(Heavy exasperated sigh). You know what that sound means. And no, it's surprisingly not directed toward my thesis. That would be more like (relentless crying). No, this sigh is due to the fact that the film world is enduring another Cannes Film Festival.
In years past when I was younger and more foolish, I-like a lot of budding film freaks-was taught to revere Cannes. I would roll my eyes at people who pronounced it "kahn" or "cans" instead of "can" and talk about how it was such a better litmus test of a film's merit than, say, the Golden Popularity Globes or The Academy Pity Prize.
In time, however, I began to see the truth. That Cannes is perhaps the most wicked stepsister of them all. It is the perfect opportunity for filmmakers and producers who have succeeded in the industry due to family connections and foreign accents to show their extremely well funded "indies" to a panel of judges made up of actors and actress like Robin Wright Penn ("Jenny" from Forest Gump) and Asia Argento (Vin Diesel's bitch in that movie "XXX") who will bequeath it with the highest honor a film can receive. If pretension and celluloid had a child, Cannes would be it. But maybe I am being too severe. After all, I'm sure a lot of people feel that writing ridiculously long papers on the real meaning of other people's work is also a sham.
The fashion thus far:
A comprehensive link eventually will be posted, once this thing ends (which it doesn't until the end of May). So for now, my likes and dislikes will have to suffice.
Elizabeth Banks. Don't know tons about her. She played the blonde bitchstress in an Apatow movie or two, I think. But this dress is solid. Sooo good.
But this one...this one wins. Sure, it looks a little like something a Disney princess villain would wear...but what a statement! Such a strong look. And I love love love the double cuff bracelets.
From left to right: good, great, bad. It's like Robin Wright Penn and that other woman are deliberately trying to distance themselves from that ugly dress on the end.
Normally, I don't do feathers. Put this on an Olsen twin, and it would look like a drowning, dirty pigeon. On this girl though...it fits. She owns this. And in fashion, that counts for a lot.
Neat idea. But that weird little black and white rosette on the bodice is throwing an otherwise cool dress awry.
She's making my movie. My fucking movie. The one I have been saying should be written (by me) for years about the great romantic poet John Keats who died tragically at 25 from TB and because of his disease could never consummate his love affair with Fanny Brawne. And she helped Ryan Phillipe cheat on Reese. This "other woman" must die. But her dress... I am undecided on. The bow is obnoxious. And as a whole, it kind of feels like something Hermione Granger would wear to a movie premier, yeah?
HAHA! And here is you natural disaster. She looks just like Lindsey Lohan will in two more years. And she is trying just as hard, bless her.
Tilda. Oh Tilda. You either love her or you hate her. I respect her (amazing actress). And, she takes risks; I admire that. She has a recognizable, personal style which is essential. I just don't happen to like that style. Not for me. But I won't throw her to the wolves. They already ate Eva Longoria.
I rest my case.
That's it for fashion. I will round 'em up later. Next post will deal with Cannes film buzz.
But for now, in a move of reverse snobbery (so you can get that dull, metallic taste of caviar and champagne out of your mouth)...here's something truly low brow to look forward to.
Two weeks ago, Chuck confessed to Serena that he is in L-O-V-E with Blair. And Serena promised not to tell. Eeeeeeekkkk!