Wow ! Even Michael Brecker fluffed his high notes sometimes !
(No Discourse, it really isn’t, is it ? It’s absolutely sod all like any of those suggestions.)
When six-year-old me asked Brooks Robinson for his autograph, and he told me: “get lost kid.”
Bob Dylan’s Victoria Secret ad.
When George Harrison died 
When Bill Cosby’s transgressions became public knowledge.
When Lee Majors started doing hearing aid commercials, I was shocked at how frail he looked.
When I learned that The Mickey Mouse Club had been in syndication for a couple of decades before I started watching it, and Annette Funicello was happily married, and had children older than me. Dammit.
Spock is dead.
Again.
And that wasn’t a joke.
And I ain’t laughing.
When I read that Jack Nicholson was a fan of professional wrestling. I mean, I always knew he was human, and he’s never been a hero of mine, so I guess my response doesn’t fit the bill here. That was the moment I finally understood why it’s better not to learn too much about the private lives of artists whose work I enjoy.
IMDB attributes this quote to him:
I don’t want people to know what I’m actually like. It’s not good for an actor.
When my father left my mother for another woman.
I’d never heard a bad word about Paul Newman. Then I’m watching an episode of Star Trek TOS and look up the actors’ info. In Wikipedia’s bio of Michael Strong this appears:
Paul Newman was impressed by Strong’s performance of a one-act Anton Chekhov monologue at the Actor’s Studio in 1959, and cast him in a starring role in a short film based on a Chekhov play of the same name On the Harmfulness of Tobacco.
The New York Times review called it a“ top-flight, one-man tour de force by Michael Strong.” It has been described as a “lost masterpiece.” Strong was regarded as an “actor’s actor” by co-stars such as Kirk Douglas and Karl Malden. The Forward, in recounting the film in 2017, said “it’s hard not to wonder if he might have joined their ranks if this film had been released.”
In January 1962, Newman took his name off the film and declined to work on obtaining distribution, which crushed Strong. Newman told biographer Daniel O’Brien, “I did that as an exercise for myself… I did it to see whether I could handle a camera and direct actors.” Newman “didn’t think it had turned out that well.”
Not to detail this, but: he’s fan of actors who remain in character when they deliver their lines and do their own stunts?
What? How should I know? Why don’t you ask him? And, if you got something to say, why don’t you just say it?
I suppose I’d say that I have great respect for Nicholson as an actor; and that, AFAICT, there came a time when he thought the best use of his time and talents would involve wearing clown makeup when pretending to have a bloody fistfight with Batman; and that, were I to hear that Nicholson praised a pretend-fight performance by someone else who was wearing garish makeup or whatever, I’d say “wow, that’s high praise indeed” — and if I heard that he’d said that in between takes of pretending to brawl with a guy in a werewolf movie, I’d say “yes, I’m familiar with the great actor, and with the roles that he believes to be worth his efforts.”
And, in that context, I’d say that while I could dream up plenty of things that would make me think less of the guy as an actor or as a person, I don’t now think less of him upon having heard that he’s — y’know, a big fan of various actors who do their own stunts.
I’d like to get this flack about Jack back on the right track:
You must have had him on a pretty small pedestal if liking professional wrestling knocked him off it. What is so bad about sports/entertainment that you didn’t want to find out he liked it? It may not suit everyone’s tastes but it’s not like he claimed to be a fan of Red Lobster.
Yeah, really. I was buying his albums back when they were first out in 1963, and could quote all his routines verbatim and in his voice. I entertained my friends endlessly with that. I was absolutely disgusted with him when the allegations proved to be true.
One of my heroes turned out to be a monster.
In retrospect, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but I think all of us were shocked when he admitted his role with little to no remorse.
The bastard.
I got into his comedy albums when I was a kid in the 80s. I went back to college in the early 2010s, and found myself at one point in a computer lab with a bunch of Gen Z kids, and they started playing YouTube clips of Cosby’s routines. It was just this cool moment, you know? How many stand up routines still hold up, decades later, for audiences that weren’t even born when the bit was recorded?
Anyway, that’s all ruined now that we know what sort of monster Bill Cosby really was.
I have no “heroes” anyone would know about, but I have had people in the Arts I’ve admired over the years who have disappointed me.
Mel Gibson. Easily my favorite actor for many years, starting with “The Year of Living Dangerously.” But his drunken, racist, antisemitic rant revealed the real person behind that good guy facade. Now I cannot stand the sight of him.
Woody Allen. Loved his movies, the funny ones and the serious ones. I’m one who doesn’t believe the accusations made against him, but his poor judgment in other areas of his personal life have turned me off him.
Eric Clapton. A major fan of ol’ Slowhand since the Yardbirds, I can no longer enjoy his music without his recent anti-vax rants and his racism seeping in. I never knew such ugly thoughts lurked beneath all that talent.
John Steinbeck. My favorite American author. I’ve read everything he ever wrote. I never knew much about him personally, but a recent biography revealed him to have been a real prick to his family, and his book “Travels With Charley” to have been outright fiction he allegedly passed off as non-fiction.
I never liked Bill Cosby, even in the 60s, so I don’t give a * about him, but Cosby and these others show the fallacy of becoming too attached to people who have neatly-crafted public images. You’re bound to be disappointed when you discover that they are all too human, with failings just like anyone.
If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.
From my youth I have been a fan of humorists like Robert Benchley, James Thurber, and S. J. Perelman. Of these, Perelman reached heights no one else could approach, and I idolized his use of language and allusions.
So I was quite dismayed, on reading a biography, to learn that he was heartless and cruel toward his family, particularly his daughter, whose depression and mental illness may have been caused, and were certainly exacerbated, by his treatment of her. (As it happened, I knew the daughter’s husband, although I never met her – pretty sure she had died by that time – and didn’t have the nerve to ask him about what was undoubtedly a delicate subject.)
I was in my mid twenties at the time, and it was one of the first times I discovered that someone I idolized could have feet of clay.