Taylor Swift came to a cafe in Nashville that my friend worked in. My friend served her and she was, of course, incredibly high maintenance. Before she left, she said, “Who should I make your tip out to?” My friend was confused, then realized that Taylor was leaving her an autographed photo as a tip.
“Ew, even her mom is gorgeous,” I complained. My roommate glanced over with mild interest then remarked, “Yeah. She looks like Halle Berry.”
Would it kill them to hire an actual African actress if not an actual Kenyan?
My great grandmother was Martin Luther King Jr.’s personal secretary. They were having an affair.
Whenever I’m having a bad day, I just think about Olivia Wilde, the funny, intelligent actress who must have upset a gypsy for all the bad luck she’s had.
He just came in hopes of meeting Halle Berry.
She can do whatever the hell she wants, and I hope she’s having a lot of really incredible sex and feeling awesome about herself because she is beautiful and she should.
Two separate events — Spencer’s standing ovation and Lucas’ difficult production — held as prime examples of just how complex the issue of race is in Hollywood. The reality is that Hollywood has found a remarkable middle ground in being able to divert any debate regarding racism on screen by using up their quota to cover films that tackle, you guessed it, racism itself.
Kidman is, of course, slavishly well-shot and edited and given a million plum moments in the film, so I guess my appreciation of her was incidental, but it was real! She was everything an actress is supposed to be – surreal and fantastical but recognizably an actual person.
Get ready for three hours of sequins and bullshit. It’s the Oscars!