Patricia Arquette

PATRICIA ARQUETTE: I maybe should have gone up a size on my bodice.

THOMAS JANE: What are you talking about it? I LOVE IT. Your cups OVERFLOWETH.

PATRICIA: Yeah. I know. It's totally uncomfortable. My nipple is seriously about to make a run for it and I haven't taken a full breath since 11 a.m.

THOMAS: So?

PATRICIA: So I might PASS OUT, buddy. This top is literally cutting into me.

THOMAS: HOT.

PATRICIA: You're so unhelpful.

THOMAS: WRONG. I am awesome. Did you see me on the red carpet?

It may confuse you to learn that Patricia Arquette here was attending a Radiohead concert.


[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

It certainly perplexed ME -- one look at this photo and I felt certain Al's Boot Farm was sponsoring another legendary three-day Square-Dancing and Macrame-Animals Exposition and Food Fair. Unless perhaps P.Arq is teaching a course there on how to do-si-do to "Idioteque." That and some slabs of cornbread might be worth the price of admission.

So Patricia Arquette is off in Paris at the couture shows, looking arguably far fiercer than ever before (possibly because she's being dressed by people who know what they're doing):

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, her husband Thomas Jane has apparently taken the phrase "meanwhile, back at the ranch," FAR TOO LITERALLY:

So, I watched Medium for the first time this week. I don't know. It's okay, I guess. Patricia Arquette's character seems so MOPEY.  I may have got a bum episode, and I get that it's hard to have dream visions of terrible things and have no one believe you or whatever, but it must be exhausting to be so glum so much of the time. Especially since her character's glumness seems to have bled over into real life:

Babes, come on. You're attending the InStyle Diamond Luncheon Something Or Other. How bad can it be? At the very least, the gift bag should have some kind of sparkling goody in it! There's no need to pull out the old Somber Suit AND High Necked Blouse AND Dark Tights. Nothing wrong with looking demure to a luncheon, of course, but a wee tiny hint of skin somewhere would have gone a long way toward looking a bit more relaxed. This is what you wear when you're playing a guest role on Law and Order: Whatever Version as a former nun who's being forced to testify to cooking the parish books as a way to cover up some kind of gruesome -- yet justified! -- murder.  On the other hand, you don't seem to have aged AT ALL since Flirting With Disaster and that was over 10 years ago.  There's something to be said for that, at least.

When I was getting ready to write this, I thought to myself, "What is the deal with Patricia Arquette?"

"Why does she always leave the house looking like that wacky woman who lives three doors down from you, who is REALLY nice and sort of very interesting, but who is always puttering around her side yard with lanyards she's made from her own hemp and whose rickety old Volvo is full of spare change, plastic doll heads, potting soil, and hundreds of unopened packets of raw sugar?" Then I realized: DAVID Arquette is always leaving the house looking like that wacky woman's best friend, the one who seriously considered going to clown college. It's GENETIC. In the end, you can't fight DNA.

When you're at an event called Dressed to Kilt, and it's an ode to Scottish fashion, you're going to see some plaid. That's just the way it is. And that's fine; I have nothing against plaid. In fact, I wore it for three years of senior high, and sometimes I sort of miss the excuse to wear a cute forest-green, navy, and black kilt.

So my problem here isn't that Patricia Arquette is in kind of a kooky plaid dress. Rather, it's that she's barely in it.

Perhaps on someone with less ample assets, the top of the dress would offer plenty of coverage -- or even, a tiny bit more; a wee extra bit of fabric is all it needs. Unfortunately, though, on Patricia, the dress appears to have been yanked up to its ABSOLUTE MAXIMUM height and then superglued in place, because no mere boob tape could withstand an assignment like this. It's great that she has the hourglass; I just wish the dress didn't make it look like the hourglass just now got tipped over and all the sand is still concentrated at the top.

There's got to be a better way to contain those. I mean, check out the close-up.

I really like Patricia Arquette. I loved her in Flirting With Disaster,  I loved that she told the Medium producers to drop dead when they wanted her to lose weight for the part, and I really hope she and that dreamy Thomas Jane can make it work.  However, it's a bit concerning that she went out last night in an outfit that prompted me to search the interwebs for twenty minutes to find out if she's pregnant or not:

I don't THINK she is. But if she's not, she probably doesn't want people so perplexed by her outfit that they spend a goodly portion of their morning trolling Google to find out if seed has found purchase in her womb. And if she is....well, if she is, then congratulations to the happy couple! I do like them. But it's probably smart to avoid dressing like one of the kids from Our Gang, even if you are gestating a wee Jane-Arquettelette.

I feel like Patricia Arquette is constantly making me groan, "Ooooh... so close." For instance, she's a lovely woman who rocks her healthy, normal figure, but then she'll show up somewhere in a tight satin sheath that is hard for anybody to wear without accentuating the negatives.

Or, she'll throw a red sash around her waist and let it hang there limply, helping no one and doing nothing but cup her stomach:

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

If she'd worn this hair with the other dress, we might've had a winner. But instead she wore the horrible coif with the nice frock, and the sleeker 'do with this satin atrocity from the J.Lo/Anjelica Huston School of Fug. She also can't get her straps to behave -- the one on the left up there is staying put when it shouldn't, while her Emmy ceremony dress strap dropped clean off in the middle of her acceptance speech. The woman can't win.

Well, except for the Emmy.  And her slowly debloating life partner. But her closet is a giant rack of suck.

Oh, Patricia Arquette.

What is with the hair? It's like Marie Antoinette by way of Rosie the Riveter. What are you hiding in there? The latest Medium script? State secrets? Snacks for later? [Not a bad idea when the show is nine and a half hours long.]

Just don't.

I don't think there was a Wild West theme at this Mercedes-Benz event in honor of diabetes research:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Unless these two were going for a massive visual metaphor -- "The insane world of diabetes research is like the Wild West. Anything goes!"

You can just see her swinging those hips through a saloon door and heading behind the bar, huffing a cleansing fog of breath onto a moonshine glass and wiping it idly while the boys busy themselves playing poker. And then Alfred Molina lays down aces, so Tim McGraw pulls his six-shooter and upturns the table while Thomas Jane scoops up Ms. A and carries her to safety over his shoulder and onto the back of his trusty steed.

And, with luck, straight into a Barney's after a quick stop at the barber shop. For the love of God, man, the beard didn't work when it ate Kilmer's face, so stop it from swallowing your own.