It’s quite late here.

I live in London, he replied. Have you ever been?

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We corresponded via WhatsApp over the course of two months – He sent me music; I responded with poetry. Facetime became our preferred mode of communication, though the time difference made it difficult to coordinate our video chats. I began to fear that our contact would eventually taper off, especially when my boredom seemed so conclusively quelled. I blocked Axel, in case George ever asked about us.

I’ve never left the country, I wrote, but I’ve always wanted to see England.

He had spoken of the prospect of me visiting him in prior conversations – I conjured up possible stories to tell my family, if I hypothetically, unexpectedly set off for London. We’re still strangers, I thought. Constant correspondences or not – But when will I ever have the chance to take a trip like this again?

I basked in this quaint fantasy by making an appointment to apply for a passport. No harm in having one of these on hand. I drove down to Orange County, two hours south of my house, to retrieve a copy of my birth certificate. My passport arrived within two weeks. Tickets to London were unreasonably cheap, though I had heard London in January was brutal. I wavered between fiction and reality – George, the famed musician, and George, the friend I had made, so eager to take me to the stationary shops with Italian stamps from the 1970s. I checked plane tickets daily, and told George I was on the verge of making a life-altering purchase.

Know I can only spend a couple of days with you, Taylor, he typed. My band will murder me if I’m away from our recording session for more than a weekend.

I was at my local café, alternating between sips of black coffee and bites of an overcooked frittata. My bangs had grown long enough to tuck behind my ears – I nervously fingered each strand, calculating my response. Christmas was to come and go, as though the seasons had become perpetually stagnant. It could rain for days, and the sky would still be a blaze of azure at dusk.

It doesn’t matter, I answered. The tickets are mine, and I arrive three weeks from today.

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I feigned connectivity issues. I silenced all notifications, and then turned on Airplane Mode. I wanted to be certain – I wanted to be confident that not a single person, even those I had entrusted with my private line, would contact me for the next five days. LAX was bustling with people, and I was anxious to remain remote until we were tens of thousands of feet above the technicolor skyline. I had no idea that there was one terminal for all departing international flights. I wore three sweaters to lighten my carry-on, and arrived six hours before my flight.

My parents did not know I was leaving until I boarded the plane. My mother sobbed when she found out, and I consoled her by stating I would phone her the second I landed. I didn’t. My story was simple: I was off to London for a girl’s trip with one of my best friends from high school. It was a spontaneous, last-minute decision that we decided we had to do before graduating college.

George was concerned. How could you not tell your parents, he had written, moments before I boarded the plane. My story was partially true – It was spontaneous, as in, I would have never left America if I hadn’t felt compelled to conduct a transatlantic, pseudo-love affair. George had urged me, and now my departure was met with cool reserve. I started to question my mental state. I ordered three glasses of wine, one after the other, upon takeoff. 

I touched down in London around 10 in the morning, and the ground had been veiled by impenetrable clouds, as though I had fallen into heaven – all was in reverse. I noted the specks of cars lining the roads in the opposite direction; the silver buildings and the lush foliage. The tarmac was barely visible from my window, but the jet bridge was clear – and on the other side would be a man and a city, and he was to be my tour guide for the first two days.

Before dealing with border control, I hurried to the airport’s restroom. No toilet seat covers. I caught a glimpse of my reflection -- Perspiration ruined my hair and the little makeup I had applied. Fortunately, I had a spare pair of hoop earrings in my purse, but my complexion remained ghastly. I rushed through the border, anxious in line. I quickly handed over my unblemished passport to the border control officer.

“Who do you know here?” I paused, searching for the answer in the lines of my arrival card.

“It’s a friend – An Internet friend, whom I will be checking into the Hilton in Islington with.”

The officers, an elderly man and towering woman, exchanged dubious glances. They asked for more information. I acquiesced, thrusted my return ticket in their faces, and after several minutes, was allowed through.

The escalator was in sight, and I began to sense an onset of anxiety – I am in a foreign country, about to check-in to my first hotel. I stumbled over my carmine suitcase as I approached the exit; my luggage matched my tired eyes. The heels I had worn so well in Los Angeles were unfit for cobblestone streets, and I clumsily found him, in the front of the crowd, with a ticket for the Heathrow Express in his right hand. 

We embraced, and upon contact, my visage colored damask rose. 

He was five-foot-eleven, and wore a brown bomber jacket with black leather boots. He pursed his lips, full and heavenly, while I stared, in awe. George was cool in a European sense – He owned boots, and trainers, and foreign vintage labels, but was a minimalist and adored neutral colorways. His accent, crisp and clipped, was warm, and I instantly wondered what it would be like to miss him after only two days.

He took my luggage with his left hand, and we dashed toward the train.

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We arrived at the Hilton in a black cab. He upgraded my room. We made love for an hour, and I thought I was going to faint.

“I want to take you around Islington,” he whispered. 

Morning had bled into afternoon, and we were languorous, lazy and lounging. I happily obliged, sensing the ghost of passion about my being. I changed into a dress, and reapplied my eyeliner, but remained equal parts self-conscious and jet-lagged. Does he find me as attractive as he did online? It was frivolous to question this, though my mind was tainted with uncertain thoughts. He put on his trousers, then laced up his boots. My parka, bought at a discount, was colossal for my frame. He smiled endearingly, and we took the elevator to the lobby.

