Did Gwyneth Paltrow Cheat on Chris Martin? Paltrow asked friends not to participate in an upcoming Vanity Fair story about her. Now we know why. "Vanity Fair is looking into an alleged affair that the movie star, who's been married to Coldplay singer Chris Martin since 2003, may have had with Miami billionaire Jeff Soffer." She thought it would remain a secret forever. Who is Soffer? Well, he's a "real estate developer worth $1 billion" who lucked into acquiring his father's successful real estate business. He and Gwyn must have had so much to talk about! Like benefiting from nepotism! He's now married to Elle Macpherson. "Gwyneth prides herself on presenting this image that she has the perfect life — that she's a domestic goddess with a talented husband and exceptional kids who has everything under control. Now she's caught up in a scandal." SCANDAL! It's all viral promo for Scandal. "Not only did Jeff, 45, fly the Iron Man actress to Miami" for the opening of his Fontainebleau hotel, "she stayed at his $14 million mansion in nearby Indian Creek." The adulterers "never went out in public. But they did attend parties at private homes and would hold hands around friends." Hold hands! Paltrow has mysteriously alluded to the nontraditional nature of her relationship with Martin several times. "I never say 'Where are you? You should be home by now.' I never place demands on him because I think he's a really talented man, and he's putting something good into the world." Girl. Paltrow's rep said, "Gwyneth and Jeff did not have an affair. They have been friends for many, many years."
Nicolas Cage knows that he's the man in the meme. In an interview with Moviefone following the Toronto International Film Festival screening of Joe, a David Gordon Green–directed drama in which Cage plays an ex-con who mentors a 15-year-old boy (played by Tye Sheridan), Cage addressed his virtual footprint, a FrankenCage crafted out of YouTube clips and blogs like Nic Cage as Everyone. Cage has previously stated that he doesn't mind the Internet's obsession with him, and reiterated to Moviefone that the coverage helps him stay "relevant with younger generations" who might otherwise have passed on ancient artifacts like Deadfall. Cage may be weird — he shops in excess, he loves comics so much that he named his son Kal-El and took the last name of Marvel figure Luke Cage to distance himself from his uncle Francis Coppola — but the eccentric celebrities who tried to outbid him on his dinosaur skull simply can't compete in the meme arena. Cage, who doesn't have a Facebook or website of his own, says that confronting his digital double is unavoidable, because people will send him links to Tumblrs featuring his face and "I'm like, 'I don't know! I don't know why this is happening!'" A Cage and a twin, locked again in the claustrophobic embrace of a metafilm.
Michael Douglas & Catherine Zeta-Jones Split Up: Michael Douglas and his children Dylan and Carys were spotted at the Quebec resort town Mont Temblant. "It looked like another picture-perfect vacation for the Douglas clan — except one person was missing: Michael's wife and Dylan and Carys's mom, actress Catherine Zeta-Jones." CZJ was "seen grocery shopping and browsing a nearby consignment boutique with her mom" back in Bedford, New York. "She seemed a little down." The reasons for the split remain secret so far. "Only the couple's closest friends know exactly why they weren't together. After nearly 13 years of marriage, Douglas, 68, and Zeta-Jones, 43, one of Hollywood's most powerful and admired couples, have decided to spend time apart," as confirmed to People magazine. "Michael and Catherine love each other very much, but they're taking a break. Neither has made a move towards a legal separation or divorce. No legal people are involved whatsoever."
You thought Bruce Wayne enjoying a mocha frappuccino in the sunny palazzos of Tuscany with the chick from Bride Wars was the last we'd see of the vigilante playboy billionaire for the foreseeable future? You thought wrong! As was just recently announced at this year's Comic-Con, Batman will return to us in 2015, at the behest of Zack Snyder, when he'll face off with Superman in the Man of Steel sequel. Exciting stuff, to be sure. Exciting enough to warrant casting speculation two years ahead of time, and before a script has even been written? Yeah, sure, why not.
Since Christian Bale is hanging up the suit, it's time for an enterprising new fellow to step in. And this weekend, we got some clues as to what that fellow will look like. As THR reports, "Snyder is only just beginning to look at actors. But the real insight is the kind of Bruce Wayne/Batman that Snyder is looking to cast. According to numerous sources, this Wayne/Batman will be in the late 30s or around the 40 mark. He will be established and rugged." So, of course, that means 32-year-old Ryan Gosling?! Ehh, what?
