Three major celebrity stylists share what happens when zippers bust and colors change on Hollywood’s biggest night.
In many ways, the red carpet has surpassed the awards themselves as the most important—and stress-inducing—aspect of Oscar Sunday. The simplicity of the glitz and glamour of Hollywood’s yesteryear—think Audrey Hepburn, Elizabeth Taylor, and Grace Kelly—have been replaced by a spectacle where it’s all about what you wear, not who you are, or what film you were in. Between liaising with PR and design houses, samples, and ensuring both your client—and the millions of viewers watching and critiquing at home—are satisfied, a stylist’s job consists of a whole lot of nerves, and not a whole lot of sleep.
“There’s so much pressure now, especially with the internet,” stylist Anita Patrickson, whose clients include Julianne Hough, Julie Delpy, Emma Watson, and Chanel Iman, told The Daily Beast. “Everybody thinks they’re a stylist, so everybody’s got an opinion. There are hundreds of people who are critiquing your work who think they know how [styling] works, or thinking how easy it must be to just choose a dress and put it on somebody. But it definitely doesn’t work that way—some designers only work with certain people; body shapes and sizes aren’t probably as they look on the carpet; and everybody’s got their different insecurities, especially for the Oscar’s. This is the big momma of award shows.”
Jeanann Williams, 33, is a former PR executive-turned-celebrity stylist whose close friend Naomi Watts came calling for the Venice Film Festival in 2012. “Naomi and I are quite close,” said Williams, who has since added Suki Waterhouse and Emily Mortimer as clientele. “She said she admired my style and wanted to [work] together, so she asked me to dress her. I’ve done every outfit since.”
Where can you find a naked, peace sign-waving gallerist, partisan politics, and borderline incest? Why, the Academy Awards, of course!
We’re now just three days away from the most ballyhooed extravaganza in all of showbiz. Yes, the 86th Academy Awards will be beamed in front of (an alleged) one billion eyeballs Sunday night. Stars like Leonardo DiCaprio, Bradley Cooper, and Cate Blanchett will light up the red carpet. The E! network will implement cutting-edge technology like the “mani cam” and their insane GlamCam 360. Ryan Seacrest will be there chatting everyone up—and have his security scanning the perimeter for any sign of Sacha Baron Cohen. And Jennifer Lawrence will, in all likelihood, be her usual, wacky, lovable self.
The Daily Beast
But there may also be craziness, because when you give a gaggle of self-important movie stars a microphone that big, well, they tend to go a little mad sometimes.
There’s a storied history of insanity at the Academy Awards. Who can forget Rob Lowe’s what the f--k? duet with Snow White, or the artist’s “shortcomings” seen ‘round the world? Without further ado, let’s revisit the most WTF moments in Oscar history.
Everyone loves to complain about the Oscars telecast. But with Ellen as host, an exciting roster of performers, and fun nominees, this year’s show might actually not be that bad!
Is there anything we look forward to and dread as much as the Academy Awards? That we love as equally as we despise? That we find so hallowed and important, but also so asinine and silly?
The Daily Beast
The Academy Awards is this crazy thing. We spend the better portion of an entire year, each year, building up to it, placing a weight normally reserved for the first democratic elections of a formerly war-torn nation on whether Naomi Watts will be able to sneak into the Best Actress race. A tad ridiculous? Sure. But it’s a reverence that’s placed on the Oscars in exponential amounts each year, all building up to a tower of outsized expectations so high that it has no other possible fate but to topple over, burying us all in rubble of disappointment.
Which parts of the show are real and which parts are fake—and how’d they snag Meryl Streep? Joe Weisberg and Joel Fields dissect the second-season premiere of the best spy show on TV.
The first season of FX's hourlong spy drama The Americans was excellent: a gripping story about a pair of married Russian sleeper agents masquerading as U.S. citizens in 1980s suburbia that had as much to say about matrimony as espionage. But the show's second season, which started Wednesday night, could prove to be even better. (WARNING: Spoilers ahead.)
In the Season 2 premiere, Elizabeth Jennings (a lethal, fiercely maternal Keri Russell) returns home after recovering from a gunshot wound. She and her husband Philip (the intelligent Matthew Rhys) spent Season 1 falling in and out of love; now they're back together. But when they team up with another pair of married KGB "illegals," something goes wrong—and their counterparts (and their counterparts' daughter) wind up dead in a hotel room.