I was clumsy against cobblestone, my ankles buckling beneath me – George caught me twice, and kissed me with each fall. We arrived at a bijou cocktail lounge in Clerkenwell, which appeared to be a repurposed home – the corridor led into segregated rooms, with hundreds of vintage books along each wall. We both had whiskey – This will wake you up. I quietly quaffed my drink, while he took apathetic sips of his. He grasped my hand.

“It’s so lovely that you’re here,” he paused, studying my expression. “Are you feeling okay?”

I was drowsy, disengaged, and enamored. The stained-glass windows could not hide the somber skies, yet I gazed at each cloud lovingly. Everything was perfect.

He took me to another lounge, and then to the British Film Institute, where I imbibed a glass of Malbec in the café. A Hot Chip song boomed through the stereo, and he reminisced the time that he played at a festival with them. Alt-J played next, and he discussed his disdain. I finished my drink and wandered toward the gift shop, where I searched for obscure British DVDs, blissfully unaware that they were region 2 locked (until arriving home). I hung onto his every recommendation, as a schoolgirl would a handsome instructor. I chose Jean-Luc Godard cinema critiques and Stanley Kubrick’s photo book. He picked up a copy of Caligula.

By nightfall, we had arrived at our final bar, which was two-stories, with the bottom floor having been fashioned from a basement. A beautiful woman in a blue beret was reading Proust by the entrance, and he commented on the pretentiousness of the lounge. We went back to the hotel shortly after, as my exhaustion had faded into delirium.

I woke up around 2 am. I noticed that he had spilt tears of wine; red vino, according to the bottle, a Tempranillo. I think I had it in Echo Park one lonely summer ago. The crisp, white sheets were speckled with blood. He turned over, noticing that I was awake – He kissed me, and I realized that I was ravenous, for the first time since leaving Los Angeles. 

He went to buy us a kebab, England’s guiltiest pleasure (I found this out much later). He left the BBC on, and the reporter was exploring Donald Trump’s ascension to the presidency. Not here. I changed the channel, and absentmindedly flipped past an Amy Winehouse documentary. I began to thumb through my newly acquired Jean-Luc Godard book, then sifted through the treasures of the day.

By the second chapter, the door swung open, and George appeared, grinning, with a fistful of candy and two kebabs. I pulled the covers over my head as he fell into bed next to me; devouring the kebab, popping open a can of Coca Cola. He unfastened his duffel bag, and revealed bags of chips not sold in America. I clasped the delicacies close to my heart, and dissected the Reese’s Pieces bar.

“You don’t understand,” I laughed. “This is a novelty to me!”

We finished our respective dinners, and slept until noon.

Our room was littered with candy-wrappers and wine bottles; our ardent affair had been in view of several landmarks – the London Eye was in sight, and Big Ben was covered in scaffolding.

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The following day, George showed me his favorite stationary store, Present & Correct. He bought a stamp book, and then promptly lost it at the second scarlet pub we went to. We began our afternoon at a café, where everyone drank their coffee black and from a French press. The coffee was rich enough that creamer was unnecessary – I tasted it slowly, for pleasure, and because I knew he would be leaving at midnight. We went back to the British Film Institute, and he explained a music project he conducted, where he had recorded the sounds of London, while I examined other books from more obscure directors. I kept forgetting that I listened to his music for a number of years before knowing who he was. He stopped speaking for a moment, and shyly reached for my hand.

“George,” I paused. “Do you really have to leave tonight?”

He waited, appearing distraught. “I want you to come be with me in the summer. Can you do that?”

We sauntered to another pub, each one more grandiose than the last. I began to drink out of apprehension, dissolving my worry with each swallow. I wasn’t sure if he noticed – If he did, he didn’t seem to mind. I grew bored of the pub; I grew exhausted of our reservations. I remained awestruck, which translated into perceivable uneasiness, and called for medicinal drinking.

We stopped in Charing Cross, London, after mindlessly walking through the city. He stopped to show me his old apartment, which was built beneath one of the many cobblestone streets. I was two glasses of wine in, and twice as lecherous. He took me to Foyles, knowing such bookstores had fallen out of popularity in America. I bought a book on witchcraft, a Gustav Klimt novel (solely because of a chapter titled “Klimt’s Women”), and an autobiography entitled Art Sex Music (a friend I met later would call this his curriculum vitae) at George’s urging. I didn’t want to forget my fleeting emotions, nor him. I knew our time together was rapidly dissipating. The sky had blackened, as had my mood, though the wine began to enhance my synthetic insouciance.

George chose an Italian restaurant – Why not beans on toast? I knew nothing of British cuisine, and trusted his selection. We sat next to a heat lamp outdoors, in the frigid night, as there were no seats left inside. I peeled off my homely parka, even though I was cold, to remind him of desire. We caroused some more, and I embarrassed myself with comments of a dramatically wretched past – A lack of female friendship, men in power that had plagued my adolescence, and inappropriate commentary on my familial ties. He politely beamed the entire way through, even as I mistakenly slurped my pasta, and messily consumed a slice of his pork pizza. I poured the remainder of the Tempranillo into my glass, and asked him again to stay.

I was not immune to the social anxiety I faced at home – Abroad, I was aware of my unpalatable Californian accent and absence of fashionable clothing. I became hyper-conscious of my unnaturally stiff disposition. He was understanding, but courteously, clinically so. I knew I would be infatuated with him for months after our transatlantic love affair -- I silently wondered if he would ever tell Axel about a young, nameless brunette girl from Los Angeles, who flew across the Atlantic Ocean to make love to him.

