Sageing With Janet

05/07/2025

🎥 “I thought it was a disaster waiting to happen.”
That’s what Richard Dreyfuss said in a 2023 interview with Entertainment Weekly, remembering his first day filming Jaws. The ocean was wild. The mechanical shark didn’t work. And the young director? Just 27 years old. Dreyfuss was convinced it would end Steven Spielberg’s career.

Instead, it rewrote Hollywood history. 🦈

Based on Peter Benchley’s 1974 novel, the original script included mafia ties and a torrid affair between Hooper and Brody’s wife. But once cameras rolled, Spielberg cut the darker subplots, sharpening the focus on suspense and character tension. That pivot gave the film its legendary pacing — lean, gripping, and unforgettable.

The infamous shark, "Bruce" (named after Spielberg’s lawyer), was a 1.2-ton steel and fiberglass beast powered by hydraulics that weren’t made for saltwater. On day one, it sank to the ocean floor. Spielberg admitted he cried alone in his hotel room, fearing the whole project would collapse.

And yet… magic rose from chaos.

🐟 Roy Scheider, who played Chief Brody, improvised the now-iconic line: “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.” It was a running joke about the crew’s tiny support vessels, but Spielberg loved it — and kept it in the final cut.

🎭 Meanwhile, behind the scenes, tensions simmered. Robert Shaw (Quint) reportedly despised Dreyfuss, taunting him between takes and challenging him to perform dangerous stunts. Dreyfuss refused. Shaw later confessed, “I insulted him so he would show real contempt for me in the scenes.” And it worked — their friction translated into raw, unforgettable chemistry.

🎼 The music? Spielberg laughed when John Williams first played him the now-iconic two-note score. “You’re kidding, right?” he asked. But when the sound met shark attacks, fear took on a voice — one that would haunt generations.

One scene — the chilling monologue about the USS Indianapolis — was largely rewritten by Robert Shaw himself. He trimmed it into something leaner, darker, and more poetic. He filmed it in one take, late at night, with a few drinks in him. That moment became one of the film’s most powerful.

But nothing came easy.

🌊 Filming on open water was a logistical nightmare. Boats drifted into frame. Actors got seasick. Equipment short-circuited. Spielberg later said, “I started waking up with panic attacks. I thought the movie was eating me alive.”

The shoot ballooned from 55 days to over 150. The budget more than doubled from $4M to $9M. Universal nearly replaced Spielberg — but producer Richard Zanuck fought to keep him. And Spielberg, ever the perfectionist, refused to film the shark’s destruction until he felt the story had truly earned it.

With “Bruce” constantly malfunctioning, Spielberg leaned into implied fear — using underwater POV shots and Williams’ music to suggest the shark’s presence. The result? Audiences feared the water not because of what they saw... but because of what they imagined. 🧠💀

June 20, 1975. Jaws premiered with modest expectations. No one predicted the crowds... or the nationwide beach panic that followed. Spielberg didn’t even show up for the final day of shooting — he thought the crew might toss him in the ocean.

But what started as near-collapse became a cinematic revolution.

Jaws didn’t just succeed — it redefined the summer blockbuster, forever changing the way movies were made, marketed, and experienced.

Every frame? Fought for.
Every scare? Earned.
Every legend? Born from chaos. 🎬🦈

05/07/2025

Carl Jung said, “The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.”

We can spend so much of life trying to be who the world wants us to be - fitting in, keeping the peace, not being too loud, ticking the boxes.

But your soul didn’t come here to be agreeable to others. It came here to be real and true. Your soul came to be authentically you.

So take the detours. Shed the layers. Let go of the layers and stories that never belonged to you. Let go of other people’s expectations and the moulds they want you to fit in. Let whatever doesn’t serve you go.

Because your greatest purpose is to come home to yourself, and be who you truly are 🧡

Top tip
If being your true self feels a million miles away, here’s my small step to start now:

Notice when you’re editing yourself to please others.

It might be a smile that hides how you really feel. A “yes” when you mean “no.” When you say the opposite of what you really feel to keep the peace.

SO be aware and notice. That’s the first, small step. No judgement, no criticism just compassionate observation. When can do nothing when we don’t know. Awareness creates choice, and that is your route home.

With love
Fiona
www.earthmonk.guru

05/07/2025

🎭 Backstage at CBS, time stood still.
It wasn’t a red carpet moment. There were no flashing bulbs or scripted lines. Just two old friends—Mary Tyler Moore and Dick Van D**e—finding each other in the quiet hum of nostalgia… and sorrow. 💔✨

It was 1981. Just months earlier, Mary had lost her only child, 24-year-old Richie Meeker, to a tragic and accidental gunshot wound. Since that October night, she had vanished from public life, wrapped in grief, unreachable. But this night—this tribute to The Dick Van D**e Show—was different. It wasn’t about fame. It was about joy. And it was Dick who reached out.

