A fried rice day indeed.
The press screening was at 8:30am.
Here’s how it works: thousands of journalists are accredited every year for the Cannes Film Festival. We’re able to view films at scheduled press screening times but only on a first come first serve basis colour coded by badge.
For the more popular films, queuing early is critical, even if your badge is one of the higher levels. For a film like Inglourious Basterds, queuing ridiculously early is even more critical, not only for the screening but for the press conference that follows.
Requires a 7:00am wake time and 8am arrival time after yet another rager last night.
You do this for Brad Pitt.
How is it?
Well, it doesn’t suck. Inglourious Basterds is energetic and exuberant, violent of course, it’s a lot of fun, but it’s uneven, and to me it actually feels rushed. Tarantino has another 3 months before theatrical release. Wouldn’t hurt to tinker with it. Brad Pitt is, um, not the strongest actor. See Benjamin Button. He’s best however when he gets to go extra, like 12 Monkeys. Or Fight Club. So Basterds allows him to let loose, become a character caricature, and that’s when he’s most enjoyable. Under Tarantino he also has great timing. And he needs it. Because the supporting cast around him is superb. Will write more about the movie later. Because right now you’re here for the details.
Well, look at him.
His clothes. The grooming. The everything.
Few men style-wise can usurp a woman on a carpet. Brad Pitt often usurps his own woman on the red carpet. And it’s not just the clothes. It’s way he wears them. It’s the way he walks in them. It’s the way other people watch how he walks in them.
This is what makes the Brange so interesting. Because they’re not only fascinating in and of themselves but it’s fascinating the way people react to them being fascinating. Having had the privilege of covering 4 Cannes festivals, 3 TIFFs, Sundance, and several Oscars, I can tell you no other celebrity comes close to bringing the same kind of excitement.
There were journalists today who were giddy. There were a few who tried too hard NOT to be giddy. To seem put out, to seem “over” the Brange phenomenon. These are the same journalists who pushed their way to the top of the line at the presser, whose voices sounded a little more high pitched when asking their questions.
In the age of Ebola Hilton and the Hills, even if you can’t stand the Brange, be thankful for the Brange. They are of a dying breed.
So. Back to Brad. What’s it like being in a room with Brad Pitt? Let’s start with the physical. He has a LOT of hair. Many men associate hair with virility. I’ve caught my husband, now in his early 30s, inspecting his more frequently these days. Almost as if at the same time he’s worried about his penis. Brad Pitt so far doesn’t need to worry. He was genetically gifted there too. The hair, I mean.
As for your emails today about his height – here’s what it is: after standing just behind him in Toronto as he was leaving the Burn After Reading press conference and in seeing him again today, measurement-wise he’s not super tall. Not short, but not tall. Like 5 ft 11. Maybe. And while he doesn’t wear high heels like Tom Cruise, his dress shoes, at least in Toronto, get ready for it… had a little bit of an inch.
The reason he seems so much taller than he is however is because he feels tall. The “it” factor, the charisma, the power, the magnetism, it all almost swells together for levitation, giving him an imaginary 3 inches.
Do I sound like a star struck sycophant?
There’s a scene in Frost/Nixon between Sam Rockwell, Oliver Platt, and Frank Langella. Sam Rockwell plays a political expert morally opposed to Nixon, vehemently so, and has spent years researching what he believes are Nixon’s failures – and crimes – as a president. Oliver Platt asks him what he’ll do when he meets Nixon. Rockwell is all like – f-ck him, man. He can kiss my ass. He destroyed our country!
Then Nixon walks in, Rockwell is speechless, and sticks out his hand like a fan girl.
That sums it up.
The big personalities bring out the big reactions.
Some Japanese reporter was wiping tears off her face during the Q&A. During the Q&A, even though he graciously tried to deflect the attention, it was like the energy kept coming back to him anyway. He was incredibly relaxed on the panel, totally engaged in the discussion, and has great chemistry with Tarantino. Speaking of getting squealy… Tarantino totally has a mancrush on Brad Pitt. Totally.
Anyway, to tell you the truth, I wasn’t paying much attention to what was being said. The loins turned the brain to mush. It’s what he does with his mouth. He darts his tongue out to the side when he’s about to talk, like a lip lick but not. Hard to explain. I’m not explaining so well. But it’s f-cking sexy. And I could write a novel about his mannerisms, how he likes to rub the side of his face, the way he leans back in his chair, or the way his shoulders sit when he angles forward to speak, it’s like he’s posing all the time but not contrived, not Posh, rather like he’s was made to be photographed, and the confidence that oozes from a man like that who knows who he is and will not apologise for it….
Ok we should stop now.
I’m making myself Rossum.
Let’s bring our bitch back on Ryan Phillippe’s carb face.
Photos from Gettyimages.com and Wenn.com
Brad in the morning
A fried rice day indeed.