Maureen Callahan: Alec Baldwin and Woody Allen Trainwreck Livestream Shows We’ve Moved Past Them

If two radioactive celebrities talk amongst themselves, do they really make a sound?

Certainly not so with Alec Baldwin and Woody Allen, who conversed this week on Instagram about such relevant fare as Groucho Marx, Jack Benny and the demise of movie “houses” at the expense of streaming.

Unmentioned, of course, was the $68 million Amazon was ready to pay Allen until Ronan, Dylan and Mia Farrow reminded the world what a disgusting ogre he is (and that holds true whether you believe he molested Dylan as a child — grooming and marrying your own stepdaughter is a hard thing to outrun).

Also unmentioned was Baldwin’s own worst scandal, his fatal shooting of cinematographer Halyna Hutchins while shooting “Rust.” Plus his subsequent blaming of this young wife and mother for her own death and his constant gloating on Instagram, with fake-Spanish wife Hilaria, about their perfect, ever-expanding family.

It was just Alec and Woody, two malignant narcissists shooting the breeze, indulging in the notion that anyone cares what they have to say.

To wit: Here we had a once world-renowned director and former movie star grappling with a livestream. Allen’s WiFi signal dropped twice. You would think such experienced filmmakers would have young, hungry, tech-savvy interns on hand to prevent such rookie mistakes — especially when broadcasting on the only medium that will have them — but no. Who among the young, woke, post-Harvey generation would even want to go near these two?

And how about that set design, wardrobe, personal presentation? Allen looked every bit of his 86 years, sitting at a formal dining table with dated wooden chairs, haplessly looking to his middle-aged assistant for tech support — and she couldn’t even log off properly.

Baldwin, beaming in from the Hamptons, looked ruddy, puffy and barely together. He wore a grubby sun visor indoors, his Titleist logo reading backwards onscreen, his gray hair disheveled, rage barely contained.

Cue the moment Baldwin yelled at a female staffer in Spanish. It really makes you wonder how deep delusion runs in the Baldwin household, as his wife isn’t really Spanish.

Nope, Hilaria was long ago revealed as the Rachel Dolezal of the Hamptons (“How you say . . . cucumber?,” never forget), popping out kids to commodify on Instagram, Spanish names and all, while bemoaning the difficulties of being so misunderstood.

Victimhood is the mantle Baldwin and Allen love. Courage and defiance is their paper tiger.

“I have ZERO INTEREST in anyone’s judgments,” Baldwin posted about this unholy meeting of the minds. “I am OBVIOUSLY someone who has my own set of beliefs and COULD NOT CARE LESS about anyone’s speculation. If you believe that a trial should be conducted by way of an HBO documentary, that’s your issue.”

Baldwin is facing multiple civil suits and a possible criminal trial of his own, not that you’d know it from this little confab. All the stuff relevant to these particular monsters — allegations of homicide, incest, child molestation, mental instability, anger management issues, plus cultural irrelevance, the perils of becoming unemployable in Hollywood and social pariahs in general — were never mentioned.

No wonder less than three thousand people watched it live. It’s over for Woody Allen and Alec Baldwin, two reprehensible stars raging against the dying of their light.

Or, to quote Baldwin to his beleaguered household staff: “¡Suficiente!”

Enough, indeed.

*As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases