vanity fair
With all the reverence paid
to the roll-out of Vanity Fair's annual Hollywood issue, you'd expect that each subscriber would have his or her magazine delivered by a battalion of cherubim, an angelic cohort ready to blast triumphantly their celestial horns the moment one first unfurls the cover gatefold. This year's cover certainly delivers the accompanying flare of dazzling light, courtesy of the reflective properties of Scarlett Johansson's alabaster flesh, but with
The Rack artfully obscured by an arm, no one will go blind from a long-awaited flash of her celebrated bosom. Much was made of Rachel McAdams' exit from the cover shoot,
a conniption of modesty that resulted in Tom Ford, the special issue's art director, being inserted into her place. Only our imaginations can help us gauge the aesthetic impact of this distressing change; McAdam's presence would likely have elevated the cover to first-rate masturbatory material for the Hollywood obsessed. Instead, we get a pasty Johansson trying to ignore the well-dressed gay dude about to chew off Keira Knightley's earlobe. And if the cover hasn't already dampened your desire enough on its own, if you glance at it quickly, you could swear photographer Annie Leibovitz has perfectly captured the magic moment before
Jeremy Piven moves a boozy three-way from the living room floor to the heart-shaped waterbed in the boudoir.
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Defamer
defamer photo essay
Venice Film Festival update: Jellyfish have invaded and are totally ruining Keira Knightley's swimming plans! Also: At 156 minutes, Ang Lee's NC-17-rated Lust, Caution is a chore to sit through, despite featuring sex scenes so explicit, it makes a spittle-assisted Jack Twist-taking seem tame by comparison. [
