Diane Keaton’s nail clippers for $960: what’s behind the new boom in celebrity estate auctions?

With beloved stars’ personal items increasingly up for grabs after they die, a new generation of fans are bidding on everything from bowler hats to dog bowls From Diane Keaton’s bowler hats and polka dot scarfs, to Gene Hackman’s used paint brushes, to Terence Stamp’s love letters from Jean Shrimpton and even Matthew Perry’s black leather wallet (his credit cards and AAA membership card still inside), fans are being offered – at a price – increasingly personal items from the estates of dead celebrities. The growing trend for auctions of deceased famous people’s personal items – which has boomed ever since the hugely popular Marilyn Monroe estate sale in 1999 – has even attracted its own portmanteau: “deleb” as in dead celebrity. Continue reading... from Film | The Guardian https://ift.tt/4Yh215g via IFTTT

Streaming: the best of the Brat Packers

Two 80s teen dramas, The Breakfast Club and St Elmo’s Fire, made overnight stars of a band of young actors including Molly Ringwald, Demi Moore and Rob Lowe – and Andrew McCarthy, whose new documentary looks back on those years

Depending on your age, Andrew McCarthy’s Brats (Disney+, from 5 July) will either be a cosy nostalgia trip or a window into another era of celebrity. As someone who was two years old at their zenith, I’ve only ever known the Brat Pack as a past buzzword: a gaggle of then-young American actors who became a collective cultural phenomenon before just as quickly dispersing into a very different array of career fortunes. To look back on that now, as McCarthy’s documentary does, is to learn more about 80s-era media and publicity machinery than anything particularly crucial about American cinema.

The Brat Pack was defined in 1985 by a pair of coming-of-age films, The Breakfast Club and St Elmo’s Fire — one about high-schoolers, one about college grads, though made months apart with heavily overlapping casts. Neither has aged especially well except as a time capsule: the former is at least distinguished by the signature snarky snap of John Hughes’s writing and the fizzy pulse of Simple Minds’ Don’t You (Forget About Me), but the wispy soap opera of St Elmo’s Fire (complete with John Parr’s uncool title song) really has only the eager charisma of its ensemble to recommend it today.

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