He walked me back to the hotel, as I half-smiled and asked him to be with me one final time.

“We’re never going to see each other again.” I spoke with finality.

“I know we will. I’m coming to Los Angeles soon, don’t cry.”

As soon as the door slammed shut, I undressed, filled the bathtub, then mourned my solitude – a constant sob ebbed and flowed. I wrote, incomprehensibly, in my sanguine, store-bought moleskin journal. I took my phone off airplane mode. I sent him a thank you note, fully understanding that I would never see him again. Several moments passed, and twenty text messages from my family came through. I turned on the BBC, and stayed up all night. I became pragmatic at the break of dawn.

I texted my friends, those of which who had known of my secret trip, and then fell into fits of laughter, for two reasons:

I had no idea why I was crying at the Hilton, in a double bed, and God, I had gotten stupidly wine-drunk.

[fortlauderdalemodel]

Queen of Soul Aretha Franklin Has Died of Pancreatic Cancer at Age 76

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QUEEN OF SOUL ARETHA FRANKLIN IS ‘GRAVELY ILL’: REPORTS

PEOPLE STAFF

Aretha Franklin, the self-taught piano prodigy, vocalist and songwriter who first conquered the charts in the late ’60s and never relinquished her throne, died Thursday morning of advance pancreatic cancer of the neuroendocrine type, her publicist confirms to PEOPLE. She was 76.

“In one of the darkest moments of our lives, we are not able to find the appropriate words to express the pain in our heart. We have lost the matriarch and rock of our family. The love she had for her children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, and cousins knew no bounds,” the family said in a statement.

“We have been deeply touched by the incredible outpouring of love and support we have received from close friends, supporters and fans all around the world. Thank you for your compassion and prayers. We have felt your love for Aretha and it brings us comfort to know that her legacy will live on. As we grieve, we ask that you respect our privacy during this difficult time.”

Funeral arrangements will be announced in the coming days.

RELATED: Remembering the Queen of Soul — Aretha Franklin’s Life in Photos

Aretha Franklin

Monica Morgan/Getty

RELATED: Inside Aretha Franklin’s Lifelong Need for ‘Extreme’ Privacy: It’s Been Her ‘Strategy’ for ‘Survival’ Says Biographer

The Queen of Soul had struggled with her health for years. A source told PEOPLE Monday that Franklin had taken a turn for the worse and that her death was “imminent.”

“She has been ill for a long time,” the longtime friend told PEOPLE. “She did not want people to know and she didn’t make it public.”

A musical phenomenon who crossed musical, racial and gender barriers, Franklin began her vocal career as a teenager, singing gospel hymns in her father’s Detroit church. From these humble beginnings she scaled to the very heights of stardom, scoring her first national chart-topper in 1967 with a searing version of “Respect.”

Since then, the artist has notched 77 Hot 100 chart entries, and earned an astounding 18 Grammys out of 44 nominations. In 1987, two decades after her first No. 1, Franklin became the first woman to be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, and was later named the Greatest Singer of All Time by Rolling Stone.

RELATED: Aretha Franklin’s Death Is ‘Imminent’ as Source Confirms ‘She Has Been Ill for a Long Time’

Aretha Franklin performs in August 2017

Cory Clark/NurPhoto via Getty Images

RELATED: Aretha Franklin Dead at 76: Celebrities Pay Tribute to the Queen of Soul

A source close to the singer spoke to the Associated Press on Monday to confirm that Franklin was “seriously ill,” although they did not provide any additional details as to the severity or the cause of the singer’s illness.

Showbiz 411 reporter Roger Friedman was first to report the singer was “gravely ill,” sharing that Franklin’s family were “asking for prayers and privacy.”

“I am so saddened to report that the Queen of Soul and my good friend, Aretha Franklin is gravely ill,” wrote Local 4 Detroit news anchor Evrod Cassimy on Twitter Sunday. “I spoke with her family members this evening. She is asking for your prayers at this time. I’ll have more details as I’m allowed to release.”

RELATED: Remember Aretha Franklin with the Queen of Soul’s Top 10 Greatest Songs

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Aretha Franklin

RB/Redferns

In February of 2017, the Queen of Soul told a Detroit TV station that she was retiring from music that year. “I will be recording, but this will be my last year in concert. This is it,” she said, though Franklin admitted she would perform at “some select things.”

Despite her failing health in recent years, Franklin returned to the stage in August for what would be her final public performance at the Mann Center in Philadelphia, despite noticeable changes in her appearance that caused concern about her well-being.

Aretha Franklin in November 2017

Invision/AP/REX/Shutterstock

She also sang at the Elton John AIDS Foundation’s Enduring Vision benefit gala in November of last year. Despite two concerts scheduled for March and April of this year, the singer was forced to cancel the shows.

“Aretha Franklin has been ordered by her doctor to stay off the road and rest completely for at least the next two months,” Franklin’s management said in a statement at the time. She was expected to release her next album, entitled A Brand New Me, in November.

RELATED: Teen Motherhood, Losing Her Dad and Her Quiet Health Battle: Aretha Franklin’s Personal Struggles

Aretha Franklin performing in November 2017

Nicholas Hunt/WireImage

In summer of 2011, Franklin performed live at several concerts and talk shows to promote her album, Aretha: A Woman Falling Out of Love”, looking svelte and healthy.

In April of that year, she sat down for an interview with PEOPLE just months after being hospitalized for an unspecified operation. Though she strongly denied having bariatric surgery, the singer — who had lost 85 lbs. — did not directly address the rumors that she had cancer.