She arrived quietly, almost uncertain, standing near the curtain like a shadow from a brighter time. And then he saw her. Dick’s face lit up with that unmistakable warmth, and without hesitation, he opened his arms.

Mary stepped in.
Her shoulders shook. Her face buried in his chest. And through trembling breath she whispered:
“You’re the only man who ever made me laugh when I didn’t want to.”

No cameras. No applause. Just one of the most soul-deep embraces television would never see. 🤍

In his memoir My Lucky Life, Dick Van D**e later called that hug one of the most heart-wrenching of his life. Mary wasn’t the legend in that moment. She was a mother undone by silence, finding fleeting comfort in the arms of someone who remembered her before the heartbreak.

Later, they sat side by side—no speeches, just shared memories and quiet whispers. Dick asked how she was holding up. Mary replied, eyes glistening:

🗣️ “One breath at a time.”

Some moments never make the headlines. But they’re the ones that last forever.
👇 If this touched you, share it with someone who understands the weight of grief and the power of a familiar embrace.

**e

04/07/2025

Not every day will be perfect,
some will test your patience,
your strength,
your spirit.

But if you pause,
slow down,
breathe deeply,
and turn your heart toward gratitude,
you’ll start to notice the quiet blessings,
woven quietly into your day.

Even in the midst of chaos,
when everything feels heavy,
there is still,
however small,
always something to be thankful for.

On these more challenging days
may we try a little harder
to stay present,
and truly appreciate the blessings
we often overlook.

Gratitude inspires wisdom,
reminding us that even on our hardest days,
there is light to be found,
if we are willing to look for it.

~ 'Embracing Gratitude' by Spirit of a Hippie

✍️ Mary Anne Byrne

~ Art by Suzan Daniels

04/07/2025

🎬 He couldn’t see the camera. But he saw what Hollywood didn’t.

In 1983, during pre-production for Sixteen Candles, a scene appeared in the script that raised instant red flags. It suggested that Molly Ringwald’s underage character might appear n**e — a moment that blurred the line between vulnerability and exploitation. Molly was just 15 years old.

And one person wasn’t having it: her father, Robert “Bob” Ringwald — a blind jazz musician, fierce protector, and the steady voice Molly never knew she’d need so urgently. 🎹❤️

Bob read the script, heard the implications, and immediately said no. Not maybe. Not later. Absolutely not. His daughter would not be sexualized on screen — not then, not ever.

At the time, Molly was fast becoming the face of American teen cinema, handpicked by director John Hughes after her performance on The Facts of Life. Hughes wrote Sixteen Candles specifically for her. But even as her star rose, the industry around her remained full of traps disguised as opportunity.

In a 2018 interview with The New Yorker, Molly recalled that moment with clarity and deep gratitude:

“My dad read the script and said no, absolutely not. I’m really grateful he did that. I think if that scene had stayed, it would have been something that haunted me forever.”

Later, as the world revisited teen films through the lens of the era, Molly did too. In a widely shared New Yorker essay, “What About The Breakfast Club?”, she reflected on the jokes, scenes, and subtle violations that once felt "normal" but now felt deeply uncomfortable — especially when rewatching Sixteen Candles with her own daughter.

The now-infamous implied nudity scene never made it to film — thanks to her father’s intervention — but the trauma of what could have happened stayed with her. So did the lesson. 🧠

Bob Ringwald, who had been blind since birth, passed away in August 2021. But his clarity — as a father, a musician, and a man outside Hollywood’s glossy haze — shaped the way Molly would navigate her career. And her identity.

“There were things I didn’t fully understand at the time,” she said. “But my dad did. And he acted.”

🎙️ He didn’t storm a studio. He didn’t call a press conference. He simply said: “My daughter is off-limits.”
That quiet protest became one of Molly’s most defining off-screen moments — and set a standard for the rest of her life.

Because sometimes, the most heroic line in the script…
is the one a parent refuses to let you cross.

28/06/2025

In the autumn of 1973, inside the tiny Royal Court Theatre’s Upstairs stage in London, a bizarre musical took shape. Richard O’Brien, a struggling actor between gigs, wrote a strange, satirical play to occupy his time. He combined elements of science fiction, B-movie horror, glam rock, and sexual liberation. Originally titled "They Came from Denton High", the musical was retitled "The Rocky Horror Show". It ran for barely 60 minutes with a minimal cast, but each performance drew more and more curious theatergoers, eventually catching the attention of director Jim Sharman, who had directed O’Brien in "Jesus Christ Superstar".