Before we go any further, let's double down right now on the fact that what you are about to hear is just a rumor — but, hey, this is new Star Wars. Right now, all we've got is rumors. So, anyway: According to Latino Review, the actors Disney is considering for roles in Episode VII are
The story of Jackie Robinson, and the integration of baseball, is undeniably important and inspiring and all the things we want a sports movie to be. And yet, when 42 hit theaters this spring, didn't it seem like no one was really that excited about it? Even with a Jay Z song in the trailer!
Part of the problem may be … you know, the details of the actual story. As Branch Rickey (Harrison Ford), a Dodgers executive, tells Robinson (Chadwick Boseman) in the trailer, the only way this experiment is going to work is if Robinson refuses to take any of the bait being thrown at him by, apparently, every baseball-loving bigot in America. A portrait of quiet dignity eventually triumphing over ignorance may feel anachronistic, particularly as the news, many decades after Robinson's efforts, keeps reminding us that ignorance hasn't really been defeated at all.
WELL, THIS TOOK A TURN. Anyway, I guess this movie about desegregating baseball will have to do until someone makes one about the first female player in the major leagues, if that ever happens.
"Wanna fight?" That is one of the just 15 or so lines of dialogue Ryan Gosling utters in the new film Only God Forgives. It's delivered limply, like he hardly means it, to an enemy. Across the 89-minute running time, Gosling shuffles and sulks through his performance as Julian, a dazed Muay Thai gym owner and drug kingpin in Bangkok. In the movie, he seeks vengeance for his brother's murder, he tangles with Vithaya Pansringarm's self-styled samurai cop, and he absorbs withering emasculation from his mother, played by Kristin Scott Thomas with velociraptor zeal by way of Real Housewives of Boston iciness. But he rarely speaks. This is Ryan Gosling.
"Who's the toma-tah?" That is one of the 150 or so lines of dialogue Ryan Gosling utters in the recent film Gangster Squad. It's delivered coolly, indicating that he really means to learn the identity of the redhead he's eyeing in a smoky nightclub. Across the nearly two-hour running time, Gosling smirks and chatters and shoots his way through post-WWII Los Angeles. He romances Emma Stone, battles Sean Penn's Mickey Cohen, and saves the day. He speaks a lot, and often in the voice of a cartoon cat. This is Ryan Gosling.
Only God Forgives, directed by Nicolas Winding Refn
How nice it would be to report that the second teaming of Refn and Ryan Gosling has produced something as ecstatic and electrically nasty as their first. But the nastiness this time isn't nice. It's just ... nasty. This isn't Drive. It's a rib cage rolling on human heads for tires. Gosling is a dude who operates a muay thai gym in Bangkok and dreams of having his hands sliced off. He's not wrong to be scared. Vithaya Pansringarm plays an ex-cop who, starting with Gosling's rapist-murderer brother, hacks his way through anyone who exploits or kills anyone's daughters — or anyone related to Gosling.
Refn usually works on the border between classicism and formal chaos. His shotmaking and choreography are pristine, even when the images are splattered with blood. The film editing is precise. The sound design imaginative. The art direction museum-quality. This is more of the same — the Crayola color would be "viscera" — but all that craftsmanship is put to obvious, indulgent ends. It doesn't take long to deduce that the vengeful slicing and hacking of limbs and the like are Refn living out some kind of castration nightmare. (At 89 minutes, the movie lasts as long as a bad nap.) To put too fine a point upon that dread, along comes Kristin Scott Thomas as Gosling's slum queen with a dirty mouth and filthier intentions. Her participation is as much a stunt as any of the sword work. (The most loving, if grotesque, image happens not to be phallic but vaginal.)
Why Did Kaley Cuoco & Henry Cavill Break Up? The Big Bang Theory star and new Superman have already split, after several mysteriously convenient photo ops. Sources claim the relationship was real and so is the breakup. "That's how Henry works. He gets invested in a girl but drops her when another stunning woman shows interest." Up, up, and away!
Jay-Z & Robert De Niro Still Have Beef: After De Niro called out Jay-Z on never returning a phone call, Jay-Z responded, "It doesn't matter who you are, everyone has to be respectful," but admitted he hadn't called Bobby back yet.
Lamar Odom's Mistress Spills All: Jennifer Richardson claims "her relationship with Lamar wasn't merely sexual; she insists they shared a close emotional bond too." Richardson says she boinked Odom on Christmas Eve. "He told me on many occasions that he loved me. And I honestly felt the same way." To throw extra dirt on Khloe, Richardson claims "Lamar talked a lot about having a baby with me." Khloe and Lamar were separated, with Khloe pleading with Lamar to move back in. "But the newest claim, that Lamar carried on a long-term affair with Jennifer, has had a huge impact on her. She just can't ignore it any longer. She's completely overwhelmed and is seriously considering ending the marriage."
