Close your eyes. Assemble a brief register of Sexy Cynosures who need a Slapping. And now dare to tell me that Natalie Portman is not at the top of your list.
I have long despised Portman. Even more that I despise erstwhile hottie Scarlett Johansson for enrolling in Spin Class thereby losing her plush décolleté. (Damn you, Scarlett, and your inscrutable fondness for honing your assets. Once, you looked like Brigitte Bardot’s clever younger sister. And now, you look like Princess Anne.)
She’s just SO falsely uncontaminated. I imagine her cupping her ideal breasts in her perfect hands each morning and mouthing the words “You’re so much nicer than all those dirty girls” into her Lalique looking glass.
But, to paraphrase the great D Bowie, I got problems.
These problems, however, are not strewn about the marketplace so lavishly as hers. Portman, whose greatest role remains a cameo in exquisite shambles Zoolander, has made a new film. And if this news alone does not suffice to destroy your day, behold, the Princess Chagrin.
Apparently, she got her kit off in a new Wes Anderson short. (You know him. Plonker who keeps ripping off old John Irving plotlines re the Dysfunctional Underbelly of American Families. Tenenbaums. Snore. Bill Murray in a wetsuit. Snore.) Apparently, she regrets it.
Sometimes, says Natalie, “the most powerful thing you can do is say no.”
And sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do to promote a puffed-up short film made by a middling auteur is to tell everyone you’re NEKKID in it.
I shall not convey the link to the mildly p-rnographic entertainment here as I believe it is every woman’s duty to locate her own smut. However, rest assured, if the remit of your filthy id extends to Portman, you can find her out-of-context and out-of-clothes on teh interwebs. You don’t need to queue at a dreary film festival.