Sharman convinced Lou Adler, a music executive who had backed the stage production in Los Angeles, that it needed a film adaptation. Filming began in October 1974 at Bray Studios, a British location known for Hammer horror films. The cast included Tim Curry as Dr. Frank N Furter, a role he originated on stage, and Susan Sarandon and Barry Bostwick as the clueless American couple Janet and Brad. Curry’s high heels, corset, and lipstick were not a costume experiment. He had performed in them on stage for years, perfecting a character that was equal parts predator, diva, and misunderstood genius.

One major obstacle hit early: the production’s limited budget. Instead of building lavish sets, the crew used Oakley Court, a decaying Gothic mansion near the Thames. The building was freezing cold, had no insulation, and was riddled with rats and leaky ceilings. Susan Sarandon caught pneumonia during the pool scene. She begged to wear a robe between takes but the costume team refused, fearing continuity issues. Her co-stars kept working under the same freezing conditions, with Tim Curry’s makeup often running from the moisture.

The film’s music, all composed by Richard O’Brien and arranged by Richard Hartley, was recorded before shooting began. Songs like "Time Warp", "Sweet Transvestite", and "Touch a, Touch a, Touch a, Touch Me" pushed the boundaries of what studio executives considered acceptable. During test screenings, executives were horrified. One commented, “It’s like watching a musical directed by Frankenstein and scored by David Bowie on acid.”

One of the strangest casting moments involved Meat Loaf, who was brought on to play Eddie. He later admitted he did not understand the script or plot at all. “They handed me this thing, and I thought, ‘Who’s Riff Raff? Why is there a transvestite alien? What is going on here?’” During his musical number "Hot Patootie", director Sharman demanded that Meat Loaf ride a motorcycle through the castle set. A stunt double handled most shots, but in one close-up, Meat Loaf accidentally crashed through a wall, injuring his knee.

The audience at the 1975 premiere did not know what to make of the film. It opened quietly in London and then bombed in the United States. But then, something unexpected happened in New York. The Waverly Theater began midnight showings, drawing eccentric, expressive crowds. People came dressed as Frank N Furter, Columbia, and Magenta. They yelled lines back at the screen, danced in the aisles, and threw props. A full-blown audience participation culture was born, not planned by the producers but invented organically by the viewers.

This underground popularity turned into a phenomenon. Richard O’Brien once shared that the script’s strangeness came from his own feelings of being an outsider. He had never felt at home in the traditional world and created a space where misfits could rule. He said, “I was never invited to the ball, so I wrote one and made myself the host.”

An unexpected cultural moment happened when Princess Diana met Tim Curry during a theater event in the 1980s. According to Curry, she told him with a smile, “Thank you for the film, it quite completed my education.”

"The Rocky Horror Picture Show" became more than a movie. It became a ritual, a sanctuary, and an unapologetic celebration of eccentricity and freedom. And it all started because one actor, unemployed and restless, wrote the weirdest thing he could imagine during a lonely winter evening.

Even today, somewhere on a midnight screen, Frank N Furter still struts down those castle stairs, fishnets shining, lips red, and arms wide open.

28/06/2025

Morgan Freeman’s earliest memories are filled with the scent of Mississippi soil and the echo of distant train whistles through the fields of Charleston. He was just a baby when his parents, struggling to stay afloat in the racially segregated South, sent him to live with his grandmother. She raised him in a small wooden house where food was rationed, heat was scarce, and love was steady. It was a world of Baptist hymns, second-hand books, and the constant sound of her voice telling him, “You’ll rise above this.” When she passed away, young Morgan was sent back to his mother, who had been working as a cleaner and teacher in Chicago. It was the beginning of a life spent in motion, from Mississippi to Indiana to Illinois, yet every move carved resilience deeper into his soul.

He was born on June 1, 1937, in Memphis, Tennessee, to Mayme Edna and Morgan Porterfield Freeman. His father, a barber, battled alcoholism and died of cirrhosis in 1961. His mother struggled to support the family alone, often working long hours. Amid financial hardship and constant change, Freeman found quiet refuge in daydreams and storytelling. The segregated movie theaters of the South became his sanctuary. Too poor for toys or luxuries, he would watch films from the balcony, absorbing every character, every emotion, every plot twist. He didn’t have much, but he had imagination, and that made all the difference.

