Hop into the Wayback Machine. . .
...and remember with me, if you will, July 11th, 2005. Yes, those were crazy days. A war in Iraq seemed destined to drag on indefinitely, gas prices were on the rise, and Jessica Simpson ruled our hearts and minds. Also, it was 7-11. Seriously, that is hilarious.
On this day, I just happened to be at the New York premiere of what has turned out to be one of the most success-challenged movies of the summer, Michael Bay's "The Island." Yes, expectations were high and hearts were a-twitter at the premiere of what Defamer.com would go on to call a "domestic box office bed-shitter." Producers and stars play the blame game, but no one has blamed the beautiful young starlet I was there with that night, a woman who I think I'm better leaving nameless. Let's call her LG. She's really quite a lovely young woman, and does a great job in the movie, but is not terribly well known. So, like any good PR pro, I'm on the lookout for ways to get her pictures more placements.
Towards the end of the red carpet, there's a tiny little double bank of photographers, sort of facing opposite from each other. LG and I have to wait as there's a traffic jam in front of us, being caused by someone who's having kind of a lot of pictures taken. As I'm taking all of this in, Mickey Dolenz (of the Monkees, but you knew that, of course) walks by behind me, and I think "Is that Mickey Dolenz? What the Hell is he doing here?"
I look in front of me, and see that the source of the problem is Jeff Goldblum, who for some reason is being photograpped as if Lindsay Lohan were doing a line off of him. A tiny evil lightbulb goes off over my head as I realize that getting him together with LG would be great for her (placements?) and for him (getting to touch a young woman). I walk up to him, blinded with evil PR adrenile, and totally forget to care that this is the first time I'm ever getting to talk to Jeff Goldblum (Jeff Goldblum! Jeff Goldblum! Jeff Goldblum!)
"Hey, Jeff," I say nonchalantly. "How ya doin? Listen, can I get ya to take a picture with LG, she's in the movie, and she's a new actress..." I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up as Jeff finally, and slowly, turns his head to look at LG. He is mesmerized. He sort of makes a noise like he's being blown, or his just had a lobotomy. At the same time, he extends his fingers in front of him and begins to slowly wiggle them, as if he is playing an invisible keyboard, or perhaps casting a spell on me.
"Aaaaaaa. . . LG. . . Statuesque. . . Beauty. . . " he breathes, taking, I swear to God, 20 minutes to get it out. His publicist rushes over, sensing that I am tricking him into something, perhaps having violent flashbacks about all of the magic beans he has bought. She is okay with it though, the pictures get taken, and we all go out for pie and cocaine!
On this day, I just happened to be at the New York premiere of what has turned out to be one of the most success-challenged movies of the summer, Michael Bay's "The Island." Yes, expectations were high and hearts were a-twitter at the premiere of what Defamer.com would go on to call a "domestic box office bed-shitter." Producers and stars play the blame game, but no one has blamed the beautiful young starlet I was there with that night, a woman who I think I'm better leaving nameless. Let's call her LG. She's really quite a lovely young woman, and does a great job in the movie, but is not terribly well known. So, like any good PR pro, I'm on the lookout for ways to get her pictures more placements.
Towards the end of the red carpet, there's a tiny little double bank of photographers, sort of facing opposite from each other. LG and I have to wait as there's a traffic jam in front of us, being caused by someone who's having kind of a lot of pictures taken. As I'm taking all of this in, Mickey Dolenz (of the Monkees, but you knew that, of course) walks by behind me, and I think "Is that Mickey Dolenz? What the Hell is he doing here?"
I look in front of me, and see that the source of the problem is Jeff Goldblum, who for some reason is being photograpped as if Lindsay Lohan were doing a line off of him. A tiny evil lightbulb goes off over my head as I realize that getting him together with LG would be great for her (placements?) and for him (getting to touch a young woman). I walk up to him, blinded with evil PR adrenile, and totally forget to care that this is the first time I'm ever getting to talk to Jeff Goldblum (Jeff Goldblum! Jeff Goldblum! Jeff Goldblum!)
"Hey, Jeff," I say nonchalantly. "How ya doin? Listen, can I get ya to take a picture with LG, she's in the movie, and she's a new actress..." I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up as Jeff finally, and slowly, turns his head to look at LG. He is mesmerized. He sort of makes a noise like he's being blown, or his just had a lobotomy. At the same time, he extends his fingers in front of him and begins to slowly wiggle them, as if he is playing an invisible keyboard, or perhaps casting a spell on me.
"Aaaaaaa. . . LG. . . Statuesque. . . Beauty. . . " he breathes, taking, I swear to God, 20 minutes to get it out. His publicist rushes over, sensing that I am tricking him into something, perhaps having violent flashbacks about all of the magic beans he has bought. She is okay with it though, the pictures get taken, and we all go out for pie and cocaine!
posted by Chris Chafin at 7:46 PM
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