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Oh, Billy Bob Thornton -- where to start? If there were an actual foundation dedicated to Too Much Information -- let's call it TMI International -- Billy Bob Thornton would be the poster child. And the president. And the spokesman. He'd hand huge novelty cheques to himself, then shake his own hand, all in front of an enormous poster of him, sucking his thumb and cowering next to an antique rocking chair.
Or let's put it another way. When you check the IMDB "Trivia" section on most actors, you get mundane things like "Enjoys parasailing" or "Dated Rebecca Gayheart." With Billy Bob Thornton, you get things like "His mother, a psychic, predicted he would work with Burt Reynolds (It came true when he did three episodes of CBS's Evening Shade starting in 1990)" and "Claimed in a 'USA Today' interview that he has an intense phobia of antique furniture."
Not just a phobia. An intense phobia.
Or let's put it another way. Billy Bob Thornton is one strange, skinny, scraggly, snaggle-toothed, rootin', tootin', wispy-haired, twinkly-eyed, tattoo-gettin', hard-livin', wife-divorcin', vial-of-blood-wearin' sumbitch.
But here's the thing: Billy Bob Thornton is a fine, fine actor and even a pretty good star. Sure, he does the usual "star" things like releasing a vanity album (and we know, he started as a drummer, he's got chops, but vanity album it is, and evermore will be). He goes through wives like dance partners at a sock hop. And he may well be plumb crazy.
And we don't pretend that Hollywood would be a better place if every celebrity were like Billy Bob Thornton -- a whole shining city of Braddy Pete Pitts and Tommy John Cruises, running around in cowboy duds, chasing tail and howling at the night sky through lips slick with moonshine. But we do contend that Hollywood is most definitely a better place thanks to the presence of one Billy Bob Thornton.
Other things made inarguably better by the presence of BBT: One False Move, Monster's Ball, A Simple Plan, Sling Blade, The Man Who Wasn't There, Bad Santa, and The Alamo.
But here's where we come to the fame distribution part, and this is hard. Because BBT is certainly famous, but for all the wrong reasons -- he's famous for the blood-vial/ Jolie-courting/ spook-rocking-chair reasons. He should be famous for the makes-every-movie- he's-in-better- yes-even-Armageddon reasons.
So to promote the latter, we must first dock him for the former. It's tough love. We don't suspect he'll protest, or even particularly mind. We don't imagine he ever dreamed he'd be the kind of movie star he is today, this wiry, freaky fortysomething dude in exile from Hot Springs, Arkansas.
In summation, to paraphrase Crazy Michael Jackson: We want to love you, BBT, Billy Bob Thornton.
But to do that, we're going to have to confiscate the fame. It's only temporary, and it's for your own good. Perhaps we can put you on fame-methadone for awhile. (We call it famethadone, and yes, the patent is pending.)
And while we're confiscating things, we'll also take that vial of blood. That was just creepy.
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