Hot Mouth by Kate Ward (Photo: Liz O.)
I met Kristen Stewart once. It was at a premiere for a movie I never saw, for a story I never wrote and our exchange lasted no more than two minutes. I don’t remember the exact conversation, I just remember that she seemed quite the opposite of everyone else I’ve met in my very limited experience of attending Hollywood events.
Red carpet events are a peculiar phenomenon. Though the carpet often isn’t red, the events are almost interchangeable. You have a bunch of reporters on the side of the carpet, each one given a space about the size of an 8″ x 10″ glossy. You wait for hours, in this case, in sunlight so bright that no amount of sunscreen could protect yours truly from a violent burn. You’re given a cheat sheet with the names and photos of the known attendees. You will reference this sheet a lot. Of course, a few more unannounced people will arrive and you will likely have no idea who they are even though they fall into that “celebrity” category. If– and this is definitely an if– you can score an interview with one of the stars, you’re given one or two questions and your goal is to keep them talking until a publicist drags them towards the next reporter. The actors are obviously well-rehearsed for these sorts of events. The ladies walk in very expensive high-heeled shoes as though they have been strutting with books on their heads since childhood. They pose for the photographers as though they spent decades practicing for just this moment in front of a mirror. Men and women answer every question as a sound bite. If they say anything that could be construed as kind of/sort of controversial, it’s only because that’s part of a carefully cultivated rebellious image.
I know this sounds cynical, but when you grow up in Los Angeles, you learn that nothing is real well before you learn how to drive.
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