Lightening up the mood around here a bit, I’d like to thank the script writers at True Tori (or as one blogger so nicely puts it True Whorey) for this bit of theatrical “remorse” by Dean McDermott.
Confronting McDermott about his disappearance during a Christmas party with their four children, Tori wants him to know that he missed fake snow, and it was special, and she had to deal with all that herself while he was off fucking around.
“It’s creepy to think someone could be that good of an actor,” says Spelling.
Um. You married an actual actor, Tori.
McDermott — a guy with a face like hammered steak and an apparent penchant for wearing t-shirts he dug out of the bottom of the laundry bin — is thunderstruck.
“Babe?!” says Spelling, dissolving into tears at McDermott’s apparent distress.
The head clutching is all too much for her! This operatic gesture of remorse is why she Just Can’t Confront Him. See what happens? It hurts him! The therapist assures her, that hey, he has to feel this.
Why do either of them assume he feels anything at all? He’s an actor. A bad, hammy one, but an actor nonetheless. Soldiering forth with his lines, McDermott declares, “I feel shame like I’ve never felt shame before. It’s like an icepick through my head!”
A note to Hollywood script writers — infidelity is like an icepick through your head (and heart). Shame? Not so much. Personally, I doubt whether a practiced serial cheater like McDermott is capable of shame. Clearly neither Tori or Dean experience shame or they wouldn’t be starring in their own reality TV show. But I get this is an ancient dramatic arc, beginning with Paul on the road to Damascus struck by the light of God toward repentance, ending with the magician in Frosty the Snowman who’s really sorry after all! People love this kind of fairy tale.
Why? Because it doesn’t happen in real life. Like all “reality” TV, it’s aspirational. Cheaters don’t have perfectly timed, on camera breakthroughs that, gosh! they are scumbags! Disordered people don’t feel pain at hurting others. They just feel their own pain, and yours is a little annoying buzz, and would you please shut up? Shaming them with Christmas photos of their children tends to be a tactic doomed to failure — ask several thousand chumps how they know.
No, if shame exists for guys like Dean McDermott at all, it’s a slow, creeping realization that they Aren’t All That. It happens over years. He wakes up one day and thinks “God, I need to wash my t-shirt.” The royalties to his TV show have long dried up and he’s doing late-night infomercials for dog shampoo and thinks “Maybe if I hadn’t been such a douchebag, my life would’ve turned out differently.” But he dare not utter this. Especially not to his five children who don’t talk to him. Or his multiple ex-wives. He admits it to himself, and it has all the force of a flaccid egg noodle.
In other news, the ice pick of shame clearly hasn’t permeated Monica Lewinsky’s head. Tomorrow her expose in Vanity Fair comes out, where she “breaks her silence” about her affair with President Clinton.
She is tired of “tiptoeing around my past – and other people’s futures. I am determined to have a different ending to my story. I’ve decided, finally, to stick my head above the parapet.”
Putting aside that she stuck her bouffant-ed head above the parapet earlier for a Barbara Walter’s interview and a book deal, I guess it’s time to stick it to Hilary as she considers a run for president. Lovely timing, Monica. I’m sure you’re very sorry and would like to apologize to Mrs. Clinton for fucking her husband.
No? You were a “scapegoat”? You’re the real victim here and you’re going to set the “narrative” straight? Thanks for that, Monica. We’d all forgotten you. Mrs. Clinton has gone on to be Secretary of State and you’ve… what have you been doing? Designing handbags?
Where are those icepicks of shame when you need them.