“I feel fabulous, really,” she told PEOPLE. “And I’m so thankful to all of the people who said a little prayer for me. People at the check out line in the market were telling me that they prayed for me. It’s amazing how beautiful people can be.”

Aretha Franklin in 2012

Monica Morgan/WireImage

On Dec. 1, 2010, a vigil was held in Franklin’s hometown of Detroit after it had been announced she was headed to the hospital for unspecified surgery. Only the night before, Franklin was nominated for another Grammy, this time for her duet with Ron Isley, “You’ve Got a Friend.”

By the middle of that month, as news spread from family members that she was suffering from pancreatic cancer, Franklin was recovering at home, and saying she was up and about — and feeling better, too. In January 2011, the Queen went so far as to pronounce the matter resolved.

An electrifying stage presence who was also frightfully shy offstage, Franklin, under doctors’ orders, in November 2010 canceled all tour dates and personal appearances for the next six months — a sudden announcement that both disappointed and worried her fans, who could well see for the past few years she was not in the best of health.

RELATED: ‘Every Day Is a Gift’ and More of Aretha Franklin’s Deepest Quotes

Aretha Franklin at President Obama’s 2009 inauguration

Alex Wong/Getty Images

Awards and R-E-S-P-E-C-T

While her four-octave range, phrasing and breath control have elicited critical raves for decades, Franklin’s records — “Respect,” “Chain of Fools,” “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman,” “I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Loved You),” among the hundreds of others  — and her record of accomplishments speak for themselves: the first woman to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, in 1987; the holder of the record for most Grammys for best female R&B vocal performance (11); the most million-selling singles of any female artist (14); 18 competitive Grammy victories; two honorary Grammys; the sole (let alone soul) singer at Barack Obama’s 2009 Presidential inauguration — the accolades, including a 2010 honorary doctorate in music from Yale, are literally too numerous to mention.

In 1968, when Franklin was 26 with the first string of early hits to her credit, TIME magazine featured her on its cover under a banner that read, in all capital letters, “The Sound of Soul.” Describing her voice, the news magazine reported, “She does not seem to be performing so much as bearing witness to a reality so simple and compelling that she could not possibly fake it.”

Courtesy of Time Magazine

Father Knew Best

“Fake” was never in Aretha Franklin’s vocabulary. One of five children, Franklin was born in Memphis, but at the age of 6 moved with her family to a large, tree-shaded house not far from Detroit’s East Side, in the same neighborhood as Diana Ross and Smokey Robinson.

Her mother Barbara left at about that time, then died four years later. Aretha’s father, the Rev. C. L. (for Clarence LaVaughn) Franklin, was the fiery preacher of Detroit’s 4,500-member New Bethel Baptist Church — the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King was a family friend — and it was Aretha’s father who steered the shy girl through her first gospel recording when she was 14 and later oversaw her transition into a soul singer.

“She and my dad were very, very, very close,” Aretha’s sister, Erma, told PEOPLE in 1985. “She depended on him and his advice, and when she was living in California, she’d call him three or four times a day.”

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Michael Ochs Archives/Getty

Tragedy struck, however, with Rev. Franklin’s 1979 shooting during a burglary at his home that left him in an irreversible coma. Stunned by the incident, Aretha began an almost weekly pilgrimage from Los Angeles back to Detroit, and in 1982 finally bought the house she occupied for the rest of her life.

During her father’s years of unconsciousness (he died in 1984, as a final result of the shooting), “she spent over a half million dollars on him, $1,500 a week just for nurses,” said Erma. “But she still can’t talk about it, not even with her own family. You can’t even say the word ‘death’ around her. You have to say ‘passed away’ or find some other expression.”

The move from L.A. back to Detroit was followed by a divorce from her second husband, actor Glynn Turman after nearly six years of marriage. Her first marriage, to Ted White, lasted from 1961 until their divorce in 1969. In all, she had four sons: Clarence, Jr., born when Franklin was 14; Edward (“Eddie”), born two years later, Ted White, Jr., born 1964; and Kecalf, born 1970 and whose father is Ken Cunningham.

Aretha Franklin

Rick Diamond/Getty

Eddie Franklin, then 52, was the victim of a physical attack in 2010 at a Detroit gas station that required him to undergo surgery.

Another setback took place in 1983, when during a late-night flight home from Atlanta the small plane Franklin was on “did one of those dipsy-doodles” in midair and shocked the singer into a sudden fear of flying, she told PEOPLE. The all-but-paralyzing aerophobia, which remained a lifelong problem, led to a string of canceled or postponed projects, including a starring role in a stage bio of Mahalia Jackson and the lead in a Broadway musical about Bessie Smith.

And yet, despite her troubles, as Rolling Stone has said, “Aretha Franklin is not only the definitive female soul singer of the ’60s, she’s also one of the most influential and important voices in pop history.”

Stephen Jaffe/Getty

Feuding and Fussing

Protective of her title “Queen of Soul,” Franklin was miffed by Beyoncé for introducing Tina Turner as the “Queen of Soul” at the 2008 Grammys, which led to a minor controversy — and barbs being exchanged — at the time.

In fact, Franklin took tremendous pride in her status as a diva, but could also be baffled by diva behavior in others. While before a concert Franklin would drink hot tea and maintain a temporary silence for the sake of her voice, ”Someone told me that Céline [Dion] will go for a day without talking,” Franklin, in a rare interview, told The New York Times in 2003.

