Mikey F.

I debated for a while whether or not to even talk about this here, because I don't really want to reduce this to just stupid "Oh I saw so-and-so!" reports. But then I balanced that against the possibility of looking at, oh, I don't know, this picture:



Not to mention this gem:



And I decided the need was imperative.

It was at AFI Fest's "Secret Screening" last Sunday. With our privileged volunteer status we all knew the secret movie was going to be Steven Soderbergh's "Haywire," which meant that a slew of awesome male cast members could be materializing at Grauman's Chinese Theater that night. With my privileged volunteer status I got myself 3 tickets and crossed my fingers. There were a lot of rumors rippling through the air in Hollywood that night, a lot of will-he-won't-he-show-up speculation, the He in question being, in unspoken unanimous agreement, the only person everyone really wanted to see.



"He doesn't do American premieres," someone told me assuredly before I had dinner.

Then later as we entered the theater, from an insider volunteer: "Well, his name was on the guest list, so who knows!" And they were right.

I should report that in person (and by that I mean in person in person) (and by that I mean I stood next to him for a bit) he was a straight-up charisma machine. Like, a tidal wave of happy human magnetism, destroying everything in its path, man or woman. All who witnessed it crumbled. Which was kind of disorientating because we had seen "Shame" the previous week, and in that he had been so ravaged and worn and ghostly. Then in "Haywire," playing essentially some version of James Bond - every tilt of the head, every droll raising of an eyebrow, perfectly calculated for maximum cool.

Oh and Ewan McGregor was there too. And he was appropriately lovable as well. But in the face of the massive masculine potency of his co-star, how could poor Ewan not be more than an afterthought? The mortal.