Over at his intriguing little corner of the digital universe, dear Norma has of late been engaged in pointing out the sad results of poor decision-making by a onetime glamour girl. Yes, it's true: the divine Marisa Berenson, if Norma's snaps are to be believed, has vainly sought eternal youth in a doctor's office, and it's not really very pleasant.Still, I think we can't forget what an extraordinary creature she was in her prime, as here, a vision in orientalische Halston with the whole world ahead of her. There have been few more lovely women in recent decades, and if her film career never went much beyond Cabaret and Barry Lyndon, both of those are in their own ways landmarks in which she is very, very effective.
Here at the Café, Miss B. holds a special place, having been responsible for one of the very first little traffic spikes back eons ago when all of us were mere cyber-tots. Much should be forgiven the fabulous, but the killer combo of trout pout and a forehead as flat and immovable as the Antarctic do try one's patience, if not one's admiration for all that went before...