She then said, ”Excuse me? What? You kidding? I might go 20 minutes, maybe 30 minutes. That’s enough. Unbelievable.’”

Daniel Boczarski/Getty

But off-stage, she told PEOPLE previously, it was a different story.

“I’m a diva when it’s time to be a diva,” she said. “When I leave the stage, I am the lady next door.” Watching her 2011 Grammy tribute at home in February with a cup of banana pudding, the legendary singer said she was floored by the performances in her honor.

“I was sitting in front of the TV, waiting for it,” said Franklin. “It was wonderful, and a very special moment. When an industry as big as the recording industry pays tribute to you, on that level, you don’t forget that.”

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Home Entertainment Consumer Guide: June 7, 2018

10 NEW TO NETFLIX

"Bad Genius" "Blue Jasmine" "The Departed" "Just Friends" "The King's Speech" "Miracle" "National Treasure" "Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist" "Outside In" "Thor: Ragnarok"

6 NEW TO BLU-RAY/DVD

"Annihilation"

Alex Garland's "Annihilation" is undeniably one of the most "essential" films of 2018. What I mean by that is that it's a film that movie lovers need to see because it created enough conversation about the current landscape of the medium that it's key to understanding it. First, there was the controversial decision by Paramount to sell it off to Netflix in international markets. Then there was the relative box office failure despite rapturous critical praise. Before it even hit DVD, it felt like the film was a beloved cult item, with groups of fans going to see it in theaters before it left. Now it's on Blu-ray, where I have to admit it looks AMAZING. The fact is that it looks better on my 4K player than it did in the mediocre chain theater in which I saw it. And this is the perfect film to rewatch and appreciate in new ways. I have a feeling it's a movie we'll be writing about and considering for months to come. 

Buy it here 

Special Features Part 1 – SOUTHERN REACH Refractions – See how director Alex Garland created the tone, textures and color palettes for the various film environments on set. For Those That Follow – Listen to the cast's perspective on their roles and learn why they found the story so intriguing. Part 2 – AREA X Shimmer – See how filmmakers transformed real set locations to create the world of Annihilation. Vanished into Havoc – Check out all the action as cast and crew walk you through the mind-blowing stunts and special effects. Part 3 – TO THE LIGHTHOUSE Unfathomable Mind – Learn why the visual effects are integral to achieving director Alex Garland's overall vision for Annihilation. The Last Phase – Listen to the cast and crew share their fondest memories from filming Annihilation.

"Au Hasard Balthazar" (Criterion)

When I was asked a couple months ago to find reviews of films by Roger Ebert that reflected empathy, I considered it a treat to go through so many of his best pieces searching for that theme. In doing so, I came upon Roger's Great Movies review of Bresson's classic "Au Hasard Balthazar." If you have not yet done so, you owe it to yourself to read it. Roger writes, "They regard, and ask us to regard along with them, and to arrive at conclusions about their characters that are our own. This is the cinema of empathy." He then goes into detail about Bresson's approach to cinema, shooting takes dozens of times to drain it of artifice and focus on the action of the moment. Get the new Criterion Blu-ray upgrade, read Roger's review, and appreciate further how Bresson impacted cinema, and how Roger impacted the way we write about it.

Buy it here 

Special Features New 4K digital restoration, with uncompressed monaural soundtrack on the Blu-ray Interview from 2004 with film scholar Donald Richie “Un metteur en ordre: Robert Bresson,” a 1966 French television program about the film, featuring director Robert Bresson, filmmakers Jean-Luc Godard and Louis Malle, and members of Au hasard Balthazar’s cast and crew Trailer Plus: An essay by film scholar James Quandt  Cover by Sarah Habibi

"Gringo"

"Gringo" meanders into subplots just when it needs to tighten up, but there's a remarkable ensemble in this mediore dark comedy, which includes fantastic performance from Charlize Theron as an ice queen of a corporation under siege. The problem with "Gringo" is that Theron is so good that she steals focus from David Oyelowo's genial dope, who is well-played but not well-written. Still, they don't make a lot of adult comedies like this any more, and a chance to spend a couple hours with Theron, Oyelowo, Joel Edgerton, Thandie Newton, and Sharlto Copley makes it worth a mild reccomendation for a rental. 

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Special Features The Making of Gringo - Featurette Who is Harold? - Featurette The Stunts of Gringo - Featurette Filming Gringo in Mexico - Featurette Optional English SDH subtitles for the main feature

"Midnight Cowboy" (Criterion)

John Schlesinger's award-winning drama is such a memorable snapshot of an era that it has come to define it. Anyone over 40 can't see a man in a cowboy hat in New York City and not think of Jon Voight, or cross the street and nearly get hit by a car and quote Dustin Hoffman. It's one of those films that really tapped into something not just about the era in which it was made but where we were going as a culture. It's really a modern take on the country mouse in the city, but the city is now deadly dangerous and a place where people can get lost and forgotten forever. Few films have done as remarkable a job of being a bridge from one arguably-naive era to a more cynical look at the future to which we were all headed as this one. It's a movie that always makes me notably sad, despite such great work by Voight and Hoffman.