Suddenly, a threat that had always seemed abstract—that the Jennings are endangering their children as well as themselves—becomes very, very real. "All these years, I never worried about Paige and Henry being safe," Elizabeth says. "How are we going to live like this?"
Canada’s most-dangerous man can beat the charge on him in Florida that he was driving drunk—only if he doesn’t take a plea bargain.
There is only one good reason to ever take a plea bargain. The magic lies in the "bargain" portion and like any good bargain you want to benefit more than the person on the other side. That's what makes it a deal, right?
Under that rationale, Justin Bieber has some options to weigh. Bieber currently faces three misdemeanor counts in Miami-Dade County, consisting of driving under the influence (DUI), driving with an expired license, and resisting arrest. He should only take the deal, and plead no contest to a charge of reckless driving, only if he believes the state of Florida can absolutely get a DUI conviction against him. Otherwise, it's a pretty bum deal for Bieber.
Celebrities like talking about themselves. Luckily, we like to listen. We take on the gamut of recent confessionals, from the sickeningly self-involved to the extremely endearing.
By calling some one "An F to M tranny" in the first few paragraphs of his mea culpa I-am-not-a-homophobe New York Magazine tell-all, Alec Baldwin is essentially showing up to a Civil Rights rally in black face. It’s a horrible PR move, and just a horrible person move in general.
With Ray Felton arrested on felony gun charges, the team is making a run at the NBA title for most-misbehaved franchise.
Are you a fan of the New York Knickerbockers?
If so, I’m terribly, terribly sorry. If you have not wed your sporting hopes and dreams to an NBA team that has not proven to be a howling garbage fire, and remained blissfully unaware, let’s take a moment to briefly encapsulate this year’s bleakly depressing, painfully unfunny model.
He seduced her with sexy, accented pillow talk about whether she’d be a good mother. She slept over in the fantasy suite. Then it all fell apart for Juan Pablo.
Juan Pablo wooed Andi with a day spent playing soccer and buying juice for random Saint Lucian children followed by a date inside a waterfall. He seduced her with sexy, accented pillow talk about whether she’d be a good mother. She slept over. They probably had sex.
“It’s a dream that I couldn’t even fathom,” she gushed before the fade to black. Then she woke up. And with the light of day came the gift of rational thought.
Wes Anderson’s new film The Grand Budapest Hotel was inspired by one of the bestselling authors in the world in the 1920s and 30s: Stefan Zweig. Lucy Scholes on how his melancholy fiction about Europe before WWII inspired Anderson—and the nostalgia of hotel rooms.
For all their comedic momentum, a strand of sweet, melancholic nostalgia runs through Wes Anderson’s films; they’re all, in some way or other, about a loss of innocence. The stultified former child prodigies of The Royal Tenenbaums (2001); the now washed-up but once great eponymous explorer in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004); the three brothers attempting to re-forge their fraternal bonds in The Darjeeling Limited (2007); even George Clooney’s glib Mr. Fox is in search of a now long-gone easier way of life; and of course, the glorious near-prelapsarian idyll of Moonrise Kingdom (2012), a film that looks like it’s been shot entirely through a sepia Instagram filter.
It comes as no surprise, then, to find that the screenwriter/director’s latest offering, The Grand Budapest Hotel, is inspired by the grand traditions of Viennese author Stefan Zweig. Set in the fictional Eastern European republic of Zubrowka, the film transports us back to the glamorous (and dangerous) gilded decadence of the 1930s. This is the Grand Budapest’s belle époque. The bright-pink turreted Schloss perches amongst the Alpine scenery like a tempting iced cake dusted with sugar, its chandelier-decked and plush-carpeted interior ensuring it’s the go-to spa resort for Europe’s wealthy aristocracy, their every whim taken care of by the charismatic hotel concierge, Monsieur Gustave H. (expertly played by Ralph Fiennes). The Grand Budapest Hotel is Anderson’s tribute to the now bygone age that Zweig—one of Europe’s most acclaimed and widely read authors of the 20s and 30s—made famous in his works.
Is the adult film industry degrading to women? Not according to some of the most powerful female names in the business—the ones making and marketing films like "Blondage" and "Heather and Her Friends."
