Her so-called acting career may be largely a thing of the past, but at least her body is bangin’. Claire Danes and some ass-kicking thighs showed up to the NYC screening of her new film Me and Orson Welles last night, and I have to admit this is the best I’ve seen her look in years. To be frank, I liked her best with bright orange hair and a be-flanneled, eyeliner-free Jordan Catalano, but I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that we will never again get Jared Leto out of makeup.
Also there: Lydia Hearst, who needs sunshine and a cookie, stat. Really she looks like she just stumbled off the set of New Moon, with Dakota Fanning possibly being trafficked inside her skirt.
I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you guys that I saw New Moon last night and hated it. Chris Weitz was absolutely the wrong director — they never should have let Catherine Hardwicke go — and, despite my undying love for Taylor Lautner, I understand now why they wanted to replace him. Watching him play “angry werewolf” was excruciating. My date — who had never heard of Twilight before I asked him to take me — emailed me this morning implying that I need to put out in the immediate future in exchange for making him go to the “naked boy wolf movie.” It was one of those firmly worded “you owe me” emails. And he’s right.
Lastly, Zac Efron, who really ought to talk to his optometrist about getting new contacts that won’t irritate his eyes. Poor thing can’t stop squinting.