At age nine, an unexpected moment changed his life. As punishment for pulling a chair out from under a classmate, he was forced to participate in a school play. He stood on stage trembling, yet when the audience laughed and applauded, something awakened inside him. He never forgot that moment. In high school, he acted in plays, won statewide drama competitions, and even worked briefly in local radio. He turned down a drama scholarship from Jackson State University to enlist in the Air Force, believing aviation was his destiny. But four years later, after working as a radar technician, he realized flying planes couldn’t match the thrill of performing.

He moved to Los Angeles and enrolled at the Pasadena Playhouse while supporting himself with clerical jobs and dancing in San Francisco clubs. His stage debut came in an off-Broadway production of "The Niggerlovers," followed by a touring role in "Hello, Dolly!" starring Pearl Bailey. National visibility came in the 1970s with "The Electric Company," a children’s show where he played roles like Easy Reader. Though grateful for the opportunity, he later admitted he often felt creatively unfulfilled by the parts he was offered.

Years of smaller roles and perseverance paid off in 1987 with "Street Smart," earning him his first Academy Award nomination. Soon after, he starred in "Glory," "Lean on Me," and "Driving Miss Daisy," earning another Oscar nod for the latter. Audiences and directors alike began to recognize his rare ability to combine strength with softness. Films like "The Shawshank Redemption," "Se7en," "Amistad," and "Million Dollar Baby" earned critical praise. He also brought wisdom and warmth to characters like God in "Bruce Almighty" and Lucius Fox in "The Dark Knight" trilogy.

Freeman married Jeanette Adair Bradshaw in 1967 and adopted her daughter, Deena. They divorced in 1979. In 1984, he married costume designer Myrna Colley-Lee. Their marriage ended in 2010 after a separation of several years. Freeman has four children: Alfonso, Saifoulaye, Morgana, and Deena. Alfonso became an actor and appeared in a few of his father’s films. Morgana pursued work in wellness and nonprofit efforts. Freeman shared a deep bond with his step-granddaughter E’Dena Hines, whom he raised like a daughter. Her tragic death in 2015 shattered him.

In 2008, he was seriously injured in a car crash in Mississippi, resulting in lasting nerve damage to his left hand. Despite the pain and physical limitations, he never stepped away from acting. He wore a compression glove and adjusted his performances but remained committed. He expanded his voice work and documentary projects, producing thoughtful series like "Through the Wormhole" and "The Story of God."

His Mississippi ranch became a bee sanctuary, reflecting his concern for the environment. He supported educational programs and cultural preservation across the South. Though private by nature, Freeman stayed deeply engaged in meaningful work rather than social media noise or celebrity feuds.

In recent years, he acted in films like "The Bucket List," "Olympus Has Fallen," and "Angel Has Fallen," while continuing to lend his voice to commercials and documentaries. Even in his 80s, he maintained the same presence that captivated audiences decades ago.

He lives not to be defined by awards or fame, but by the simple pursuit of telling truth through characters that move hearts and awaken minds.

26/06/2025

🤝 Not a comedy duo. A chosen family.

Before the world saw them as legends, Robin Williams and Billy Crystal were just two comics stealing quiet moments backstage. During early Comic Relief rehearsals, they'd sneak off to sit on a staircase—just the two of them. There, Robin once performed an entire Shakespeare play in five minutes, just to make Billy laugh through the stress. “You’d be exhausted,” Billy recalled, “and suddenly, he’d whisper something that had you crying from laughter. Just for you. Just because.”

That was the heart of their friendship: not built in the spotlight—but in the shadows behind it.

In 1986, they joined Whoopi Goldberg for the first Comic Relief, raising millions for the homeless. But Billy would say the real magic happened after the curtain fell—in the sweaty hugs, the late-night wrap-ups, when they stopped being performers and started being brothers.

Robin's love didn’t arrive with fanfare. When Billy’s father passed, Robin quietly showed up at the funeral, stood in the back, said nothing, then slipped away before anyone noticed. “That was Robin,” Billy later said. “Wordless love. But unmistakable.”

Even as their careers evolved in different orbits, their friendship never faltered. After Robin’s heart surgery in 2009, Billy kept calling. Not to cheer him up—but to let him know someone saw him. “He didn’t like to talk about his pain,” Billy said. “So I just stayed close.”

Onstage, they were magic. Billy the steady hand, Robin the joyful hurricane. “Going onstage with him was like dancing with a friendly tornado,” Billy once joked. “But in private, he was so gentle. So present. He’d hold your hand if you needed it.”

