Scarlett Johansson

Scarlett Johansson can be so, so lovely.

Look at that! A hair color that's gently honeyed rather than a severe bleached blond, and sexy, soft makeup that's finally taken her away from the kind of red lipstick that naughty night vixens use to scrawl threatening messages on the mirrors of their more stingy customers.

Unfortunately, once we pull out of the closeup, things get a trifle more problematic.

The rest of Scarlett Johansson's outfit from this photo doesn't matter; it's a gray suit, worn while shooting The Nanny Diaries, and it's fine. But what vexes me is what the costumer has done to her feet:

This is The Nanny Diaries, not The Nana Diaries, right? I get that a childcare professional who runs around after the young 'uns might want wear comfortable footwear rather than cute footwear, and that sometimes to walk without agony from A to far-off B in New York City people change into shoes that will pound the sidewalk with greater shock absorption. I do understand. So aside from its outright fuglyness, it confuses me that nothing about that hideous Smileville Friendship Convalescent Center sock-and-shoe combo even looks particularly comfortable. Not to be all actory about it, but what exactly is her motivation?

However, my bigger concern is that this will somehow sneak its way into real life. So tread carefully, dreaded costumer. If you in any way push fashion in this direction, I am going to shake my fist and put a pox on you henceforth. DO YOU HEAR ME? A POX!

It baffles me still that so many people in this town do not understand what to do with their breasts.

A chest of any size is a lovely thing to have. But it can't just do all the work by itself, unless you are blessed with anti-gravity mammary glands; no, generally speaking, breasts need to be propped up a little in order to be displayed to their best advantage. They should probably not, a la Dunst/Gyllenhaal, be allowed to drip so freely and flatly that, when you can't find your ironing board, you simply instruct one of them to lie on her back so you can use her torso for that purpose. Breasts deserve better; they deserve a little bounce.

But, the deployment of breast support can be taken to an extreme, as displayed in the following painful photograph of Scarlett Johanssen:

Ouch.

Those are pinched, propped, and pushed to within an inch of their lives (and, it seems, within an inch of her chin). That is not sexy, provocative cleavage; that is what happens when a stray ostrich wanders over and gives birth to twins in your bodice. Now, it's possible she only did this so she could carry around some appetizers and a drink without having to fill up her hands with cumbersome receptacles, but even being your own end table isn't worth trotting around all night looking like the victim of some unfortunate breasticular mutation. In this photo, she is Anna Nicole Smith's younger sister.

I fear Scarlett is lashing out at herself. In September, she abused herself by wearing Mom Jeans supplied to her by Imitation of Christ's imitation of design talent, Tara Subkoff; she was also once caught in a Sienna Miller-esque leggings fiasco that can only have been interpreted as a cry for help. And now this? Scarlett, why do you hate yourself? You have nice skin. Pretty coloring. And some people seem to want to watch you act. So why are you lashing out at your figure? Are you passive-aggressively blaming them for The Island being a terrible movie? Did your boyfriend decide he only likes women who can blow lines off their own hoisted cleavage? Are you embarrassed by your strange choice of shoe and thus trying to block your downward view of them? 

Help us understand so that we can stage the right intervention.

I can't imagine what Scarlett Johansson's groin did to merit being punished in this manner:

I'm not sure who decided the Mom Jeans rise needed to come back in, but let's put it this way: If it takes you as long to run the bases as it does an ACTUAL baseball player, something's awry.

Also, would somebody please loan her $20? She needs some cotton tanks that aren't Olsen-thin.

We have since learned that what ScarJo's groin did was quite simple: It allowed itself to take part in a fashion show by Imitation of Christ, the label created by the fearsome Tara Subkoff -- and for which our very favorite icon of fug, Chloe Sevigny, designs/has designed. So suddenly, the imprisoning 20-mile zipper isn't surprising, nor is the general aura of awfulness around the entire look. ScarJo, we understand they may have shoved and shoehorned you into that outfit, but... free yourself from their neon claws. You owe it to yourself. And to your pelvis.

Somebody must really hate Scarlett Johansson:

Don't get me wrong -- this person clearly isn't enamored of Ewan McGregor, either, because it's not his best showing. He looks like an orderly who is really not that thrilled about having to clean your bedpan, because he just had to give Old Woman McGillicuddy a sponge bath and it was nearly the putrid death of him, but he's going to breathe through his mouth the whole time and smile, by gum, because it's his job not to be disgusted by other people's waste matter.

But this photo of Scarlett Johansson makes her look like a stoned ogre. Her eyes seem to veer off in different directions. Her facial expression is stiff and forced. And it's the worst angle on her nose. Can this really have been the best frame of the lot? Or was someone with a ScarJo vendetta going through the proofs? Is this really the type of cover art that would make everyone at the magazine say, "Yes. We have done it. This is the one," if they didn't secretly hate ScarJo with every fiber of their beings?  Has EW hired Soon-Yi? Are the Scientologists getting revenge against her for turning down the Tom Cruise contract -- er, I mean, for not being alluring enough that he would fall in love with her on-sight?

I certainly hope, for The Island's sake, that the sexy side of sci-fi it purports to reveal is not properly illustrated by this cover. They have as much chemistry as hand soap and pudding. She looks like she is refusing to touch him; he looks like he just realized he forgot to Lysol her belly before putting his hand on it, but he's gritting his teeth and bearing it for the time being. Who at Entertainment Weekly is having such bad sex lately that this is their idea of erotic titillation? Soon-Yi, is it you again? Have you become a photo terrorist?

Adding insult to injury is the shot of Peeping Johnny on the top right corner, all Wonkafied and Wintour-esque.

I just don't understand. If I didn't subscribe, I wouldn't buy this issue -- as it was, it arrived unbidden, so I had to see it sitting on my coffee table without having been sufficiently prepped for the horror. The resulting yawp was one of terror and betrayal.

My only consolation comes in imagining that Ewan and Scarlett's twee rubber bracelets are actually stamped with a slogan that encourages people to stop buying twee rubber bracelets.

Oh, Scarlett, look what you've done. Are you okay? Did you know that you put on leggings under your skirt this morning? I suspect you didn't -- unless you are sad; I think you wouldn't have turned to the Dark Side without a good reason, which must mean something is wrong.

You should be okay. You're dating Josh Hartnett. I know he hasn't done anything interesting in a while, or possibly ever, but he's still rather cute, and he's got to be a step up from nailing Benicio Del Toro -- who looks as if he tastes like the business end of a charcoal grill -- in an elevator. And you're allegedly, according to IMDb, going to be in 24 next season, which means you can listen to Kiefer all day while his velvet throat conjures delicious new sounds.

What is it, then, Scar? Why drag your skirt into this? What could it be? Look, Jared Leto was hot when he was Jordan Catalano, but it's been a looooong time since he lit our national loins on fire. So I hope you're not too worried about that whole thing ending. Perhaps you're just really shaken over this  Tom debacle, and how you apparently only narrowly escaped from being The Anointed Womb, and now you have to watch him slobber all over Kate Holmes-Cruise while knowing that if not for a keen stroke of luck and good sense, it might have been you in that frightening situation.

Or, maybe you're depressed about all this Woody Allen nonsense -- you know, about how you're his muse and Soon-Yi is not very happy about how much he would like to lick you silly. Is he drooling over you too much? Are you sad because you secretly like it, and you can't figure out why, and it makes you question everything you once believed to be good and true in this world?

Yeah, that would make me depressed enough to wear leggings, too, I suspect. Well, good luck to you. And if things don't get better, at least try not to take it out on your legs in this manner.