The conspiracy theorists are going nuts this week over Tiger Woods and his car accident, so I thought I’d throw out one of my own: you can be gorgeous or funny but you can’t be both.
Earlier today I stumbled upon this quote, “Take Dane Cook, no-one who looks that healthy can be funny”.
I agree. They can’t and he’s not. Most comedians who look like they’ve been within one inch of a chisel are about as funny as swine flu. From Python to Ricky Gervais, the comedians who appear to have been assembled by happy accident during a power cut are the ones with the genius.
Same goes for women. I can say this because I was once a stand up and not much of a looker. Oh ok, I scrub up well enough but Chanel won’t be using me to sell handbags any time soon.
And when was the last time a comedienne was on the cover of Vogue? Never. Granted, Tina Fey got close with Vanity Fair and Marie Claire (she may be the one exception to the rule) but in my opinion funny comes from food. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. Chomp.
And so my Hollywoodland anecdotes this week are about being beautiful, funny or hungry. What a segway.
Last week as I sat working in Coffee Bean in Studio City, I watched a young kid being interviewed by a fog-horned voiced internet ‘journalist’ about his soon-to-be glittering career. Halfway through their chat he got a phone call from a vice prez at Comedy Central. After much bouncing around, it transpired that his sitcom had just been green-lit and the channel was on the blower ordering ten full episodes.
It was a singularly life-changing moment for one 26-year-old Adam DeVine, who is no Brad Pitt, but is clearly funny. Or at least the chaps at CC think so.
It reminded me of when I sold my first movie script back in 1485. I thought I was about to become an Oscar-winning multi-millionaire. Cut to, that not being the case. Ah, the innocence of youth.
And then there was ‘Danny Zuko’ who served me at Swingers in Hollywood a few days earlier.
“Hello, chisel-jawed, Athena poster dreamboat waiter, could I have a side order of gorgeousness with my fluttering heart, thank you”.
Oops, did I say that out loud? What I meant was, “Could I have fries with my cheeseburger and a diet coke. Ta”.
I won’t lie, it’s exhausting living in a town where the beauty factor is off the charts. When the valet is so handsome your eyes unattractively water and the one hair on your chin seems to Rapunzel itself to the floor like it’s re-enacting that parkour scene from Casino Royale, feelings of insecurity go through the roof.
Where do these creatures come from? Are they Elvish? Carved out of marble? Actually not real at all but holographic reminders of how imperfect us ordinary mortals really are?
I was dining with my friend Margot, a genius publicist, after finally going to see Inglourious Basterds.
Loved the film (I forgive you Quentin for re-writing history because you make such brilliant movies), although I had to turn away at the scalping scenes. Too gory for my delicate stomach, which was rumbling throughout.
Afterwards, we used our legs and walked all of three blocks (a veritable treat in LA) to the aforementioned diner and found a cosy booth. Swingers is one of those old school hangouts with plastic booths, a jukebox and glass cabinets filled with pie. It’s not a trendy sushi restaurant, it’s not the place to be seen but still, the level of gorgeous was still through the roof.
Not only was our waiter delish, the girls who walked through the door, with their hipster scarves casually slung around their boney necks, floated like camera-loving gazelles. The light bounced artfully off their clear complexions and their skinny jeans clung to fleshless legs for dear life.
The catwalk of customers didn’t stop me loading my plate with carbs though. That is, until a ridiculously handsome black man walked in holding his equally beautiful toddler daughter.
I was convinced I’d seen him before, as was Margot. Never one to be shy, she ran over and discovered that it wasn’t her friend but someone who knew him (he informed her that they were always being mistaken for each other).
His name was James Black and he’s an actor (naturally). I’m pretty sure I remember him from Six Feet Under but he’s been in almost everything on telly here. I embarrassingly semi-dribbled when he said hello to me.
He left with a giant bag of take-away and so distraction over, I polished off another plate of food. All of it. Drank a beer. All of it. Traded quips with Margot and then rolled back to the car. I’ve clearly made my choice in life – shame there isn’t a ten-part sitcom in it for Comedy Central. (Or maybe there is? ‘Think Punchline meets Fat Friends!’ or ‘Shallow Hal meets King of Comedy!’)
Gorgeous or funny – what would you choose?