Aside from the preponderance of ruffles, the big trend at the Globes seemed to be dark green. Or hunter green, or forest green, or British racing green — whatever you want to call it. I call it a welcome trend on a night where there were a lot of non-hues; I also call it potentially dangerous to all the actresses who wore it whose names aren’t Angelina Jolie, because I could see her going home and calling her posse of knife-collecting assassins and suggesting that they slice and dice all the women who upstaged her color story. Although, Catherine Zeta-Jones will probably be fine. I imagine her as being impervious to knives. She is certainly impervious to cranky toothpicks who don’t know how to do their hair. Oh, yes, Angie, I said it. I may have liked your green and I may have liked the dress on you, but we’re not blind to your head-suit. Perhaps some nutrients would help?
Fug File: green
Did anyone not tear up a little when Michael Douglas and CZJ swept onto the red carpet together?
Tears over him, because he’s reportedly beaten his throat cancer — tears I also shed, I might add, when everyone gave him a standing ovation as he walked out on stage, to which he humbly replied something akin to, “There has to be an easier way to get a standing ovation” — and tears over her, because well, it would be pretty bad-ass to be her. Look at her owning that thing. It’s massive. It’s mossy. It’s textured. It’s drapey. And it’s kind of fan-freaking-tastic on her. She knows it, too. Her face says, “Yes, that’s right. My husband beat cancer, and I beat all these other bitches in green, and you will be looking at me EVERY SINGLE TIME you catch sight of even a tiny strip of this dress on the screen. And you will LIKE IT, because I am Catherine Zeta-Jones, and I am still the reigning Most Pregnant Woman Ever To Haul Ass Up Onto An Awards Stage And Carry Off A Trophy, and admit it, you thought I was going to go into labor right then and there and have Jack Nicholson cut the cord. But I didn’t, because I am SO FABULOUS that my cervix actually obeys my orders.”
In other words, I really like that dress.
BRAD: YOOOOO, Brangie!
ANGELINA: Technically I’m just Angie.
BRAD: Whatever, baby girl, we are as one. But if you want to go there, then fine — call me B.Pittz.
ANGELINA: And why would I do that?
BRAD: Because I am HAPPENING tonight. This funkball is the JAM.
ANGELINA: I don’t understand those words in that order.
BRAD: B.Pittz is in the HIZ, baby, and my lingo is the SHIZ, Miz!
ANGELINA: And I don’t understand those words at all.
BRAD: …Yeah, I learned them from the kids. That Shiloh has a mouth.
ANGELINA: Let’s stop wasting time on that and talk about me. I’m wearing a color, Brad.
BRAD: You’re what?
ANGELINA: I’m WEARING a COLOR.
BRAD: You’re wearing a collar? Like a dog?
ANGELINA: A COLOR. I AM WEARING A COLOR.
BRAD: Now I don’t understand those words in that order.
ANGELINA: I know. I think the earth fell off its axis.