Whether I should or not, I have gotten into the habit of
running potential underwear blog topics past Tom as a sort of vetting
experience, to see if he can follow along or make suggestions. On rare occasions, I also let him read what’s
to be posted, especially if he’s named prominently as part of the discussion. Proper journalists don’t do this, as they
don’t want their stories to be unjustly skewed pro or con, but as a spouse who
takes an active interest in what I do and how I do it, I’ve found that he has a
temperance I might not necessarily display.
We were watching Green
Lantern the other night (ah, Ryan Reynolds, ah, Taika Waititi, please knock
on my door), and out of nowhere he asked if I had considered what was probably
the most iconic underwear scene in cinematic history – certainly one of the
first which was plot-appropriate to a movie that didn’t necessarily fall into
the category of porn. I admit to having
been at a loss and couldn’t put my finger on the example he was hinting at. It was like a bad round of Trivial Pursuit: what ground-breaking, preemptive
example of underwear bearing could I have missed?
“Tom Cruise in Risky
Business,” he replied. (He also
sounded a bit smug, but in the interest of giving him his due and being able to
still share a bed, I’ll let him have that.)
Oh.
After some reflection, I grudgingly decided he was
correct. I mean, it was the 1980s, and
as it was his first leading role, it was also Cruise’s single most valuable
contribution to both the American film industry and the underwear fetishist
everywhere. I mean, first impressions
are everything, right? How can you not
love him sliding into the frame in socks, sunglasses, dress shirt, and
Jockeys? And if not him … anyone?
So I’ll give Tom (both of them) this point. Yes, Tom Cruise has contributed to the cause.
Unfortunately, this moment was his last contribution of value to said cause, as he has definitely cornered
the market on a lifestyle that borders on “bat crap crazy.” I suppose he’s an easy target: three
marriages (Mimi Rogers, Nicole Kidman, Katie Holmes); the whole Scientology
thing; jumping on Oprah’s couch … the guy is nuts. I don’t actively seek out his films (I think
the last one I saw by choice was War of
the Worlds) and when I read any news
magazine/tabloid stories regarding his latest “adventures,” it’s always with a
bored what-has-this-world-come-to-another-story-about-this-weirdo exhaustion.
I laughed out loud when Nicole Kidman made the comment that,
once her divorce to Cruise was finalized, she could wear high heels again. (She even got to see him in vintage, late
1800s, Irish farmer undershorts in Far
and Away … she didn’t know what she was getting into?) And of course, it must have come as quite a
shock to his Cruise-ness when Paramount dropped his contract. It’s ironic to me that, for someone who is so
devout, he prides himself coming off as being off-kilter and belongs to a
religion that openly opposes psychology, psychiatry and the prescriptions they
use.
Ironic and iconic, that’s our Mr. Cruise. (To my Tom – keep the ideas coming. To Tom Cruise – Do us a favor, and just read
your lines, okay? If you can’t do that,
retire quietly and simply be pleased that you made some films that people
watched. Don’t give any interviews, get
married, or have/adopt any more children; and leave the proselytizing to the
Jehovah’s Witnesses. They’re annoying
enough. And for the love of Xenu, get
some therapy.)
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