And in this context, forgiveness has less to do with extending pardon than with putting an offense off to one side, removing it from our line of sight so that it does not interfere with our enjoyment of the resultant fame. In the act of setting aside, of separating notoriety from its cause, we hear echoes of what the killers of Columbine did when they daydreamed about how directors would fight over their story. The worst part of hearing that is knowing you can't, with certainty, say that they were mistaken. And knowing, too, that if the movie is someday made some other sick person, seeing it, will be impressed not by the stinging pain of the tragedy but, rather, by the fact that two otherwise-anonymous sociopaths found a way to become larger than life. In the media age, anonymity is the only unpardonable crime.
Celebrity is an end unto itself.
It came out in 1980, a long time ago in ways the calendar doesn't measure. These days, it seems, it no longer matters how you get to fame. It's more important that you get there. Monica Lewinsky got there in the tawdriest way. Now she's using her fame to sell us a weight-loss program.