I know that we've spent enough of our generation's time doting on the '80s, but this vintage news intro from Milwaukee's Channel 6 is all kinds of great. Look at the innocence, the sincerity, of mustaches and microphones in a pre–Ron Burgundy world. It's like Norman Rockwell in shoulder pads.
The last day at Cannes is a bonanza for moviegoing. The festival screens every film in the main competition for the ticketed public and, later in the evening, stages the closing ceremonies, which culminate with the Palme d'Or. The screenings allow the world's remaining movie press to catch up with whatever it was they missed in the previous 11 days. For the civilian filmgoer, it's the last chance to experience a film before it's beset by the vagaries of the distribution and exhibition process, while it's still relatively pure. For me, that meant finally seeing La Vie d'Adèle, Chapitres 1 & 2, a.k.a. Blue Is the Warmest Color (that's the English title), a.k.a. The Movie Everyone Adores Except for Everyone Who Hates It.
Sunday morning, hundreds of people sprinted into the Debussy Theater and jostled for seats. The movie screened Wednesday and word had spread that this was the one to see. I'd seen the queues for a couple of the other films, and, by far, those of us in or near the holding pens for Adèle looked the most desperate to get in. It took less than 15 minutes to reach capacity.
Now this is more like it. Finally, a movie outrageous enough to make people stand up and boo. The honor goes to Only God Forgives, 90 minutes inside a barrel of Nicolas Winding Refn's subconscious sexual nightmares. All the slicing and hacking makes it obvious: Refn is scared someone wants to take away his penis. It's true that some of the audience came to the film's rescue with applause. But after the final pair of limbs had been slashed off, you knew what the jeering was all about. Some of us were hoping Refn would top the flamboyant brooding of Bronson or the neon ecstasy of Drive. We got instead a work of regressive junk.
Ryan Gosling returns, this time as some kind of Refn surrogate. He's a drug dealer and the owner of a Bangkok muy thai boxing gym prone to walking very slowly down corridors lit, like most of the movie, in emergency-exit red and dreaming of reaching for a door and having his arm slashed off. This guy is seeking revenge for the murder of his brother — even though the brother is a psychopath who raped a teenage girl and bludgeoned her to death. Gosling is once again horny, silent, and deadly, but because this is a Western movie in Thailand, the only woman a man can find is a prostitute.
If you've already seen The Place Beyond the Pines (it opens wide today, after runs in L.A. and NYC), it'd be quite kind of you not to spill the details. Derek Cianfrance's follow-up to his 2010 heartbreak epic Blue Valentine is both larger in scope and more deceitful, as it traces a few cracked familial lineages through an unorthodox structure that should leave you shocked inside of an hour. Last week Grantland sat down with Cianfrance at the New York offices of Pines distributor Focus Features. He was wearing the meme-classic Three Wolves Howling T-shirt, and he was very easy to talk to.
Sometimes movies slip through the cracks and, for better or worse, I catch up with them. Here's a handful, all directed by a range of men, from an Italian visionary to some dude named Robert Redford.
The Place Beyond the Pines, directed by Derek Cianfrance
A slow-burning drama told in three connected movements, all featuring an unusually haggard, unusually good Eva Mendes. The first has Ryan Gosling doing a version of his Drive persona, a bank-robbing, tattooed stunt biker living in Schenectady (a Mohawk word that gives the movie its title). The second miscasts Bradley Cooper as a lawyer turned cop in the same town. The last has two fantastic performances from Emory Cohen and Dane DeHaan, whose relationship to each other and the rest of the movie is basically from the people who brought you Romeo and Juliet.
What Cianfrance has written has scraps of surprise and a fine chase sequence, but it doesn't reach for the stars or the emotional cosmos — or, at least, it doesn't know how to get there. He's given us plot points and episodes in search of thriller and tragedy. But no suspense. His previous movie with Gosling, 2010's martial-disaster drama Blue Valentine, was similarly unsure about how to build into something greater than shouts and murmurs. This time, you wonder whether Cianfrance reached the film's final third and realized that this was his movie, two high school burnouts who fascinate each other. But he had Gosling and Cooper and probably couldn't turn back. Once Ray Liotta shows up as his umpteenth crook, it's tempting to believe that a piece of software made the whole movie happen.