In a desperate attempt to have a worldwide hit in Ghost Rider, Nicolas Cage has apparently taken a page from the Book of Hanks:
Unfortunately for Nic, trotting around in hair befitting an alleyway rapist isn't actually going to make his movie about a flaming skeleton biker look any less wretched.
What it might do is get him randomly sprayed by suspicious people with itchy trigger fingers wrapped around their pocket mace, but somehow I don't think the two experiences are in any way approximate of each other. Still, he does have National Treasure: The Book of Secrets coming up to console him. Movies about made-up mysteries of history apparently SCREAM for lead actors who look like their pockets are bulging with roofies. It will be so awesome when Diane Kruger's character returns for the sequel with a chestnut pixie cut, a French accent, and nothing to do except ask expository and often redundant questions of the male star.
