Jodie Foster is sort of like the unofficial Captain Save-A-Ho of Hollywood, because she seems to always come to the defense of floundering hos everyone is shitting on. Jodie defended Mel Gibson’s shitty ass when everyone hated on him for being an anti-Semitic, blow job-needing ass boil marinating in dirty jacuzzi water. And now Jodie is pulling out her shank and defending Kristen Stewart who starred with her in The Panic Room.
In Jodie Foster’s piece for The Daily Beast, she starts off by writing that if she was a young actress today, she would’ve immediately checked out of the Hollywood game to keep the media from knocking pussies out of her mouth with their cameras. I put it much more eloquently than Jodie did, but that’s basically what she said. Jodie says that the media lifts up young celebrities only to later tear them down and punch their souls into dust. Jodie goes on to write that she met a 10-year-old Kristen Stewart on the set of The Panic Room and grew to love her. Jodie once told Kristen Stewart’s mom to try to talk her out of doing the acting thing, but her mom said that it’s what she wanted.
Jodie then writes some ultra dramatic shit about how KStew was probably an innocent white-haired child who freely danced around at the beach and now she’s a hard shell of bad bitch who is constantly getting attacked by the paparazzi. In other words, Jodie’s been hitting the bong KStew got her for her birthday:
There’s this image I have of a perfect moment. It comes to me as a square format 8mm home movie with ’70s oversaturated reds and blues, no sound, just a scratchy loop … there’s a little white-haired girl twirling in the surf. She’s singing at the top of her lungs, jumping and spinning around in the cold water, all salty, sandy, full of joy and confidence. She’s unconscious of the camera, of course, in her own world. The camera shakes a little. Perhaps her mom’s laughing behind the lens. Could a child be more loved than in this moment? She’s perfect. She is absolutely perfect.
Cut to: Today … A beautiful young woman strides down the sidewalk alone, head down, hands drawn into fists. She’s walking fast, darting around huge men with black cameras thrusting at her mouth and chest. “Kristen, how do you feel?” “Smile Kris!” “Hey, hey, did you get her?” “I got her. I got her!” The young woman doesn’t cry. Fuck no. She doesn’t look up. She’s learned. She keeps her head down, her shades on, fists in her pockets. Don’t speak. Don’t look. Don’t cry.
My mother had a saying that she doled out after every small injustice, every heartbreak, every moment of abject suffering. “This too shall pass.” God, I hated that phrase. It always seemed so banal and out of touch, like she was telling me my pain was irrelevant. Now it just seems quaint, but oddly true … Eventually this all passes. The public horrors of today eventually blow away. And, yes, you are changed by the awful wake of reckoning they leave behind. You trust less. You calculate your steps. You survive. Hopefully in the process you don’t lose your ability to throw your arms in the air again and spin in wild abandon. That is the ultimate F.U. and—finally—the most beautiful survival tool of all. Don’t let them take that away from you.
THE DRAMA! Get a grip, Jodie.
Jodie’s piece is really well-written and you can get it all here if you want it, but what she basically says is that the media sucks, hos need to chill, Kristen Stewart’s life is hard, the beach is fun and everyone should respect the “privacy please” sign hanging on a famous actor’s front door. I get it. But Jodie forget to write a little open note to KStew: the next time you want a married dude to lick your punane, take it inside. Now those are words to live by.
And some of you probably didn’t even read any of the words above, because you’re still getting over the fact that it was Kristen Stewart in The Panic Room and not one of the Culkin boys.