“Heather and Her Friends” opens with a shot of an attractive blonde woman staring into the camera with her lips open as she caresses another woman who is topless. In “Timeless,” a blonde girl eagerly smiles while a man ejaculates on her face and tongue.
It’s scenes like these that lend credence to the belief that the adult film industry objectifies and denigrates women, turning them into mere sex objects that are the instruments of male-centric pleasures and fantasies.
Jeremy Scahill may not fit in amongst Leo and Marty, but even if he doesn’t take home a statue for his documentary ‘Dirty Wars,’ he’s already winning big with the launch of ‘The Intercept,’ his new online venture backed by Ebay’s Pierre Omidyar.
Jeremy Scahill was the only person who worked on the documentary “Dirty Wars” who could bear to watch the Academy Awards nomination ceremony. The rest of the film’s cast and crew were too nervous. In fact, director Rick Rowley, made sure he was on the subway, so he couldn’t be reached.
Jeremy Scahill (Victoria Will/Invision/AP)
“And so the dude who plays ‘Thor.’ I don’t remember his name. The actor. I think he is Australian. He is announcing it and the president of the Academy is there and so I have no idea how any of it works. And then they say our name and the first thing I said was: Hhhhooooooolllllllly Shiiiiiiiiiiiit.”
Cary Fukunaga’s become one of the most coveted filmmakers in Hollywood after helming two excellent features, and all eight episodes of HBO’s potboiler ‘True Detective.’ He opens up about his wild journey over a long lunch with Marlow Stern.
Cary Fukunaga is always directing. We’re seated at the True Detective helmer’s favorite neighborhood restaurant in the West Village, but something is amiss. Our table, it seems, is cramped into an odd corner of the cozy establishment by the stairs leading to the bathroom.
“This isn’t gonna work,” he tells me, before getting up and walking to the center of the restaurant. His head pans around 360 degrees, surveying each and every seating possibility. The maître d’ glides over to him and suggests a table by the bar. Fukunaga isn’t impressed. Finally, his eyes home in on a table in the front-left corner that’s just right.
A look back at the least deserving Oscar winners ever, from ‘The Greatest Show on Earth” taking Best Picture over ‘High Noon’ to ‘Crash’ and ‘The King’s Speech.’
The Oscars are Sunday night. Which means the complaining about the Oscars is officially set to commence Monday morning.
©Lions Gate/Courtesy Everett Collection
It’s a tradition as hallowed as the ceremony itself. Hollywood bestows trophies on movies and actors and the general public responds with a resounding “WTF!?” It’s an understandable tradition when one takes a look back at Oscar history. A survey of past honorees is like a tour not down Memory Lane, but What Were They Thinking Way.
How the second season of FX’s ‘The Americans,’ which will premiere Wednesday night, overcame the sophomore slump and bested ‘Homeland’ by reinventing itself.
The second season of The Americans—the hourlong FX drama about a pair of married Russian spies (Matthew Rhys and Keri Russell) masquerading as an apple-pie American family in suburban Washington, D.C. at the height of the Reagan Era—is just as smart, gripping, and propulsive as the first. And that's no small feat.
Sophomore seasons can be tricky. Back in the day, a show could limp along for a season or two before finding its voice. In fact, that's how some of the best shows ever started out. Go watch Season 1 of The Simpsons, for example. Or Seinfeld. They're kind of ... uncomfortable.
The pervy R&B crooner announced his “mutual” split from his wife of nine years, actress Paula Patton, on Monday. Here are some possible pick-up lines for unsuspecting women. (Warning: Extreme Cheese).
Robin Thicke, he of the rapey summer anthem “Blurred Lines,” ubiquitous shades, pinky ring, and stench of Drakkar Noir, announced his “mutual” split on Monday from his wife of nine years—and high school sweetheart—Paula Patton, an actress who’s starred in films ranging from Precious to Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol.
The spawn of Alan Thicke was infamously photographed back in October grabbing the behind of a 20-year-old floozy at a VMA after-party—a picture which went viral, and had wives everywhere shaking their heads. The ass-grab seen ‘round the world, of course, occurred after his bizarre performance bumping and grinding against a tongue-wagging Miley Cyrus whilst dressed in a striped Beetlejuice suit at said VMAs.
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CLOSE YOUR EYES!
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