They didn’t exchange birthday gifts—only absurd faxes and made-up poems. One year, Billy got a drawing from Robin: a gorilla in a tutu with the caption, “This is your spirit animal. Embrace it.” He laughed so hard, he framed it.

When Robin passed in 2014, Billy chose silence—until the Emmy Awards, where he didn’t eulogize the star, but remembered the soul. “He made us laugh hard,” Billy said, “but more than that, he made us feel deeply. He never asked for credit. He just showed up.”

His closing words echoed in every heart watching:
“He was the brightest star in the comedy galaxy. And though the brightest lights burn out the fastest, this one... will keep warming us forever.” 💫

Even years later, Billy still talks to him—on walks through Central Park, in sudden laughter drifting from across the street. Because the kind of friendship they shared? It doesn't fade. It lingers. Quietly. Like love that never needed to announce itself.

26/06/2025

“The problem when you are a strong, capable, self-confident person, is that more often than not, people think that you don't really need things like comfort, reassurance, loyalty and guidance. People are more likely to look at you and say, "She doesn't need this", "She doesn't need that", "She's already all of this and all of that". But then the truth is that most probably, you are a strong, capable, self-confident person because you built yourself brick-by-brick into that person; because you HAD to BECOME that person; because you had determination enough to make yourself into the image that you knew you needed to become. At the heart of many strong, confident people, is a heart most longing of the things that most others simply take for granted.”
C. JoyBell C.

Peder Severin Krøyer - Marie Króyer, 1889.

26/06/2025

Yay for Inge!

🔬💫 She Looked Deeper Than Anyone Dared
This is Inge Lehmann, born in 1888 in Denmark — a time when girls were told to mind the home, not the heavens. But Inge? She had other plans. With quiet defiance and a fierce intellect, she stepped into the male-dominated world of mathematics and seismology — and ended up shaking the very foundation of science. 🌍⚡

Back then, scientists believed Earth’s core was entirely molten. But when Inge studied earthquake data, she saw something they didn’t — seismic waves bouncing back in ways that simply shouldn’t happen... unless there was something solid hiding deep inside. Where others dismissed the anomaly, she trusted her math. And in 1936, she revealed the truth: Earth has a solid inner core — a hidden heart beating beneath 3,000 miles of pressure and heat.

Her discovery rewrote textbooks, yet applause was scarce. Credit often went to men. But Inge didn’t seek praise. She sought truth — and that was enough. Working into her 70s, she kept questioning, calculating, and quietly outshining the doubters.

A pioneer. A seismologist. A woman who proved the world was more than what men said it was.

🖤 Inge Lehmann didn’t just study the Earth. She taught us how to stand firm — even when no one else believes you.

08/06/2025

Born in 1843, Lillie Hitchcock Coit wasn’t like other women of her time.
She smoked ci**rs, drank bourbon, wore trousers, gambled, and hunted. Raised in post-Gold Rush San Francisco, Lillie became an honorary member of Engine Company No. 5 after helping them pull their fire engine up Telegraph Hill as a teenager—a moment that sealed her lifelong bond with the city’s firefighters.

She rode in parades, attended firehouse banquets, and never stopped defying expectations.

When Lillie died in 1929, she left one-third of her fortune to the city she loved—to beautify San Francisco. The result?
👉 A monument honoring firefighters
👉 The iconic Coit Tower, completed in 1933 on Telegraph Hill

She lived boldly, loved fiercely, and gave back generously. And her spirit still watches over the city—etched into its skyline.

08/06/2025

Jay Silverheels wasn’t just Tonto—he was a trailblazer for Indigenous representation in Hollywood.
Born Harold J. Smith in 1912 on the Six Nations Reserve in Ontario, he was a proud member of the Mohawk Nation and a gifted athlete, excelling in lacrosse and boxing before turning to acting.

His breakout came as Tonto in The Lone Ranger (1949–1957), making him one of the most recognized Native American actors of his time. While the role has faced criticism for its stereotypes, Silverheels brought a strong, dignified presence to the screen that broke barriers in an industry that offered few opportunities for Native actors.

But Silverheels didn't stop at stardom—he became an advocate. In the 1960s, he co-founded the Indian Actors Workshop in Los Angeles to support and train Native performers. He used his platform to push for better roles, cultural pride, and real change in entertainment.

When he passed in 1980, he left behind more than just a character—he left a movement. His legacy opened the door for generations of Indigenous actors to follow, including Wes Studi and Graham Greene.

Jay Silverheels helped turn the spotlight toward Native voices. And he made sure it stayed there.