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Special Features New 4K digital restoration, approved by cinematographer Adam Holender, with uncompressed monaural soundtrack on the Blu-ray Alternate 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack Audio commentary from 1991 featuring director John Schlesinger and producer Jerome Hellman New video essay with commentary by Holender New photo gallery with commentary by photographer Michael Childers The Crowd Around the Cowboy, a 1969 short film made on location for Midnight Cowboy Waldo Salt: A Screenwriter’s Journey, an Academy Award–nominated documentary from 1990 by Eugene Corr and Robert Hillmann Two short documentaries from 2004 on the making and release of Midnight Cowboy Interview with actor Jon Voight on The David Frost Show from 1970 Voight’s original screen test Interview from 2000 with Schlesinger for BAFTA Los Angeles Excerpts from the 2002 BAFTA Los Angeles tribute to Schlesinger Trailer PLUS: An essay by critic Mark Harris

"Thoroughbreds"

Quality Movie You Probably Haven't Seen Alert! Focus kind of bobbled the release of this great little thriller, a movie that should have been a word-of-mouth hit but barely made a dent at all in theaters. If you like dark comedies like "Heathers," this is your jam, a razor-sharp, socially-smart thriller about two young ladies who conspire to kill someone. Olivia Cooke does her best work to date as Amanda, the more sociopathic of the two, and a woman who befirends Anya Taylor-Joy's Lily. They're both great, as is Anton Yelchin in one of his final performances, but this is really startling as a writing/directing debut by Cory Finley. Keep an eye on him. 

Buy it here 

Special Features The Look of Thoroughbreds - Featurette Character Profiles Deleted Scenes

"Unsane"

Claire Foy's performance in Steven Soderbergh's thriller remains one of the best of the year, and will be so in another six months as well. It's a fearless turn, especially given the fact that he's not allowed many of the tricks and crutches used by actors due to the intimacy created by Soderbergh's iPhone camera. We are right there with Foy as she goes through the psychological and physical challenges of the story of a woman on the edge of sanity, unsure if she's being stalked or going crazy. This is one of many Soderbergh films that I expect time will catch up to, especially as his status as one of the best living American filmmakers continues to rise. Hopefully, at some point in the future, it gets a better Blu-ray treatment than this quickie job by Universal, almost entirely bereft of special features.

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Special Features Unsanity - Featurette

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10 Surprising Facts About Burt Reynolds

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10 Surprising Facts About Burt Reynolds

If your first memory of Burton Leon Reynolds is from the 1993 film Cop and a Half, then you’re probably too young to remember—or even realize—that Burt Reynolds was once Hollywood’s biggest movie star. To put it in perspective: Every year from 1973 to 1984, Reynolds was listed as one of Quigley’s “Top 10 Money Makers,” and held the top spot on the annual poll from 1978 to 1982 (the only other person to boast a record five consecutive years at the top of the list is Bing Crosby, back in the 1940s).

After a serious knee injury and subsequent car accident ended a promising football career at Florida State University, Reynolds found his way into acting. He got his start in a series of television roles, including a regular gig on the western series Riverboat, then hit the big screen big time with his breakout role in John Boorman’s 1972 backwoods classic, Deliverance.

Reynolds followed Deliverance up with such hits as Smokey and The Bandit (a film Playboy called “the Gone with the Wind of good-ol’-boy movies”), Semi-Tough, The Cannonball Run, and The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. Though he hit a bit of a rough patch for a few years, all of that changed when Reynolds agreed to star in Boogie Nights, Paul Thomas Anderson’s 1997 ode to pornography, which earned the actor a Golden Globe award, a Best Supporting Actor Oscar nomination, and one of the biggest comebacks of the decade. Here are 10 things you may not have known about the mustachioed Hollywood icon, who turns 80 years old today.

1. HE TURNED DOWN SOME MAJOR ROLES.

Over the course of a near-60-year career, one is bound to pass on some prime roles. And Reynolds has turned down a lot, including (by his own admission in the video above) Han Solo in Star Wars, R.P. McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Edward Lewis in Pretty Woman, and John McClane in Die Hard. Although he doesn’t regret that final one: “I don’t regret turning down anything Bruce Willis did,” Reynolds told Piers Morgan.

More notably, and perhaps more regrettably, Reynolds turned down a chance to play James Bond in 1969. As Reynolds explains it: “In my infinite wisdom, I said to [producer] Cubby Broccoli, ‘An American can’t play James Bond. It just can’t be done.’ And they really tried to talk me into it. It was a 10-minute discussion. Finally they left. Every night, I wake up in a cold sweat.”

The role Reynolds laments turning down the most, however, is a role that was written specifically with him in mind. When director James L. Brooks approached him about playing Garrett Breedlove in 1983’s Terms of Endearment, Reynolds balked, instead taking a role in Hal Needham’s Stroker Ace. “When it came time to choose between Terms and Stroker, I chose the latter because I felt I owed Hal more than I did Jim,” Reynolds explained (Needham also directed Smokey and the Bandit, Hooper, and The Cannonball Run). “Nobody told me I could have probably done Terms and Universal would have waited until I was finished before making Stroker.” The role went to Jack Nicholson, who took home the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor in 1984.

2. HE POSED NUDE IN A 1972 ISSUE OF COSMOPOLITAN.

It may be common knowledge that Burt Reynolds posed naked in Cosmopolitan. What may be less known is that he regrets that decision. “I’m very embarrassed by it,” Reynolds told Piers Morgan. Editor Helen Gurley Brown asked Reynolds to do the photo shoot after the two appeared together on The Tonight Show. “I thought it would be a kick,” Reynolds said. The issue came out only a short time before Deliverance was released in theaters and all 1.6 million copies of the magazine sold out.

