The truth, she argues, is mundane:' I don't understand what people expect. I'm not going to sit down and divulge intimate and private things.I'm in a very happy relationship.We're the best of friends. We go out on a date together. We go to the movies. I make dinner. We have friends over. Beyond that I don't know what people expect me to say.' She blames outlandish tales about their relationship on jealousy:' Women get crazy over Brad. You've never seen anything like it. Women are like: ‘'I will marry him.'' And I'm not talking about 14-year-old girls -- these are 28-year-old women. They are obsessed.'' She wasn't going to be anything like that, was she? They met during preparations for ‘Seven'. You can see Meg Ryan in the movie of their romantic beginnings:' I would never occur to me to flirt with somebody even if I had a crush on them. I was oblivious. ‘I wouldn't know if somebody was flirting with me. When Brad and I met he says it was obvious that he liked me and that I was an idiot. But I had no idea. I thought he was just really friendly.... ‘And then I started getting a crush on him. I'm like:'' Are you insane? You can't get a crush on Brad Pitt. Get hold of yourself. ‘' ‘It's so funny when I think back to that mind now. Now it's so different.' Everything is. Her quiet looks and manner -- she has that quality on screen of being able to seem dowdy or delighful -- disguise a determination. She is backing director Paul Thomas in his battle with studio executives over their film ‘Sydney' now retitled ‘Hard 8' ( ‘it sounds like a porno film,' she says) which despite film festival applaused he is being pressured to re-edit. She is forthright in her view:' If they don't release Paul's version I will be on a personal crusade to murder these people for the rest of my life.' That sounds like an everywhere woman who expects to be around for more than Vogue's sixty seconds or so. So do her plans. She is at present filming a modern dress version of ‘Great Expectations'. Ethan Hawke is Pip. She is the chilly Estella. Jane Austen. Now, Dickens. What larks, eh, Pip? |
|
|