Natalie Portman

Generally, I think red and pink really do clash rather loudly, and so I tend to steer clear of it.



But -- and maybe it's just the delirium talking; it's been a really long week -- I don't hate this. There's something bright and fun and spirited about it. Unlike Natalie's facial expression, but presumably, she cracked a smile at SOME point that night. I mean, if you're going to wear an upbeat dress, the least you can do is act like you haven't just had nails driven into your colon.

Clearly, Natalie Portman is going through a phase.



This is not the first time she's cloaked herself in layers of needless, fussy hoo-ha -- remember this? Perhaps she's desperately trying to communicate something very important to her fan base, or her manager. Or her mom. What do you think it is? That her life needs more clutter? Because she doesn't get enough catalogs in the mail, or never runs across informercials, and therefore is living a live stripped of pricey modern annoyances like the broken Magic Bullet sitting in the kitchen, the closet full of Yoga Booty Ballet DVDs she never uses, and a dresser drawer full of demagnetized Clever Clasps? The poor girl. Quick, somebody send her a care package of Mighty Putty, PedEggs, and books by that strange Andy Dick-looking nutball who wears suits with question-marks on them. This is a cry for help that needs to be answered the way that only a Hairagami piece can.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have about ten Tae-Bo video tapes that I need to lock away so that Billy Blanks' eyes of judgment no longer stare at me every from the package while I'm on the couch eating cashews.

Much as Gwyneth got roughly to third base with her obsession with microminis, Natalie Portman has been doing heavy flirting with ruffles this year at Cannes. And I'm doing a lot of waffling on whether I think they're pretty and flirty, or kind of crazy. Don't get me wrong, I love waffles. Just not mind waffles. So you, dear readers, need to put on your special baby-soft clicking glove of judgment and prepare to be the jury.

Exhibit A for the prosecution:

The defense argues that this is quite pretty and elegant on her, and is an amazing color. But the prosecution wants you to know that the ruffle flipping up around her chest could have been a valance in another life. Or in this one, until twenty minutes before Natalie left her hotel.

Exhibit B:

The prosecution whispers furiously with each other -- one of them was heard to say, "You're telling me you wouldn't try that on if you had her figure? PLEASE" -- and then feebly suggests that a strong breeze would expose Natalie's portman to the world. The defense raucously chest-bumps each other and stars singing "Livin' On A Prayer."

Exhibit C:

 

The prosecutors are momentarily at a loss for words, because this is another really lovely color, but they're about to recover long enough to note that this is the sort of thing -- and, indeed, the red number as well -- would ONLY look good on someone as tiny as Natalie Portman. Anyone with an inch to pinch and real-woman hips would look like a very cold Christmas tree.  Meanwhile, the defense is making margaritas and toasting the fact that, really, who cares how it would look on a normal person if Natalie looks cute in it? The prosecution responded by passing them a note that said, "STOP LAUGHING AT US. It's sort of old-looking! Right? What if she's giving someone bad ideas? Also, can you pour us one on the rocks with salt?"

And finally, Exhibit D:

SCARLETT JOHANSSON:  Thanks for taking the fall this time, Natalie. It's nice of you to step up to the plate and get all crazy looking, right after I made that big fuss about how imperfect you make me feel.

NATALIE PORTMAN: Huh? I mean, excuse me?

SCARLETT: You know, you totally took the pressure off me by showing up to this event wearing a complex array of curtains. It's nice of you.

NATALIE: What?

SCARLETT: I'm saying, I hate what you're wearing, and THANK YOU for that. God. You went to that fancy college, you'd think you'd have better aural comprehension.

NATALIE: I understood you, I was just perplexed and distracted by your unusually ratty hair. For your information, this dress is extremely significant.

SCARLETT: So was Bjork's swan outfit.

NATALIE: Well. I never! I had no idea that you were pure evil.

SCARLETT:  I am NOT evil. I am GRATEFUL that you are taking the pressure off me! Why has this conversation gone so terribly wrong? No one understands me!

NATALIE: My significant dress and I are going to go over there and stand next to Eric Bana now. I'll talk to you when you feel ready to apologize.

SCARLETT: BUT...oh, never mind.

NATALIE PORTMAN: I'm fabulous.

SCARLETT JOHANSSON: I'm stumpy.

NATALIE: Oh, ScarJo. No, you're not! Don't be so hard on yourself. Have a vegan cookie!

SCARLETT:  I mean it, Natalie. I look like 1993's national president of the Blind Melon fan club posing with you. What possessed me to wear these flats with this?

NATALIE: Why, I'm sure you have a good reason. Have your arches fallen recently?

SCARLETT: No.

NATALIE: Have you hideous bunions?

SCARLETT: NO.

NATALIE: Are you perhaps just trying to be sensible?

SCARLETT: At a photoshoot?!?

NATALIE: I don't know! I thought it was an homage to the costumes on the pages in our movie, The Other Boleyn Girl, premiering soon at theatre near you!

SCARLETT: NO.  God. Do you ever do ANYTHING wrong?

NATALIE: I accidentally killed a lady bug on Tuesday.

SCARLETT: I'm gonna kill SOMETHING.

DUSTIN HOFFMAN: Just hang on for a few more pictures, kid. Don't you move a muscle.

NATALIE PORTMAN: I just feel kind of uncomfortable in this dress.

DUSTIN: You got great gams, kid. Everything's going to be fine. We just need to pose a little bit longer. You can't try to run away from these guys like that again. It's a sign of weakness.

NATALIE: I know. But I've never worn anything this short in public. I feel exposed. Do I look like Britney Spears? You'd tell me if I did, right?

DUSTIN:  You look fine, kid! Relax! Relax! You couldn't look like Britney Spears if you attacked an SUV with an umbrella!

NATALIE: My lipstick seems too red for this dress. Is it too red? It's too red, isn't it? Why did I let them talk me into any of this, Dustin?

DUSTIN: Kid, why do we let anyone talk us into anything? I think you look tastier than a sandwich in the middle of a juice fast! The real question is why you let them talk you into having Haley Joel Osment's haircut in that wackola kid's movie we just made together, but the ink's dry on that one, right? Keep smiling!

NATALIE: I do look much cuter than I do on that movie poster, you're right.  Okay. Okay, you're right. You're right. I know you're right. I should be out there working this.

DUSTIN:  That's the spirit, kid!

There's no more graceful way to say it, so I'll just blurt it out: What the hell is this?

Perhaps it's her Halloween costume from the legendary time she went as a dust ruffle. Or maybe Scarlett O'Hara ran off with the dress that's supposed to go over the petticoat, leaving poor Natalie with no option but to go as she was, dressed like a child bride on her wedding night.

Even Ms. Portman apparently knew she'd fugged it up bigtime: For most of the night after her win for Closer, she was wearing someone's suit jacket over this bizarre wifebeater-turned-sundress. That gives us some hope.

I have never really gotten the whole appeal of Natalie Portman, and this annoying makeup trend she's sporting is not helping matters:

We saw it at the Oscars last year, too: Eye-makeup deliberately done to make the person look as if she has bags and/or deep, dark circles under her eyes. Natalie Fugman up there is all dressed up in her finest, with a mug that appears not to have seen sleep since 1998, or which is the profuct of a four-day drug and alcohol bender. [And for good measure, with her expression Fugalie has apparently confused "sultry" with "pissed off and murderous."]

Please, ladies, don't let these insane stylists run roughshod over your faces. It's smeared and sloppy and it flatters no one. It's like her face is a Scantron sheet, and somebody's No. 2 pencil colored outside the lines.