Despite the popularity of the spread, Reynolds now believes that it may have distracted from the critical reception of Deliverance. “I thought it cost some actors in Deliverance an Academy Award,” Reynolds told Morgan. “I think it cost Jon [Voight]. I think it cost Ned Beatty, who certainly deserved an Oscar nomination. I think it hurt me, too.”

3. HE TURNED DOWN HIS OSCAR-NOMINATED ROLE IN BOOGIE NIGHTS. SEVEN TIMES.

Paul Thomas Anderson was adamant that Burt Reynolds play iconoclastic porn producer Jack Horner in his 1997 masterpiece, Boogie Nights, despite Reynolds’s aversion to the material. Anderson asked seven times, and got seven passes from Reynolds. “One night—the eighth time—[Anderson] came to my hotel room,” Reynolds recalled. “And I said, ‘Look, you don’t get it.’ And I went a little berserk. And at the end of the tirade, he said, ‘If you can do that in the movie, you’ll get nominated for an Academy Award.’ And he was right.”

4. AN ON-SET STUNT CAUSED HIM A LIFE OF PAIN.

The 1980s weren’t always kind to Reynolds. “I can’t believe I did all those bad films in a row until I looked at the list,” he said. During the filming of 1984’s City Heat, Reynolds was struck in the face by a metal chair and shattered his jaw. He developed TMJ as a result of the injury and ended up losing 40 pounds due to his inability to eat solid food. The shocking weight loss fueled speculation that Reynolds had contracted AIDS, a rumor he spent years refuting. He also developed a severe drug dependency as a result of the chronic and debilitating pain he suffered from TMJ; at one point Reynolds was taking up to 50 Halcion sleeping pills a day.

Reynolds eventually kicked the pill addiction, but was not so lucky with the pain. He still suffers daily from the more than 30-year-old injury.

5. HE HAD AN IMPROMPTU PIE FIGHT WITH DOUBLE DARE HOST MARC SUMMERS ON THE TONIGHT SHOW.

Burt Reynolds had just finished up his segment as a guest on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno in 1994 and had shifted over to make way for the next guest, TV show host Marc Summers (Double Dare, Unwrapped). Reynolds became visibly irritated with Summers for, ostensibly, turning his back on him while he was speaking to Leno. Summers then made the comment to Reynolds, “I’m still married, by the way.” This jab precipitated a water fight between the two combatants: Reynolds dumped his mug on Summers’s lap, Summers retaliated, so on and so forth. The donnybrook culminated in a rather violent pie fight followed by a very awkward hug.

“This was not a bit,” Summers explained. “I didn’t know what to expect. He was going through a divorce with Loni Anderson at the time and he was angry … He hugged me and said, ‘I only did that because I really like you.’ You wait to get on The Tonight Show your whole life. You’re sitting next to Burt Reynolds. He drops water on your crotch, then you get into a pie fight!”

6. HE PISSED OFF ELMORE LEONARD.

Reynolds was a longtime admirer of writer Elmore Leonard. After reading Leonard’s novel, Stick, Reynolds decided that he wanted to direct and star in the film version. Things did not go well.

After watching Reynolds’s first cut of the film, the studio pushed back its release date and forced him to re-shoot the second half of the movie, much to the actor/director’s dismay. “I turned in my cut of the picture and truly thought I had made a good film,” Reynolds told the Los Angeles Times. “Word got back to me quickly that the [studio] wanted a few changes … I gave up on the film. I didn’t fight them. I let them get the best of me.”

The biggest blow came from Elmore Leonard. “Leonard saw the film the day he was interviewed for a Newsweek cover and told them he hated it,” Reynolds shared. “After his comment, every critic attacked the film and he wouldn’t talk to me. When I re-shot the film, I was just going through the motions. I’m not proud of what I did, but I take responsibility for my actions. All I can say—and this is not in way of a defense—is if you liked the first part of Stick, that’s what I was trying to achieve throughout.”

7. HE DABBLED IN THE NIGHTCLUB BUSINESS.

Burt Reynolds’s foray into the booming 1970s nightclub business was a short-lived one. He opened Burt’s Place in the late 1970s at the Omni International Hotel in downtown Atlanta. The club’s most notable feature was a stained glass dance floor that featured a rendering of Burt’s face and the words, “Burt’s Joint”—which was odd, considering that wasn’t even the name of the establishment. Burt’s Place/Joint closed after a year.

8. MARLON BRANDO WAS NOT A FAN OF REYNOLDS.

Coming up in the movie business, Burt Reynolds was a huge Marlon Brando fan. Brando did not share the sentiment. When Reynolds was being considered for the role of Michael Corleone in 1972’s The Godfather, Brando adamantly declared that if Reynolds was given the role, he would remove himself from the project. The rest is history.

Brando later said about Reynolds, “He is the epitome of something that makes me want to throw up … He is the epitome of everything that is disgusting about the thespian … He worships at the temple of his own narcissism.” Ouch! To be fair, in the same conversation, Brando admits that he had never even met Reynolds.

9. HE RELEASED AN ALBUM. 

Hot off his success in Deliverance and his nude spread in Cosmo, a solo album seemed like the next, most Hollywood-appropriate course of action.

Reynolds released his debut record, “Ask Me What I Am,” in 1973 and somehow this gem seems to have evaded critics and fans alike. We do know that the album came with a double-sized poster of Reynolds in a blue jumpsuit and cowboy hat. You can listen to a track on YouTube, but if you must hear it in its entirety, it’s available on Amazon.

