Next time phenomenon you whinge that you’re being overlooked at work, spare a thought for Sandra Bullock. The actress has spent almost two decades making romantic comedies with Hugh Grant, a fate many wouldn’t even wish that on Ian Huntley.
Picture Sandy in her trailer waiting for her call on set so Hugh Grant can start gurning and spasming into her face again and imagine her ruefully picturing life if the films she was originally due to star in; “Shakespeare in Love” or “Million Dollar Baby” hadn’t collapsed in pre production. As she pratfell into her sixteenth door of the day, perhaps pausing to wipe some of Grant’s drool of her face, the forty five year old would probably pause to wonder if Gwyneth and Hilary had to do this BS anymore.
Recently it seemed as if Cinderella had finally made it to the being taken seriously ball, when she scooped this year’s best actress at the Oscars. Yet less than a week later, what are people talking about? “The Blind Side” a groundbreaking movie where a middle class couple adopt a homeless teenager and he steals their belongings and nicks their car. Don’t be silly, they learn life lessons. No, her husband cheating on her with a tattoo model.
It had to be this film didn’t? Not “Speed 2- Cruise Control” not “Practical Magic”. At least Jennifer had the dignity of losing her man to Angelina, Bullock’s rival looks like a Barbie doll left alone with a small child on a long car trip with a box of felt tips.
The previous Best Actress winner Kate Winslet also enjoyed the cruelty of your private life going tits up when you finally get the career you dreamed of. After being the youngest actress to be nominated six times, last year at last, she got her hands on the Oscar. Looking at her beaming face you would think that after years of being the bridesmaid this woman was finally enjoying her moment centre stage. However it since transpires that the bride’s groom was already beginning to look elsewhere and she has filed for divorce from her film director husband Sam Mendes.
Meanwhile poor old Nadine Coyle, aka the one that sings in Girls Aloud has wised up to the way of the celeb world by using her emaciated figure rather than her voice to kick start her solo career. How sickening must it be to be her at the moment? Attempting to be the break out star of Girls Aloud when you’re up against Cheryl must be like being the best student in your class while everybody’s making a big fuss of the special needs girl because she’s learned how to use a pencil.
Cheryl’s much trumpeted life performance on Radio 1’s Life Lounge was so lifeless and dull that there were reports of people randomly slipping into comas on hearing it. For years Nadine belted her way through the Girls Aloud back catalogue probably thinking just you wait bitches, when this gets stale, I’m out of here before you can say Robbie Williams without the obvious mental damage. Then just at the crucial moment, lil’ Cheryl get’s cheated on and Nadine is old news. She’s probably planning her own racist attack on a toilet attendant while we read this. Nadine has already over come intimidating obstacles, achieving sultriness and glamour with an accent even Irish people struggle with. Before Nadine the city of Derry was best known for Dana, eighties car bombs and confusing English people about whether you put a London before it, so really she should get some sort of grant.
Instead she’s in competition with somebody you legally need to but “brave” “fragile” or “lonely” in front of. Nadine saw a gap and went for “hungry”. And oh how hungry she looks, literally and metaphorically. She recently popped up on a bizarre ITV tribute to the late Stephen Gately that sat uncomfortably between and “An Audience with a Ghost” and a Tony Ferino special. It felt like we were invited to his funeral and out of a painful need to please, the lads tried to disguise their obvious grief with a bit of dancing. I’m sure Stephen did love entertainment but isn’t it a damning verdict on someone to suggest that the best way to sum up and celebrate their life is with a cheap Sunday night special on ITV featuring ad breaks, popstars plugging new albums and Christopher Biggens? It was so disturbing it actually made me fear death in a new way. Not because I suddenly realised the never ending vacuum of nothingness awaits us all but that conceivably, if I died possibly saving a small country or Cheryl Cole and if my parents raised enough money, Ronan Keating could make a strange tribute show for me too.
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