10. HE DOESN’T THINK DELIVERANCE COULD BE RE-MADE TODAY.

“They keep talking about a remake, but I don’t think you could find four actors crazy enough to do it,” Reynolds said. “Not by any stretch of the imagination were we white water experts. We’d quit for the day and come back and practice. We got to the point where we were more proficient, or at least we didn’t get tipped over all the time. I have to admit that, in spite of the danger, or maybe because of the danger, it was the most fun I ever had.”

Reynolds has often said that Deliverance is the finest of all of his films.

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What to Do If You Hate Your Friend’s Significant Other

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What to Do If You Hate Your Friend’s Significant Other

A few years ago, I was dating someone who treated me pretty poorly. When my best friend John told me as much, I didn’t take it well. I cut him off for the next six months of my spiraling, toxic relationship. After the girl and I broke up, I slept and cried for a week, then texted John to reignite our friendship over tacos.

During that meal, I admitted he’d been right about her and apologized for being unable to hear him out. We promised each other that, going forward, we would never be “yes friends” — we would always be honest about each other’s relationships; we would never let the other wriggle around in a bad situation for longer than necessary.

For a while, it worked, and eventually, I extended the policy to my larger friend group.

“Rob is literal garbage, you need to run away screaming,” I told my friend Natasha.

“Guillermo has an emotional age of 12, it is probably illegal for you to date him,” I said to my friend Nora.

“Your boyfriend is completely untrustworthy, please dump him immediately,” I told John, about a year after we’d made our promise. I had met his new boyfriend over drinks, experienced a bad vibe, and felt I had to share.

Soon after, I stopped hearing from him as much. I watched Instagram videos of him and his boyfriend on boats and beaches, smiling on a train in Connecticut. (He didn’t even tell me he was in Connecticut!) Although we didn’t acknowledge it, I sensed there was a rift between us. I sensed I had done something wrong. But had I? What about our binding agreement over tacos?

I began to wonder whether radical honesty was really the best approach. Were there certain circumstances where it’s not advisable? What should one do if a friend has an untrustworthy partner if not tell him? What should I do now?

I spoke to Dr. Linda Carroll, a psychotherapist, life coach and author of Love Cycles. She walked me through what to consider when you dislike your friend’s significant other, and how to decide whether to be forthright, be a so-called “yes friend” or perhaps something in-between.

Step 1: Know when they can’t hear it

When we fall in love, Dr. Carroll explains, “our bodies are downloaded with a love potion.” We chemically change as our brains flood with endorphins, oxytocin and dopamine and we form a kind of druggy brain attachment to the object of our affections. In this stage, she says, “we don’t see red flags ourselves and we don’t want to hear about them because we want the fix.” We create a bright shadow around this person, believe everything we think “fits the model that the person’s right and it’s going to work.”

Those first few months, she suggests you hold off from sharing your dislike. “Your information is not going to be welcome,” she says. “They can’t hear it.”

Step 2: Decide whether your concern is objectively legit

While you’re waiting for your friend to get a little less lovesick, Dr. Carroll suggests exploring your own motivations.

Ask yourself: “Is this person bringing up something in me? Are they triggering a response from an old partner I’ve had? Do I have a certain kind of prejudice against [this type of person]?” Consider the red flags. Are they small, like the person is messy or impolite or full of annoying habits? Or do you have real data, like you know he or she has a history of violent behavior?

If you do approach your friend, it can’t be just because you don’t “like” the person. “You need to know what’s really happening,” she says. “Only if you’ve cleared it with yourself and you know that you really feel distressed about what you’re seeing,” should you say something. You don’t have to have the same feelings for your friend’s partner as your friend does — even if that’d be nice — but it’s fair to want your friend to be safe and cared for.

Step 3: Soften your approach

If you’ve thought about it and your motivations are pure, try starting by “asking your friend’s permission to share,” advises Dr. Carroll. For instance, “I have some feelings about your significant other that I’m not comfortable with and I feel like I should tell you, do you want to know?” This allows your friend to buy into the conversation and to process any information without feeling defensive.

And if the answer is no, drop it. Your friend is not ready to hear it and he or she has told you so. Try again in three months.

Step 4: Let it go

If your friend is not receptive, it’s important to try not to convince him or her, Dr. Carroll says. “They’re just going to push all the much harder to convince themselves that this is the right person and close out whatever you say.”

Honor what you feel without arguing your point. Reiterate that everything does come from your perspective, and that your friend may have information that you don’t. This provides an opening for your friend to “come back to you months later when the love drugs wear off.” Plus, if the relationship is actually dangerous, it’s crucial that your friend doesn’t feel isolated.

Step 5: Stop feeding yourself bad thoughts

What if your dislike is not legit? What if this person is annoying, but not evil? What if they suck, but don’t need to be shut down?

“If you don’t like this person, that’s fine. But don’t continue to look for evidence,” Dr. Carroll says. “Allow yourself to see that they’re bringing joy to your friend and it’s not for you anyway. Allow yourself to be open to changing.” And if you never change? “You don’t have to like each other, you just have to be kind,” she says.

After hearing the above, it became clear my best friend’s and my policy was misguided. “So what do I do now?” I asked Dr. Carroll.

She laughed. “Apologize! You’re human.”

Bailey Williams is a Brooklyn-based writer and playwright. She just joined Twitter but has been taking annoying vacation photos on Instagram for some time @buffalobailey.

Collages by Louisiana Mei Gelpi. 

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