I like to imagine happier times, when Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt were ruling the box office and they probably spent their evenings sipping rare French wine watching their joint checking account balance whirl up and up and up like that National Debt Clock that spooks shit out of half of Manhattan. Now that they’re separated, St. Angie has recognized she needs to work a room and hawk her artsy-fartsy shit as well as commercial stuff so she can keep the Child Army in the palaces they’ve all grown accustomed!
Ah, they’re all there. Vivienne, Maddox, Pax, Shiloh, Knox, Zahara, Greg, Marcia, Peter, Jan, Bobby, Cindy, and Alice. The whole gang!
That picture is a bit like a “Spot What’s Wrong” puzzle, since there definitely appears to be more members of the child army than usual. No, Angelina Jolie hasn’t adopted any new kids; those are some of the stars of her film First They Killed My Father (aka The PR Disaster Artist). Angelina and her crew all showed up for the premiere of FTKMF at the Toronto International Film Festival yesterday. Angelina brought four of her six kids to the premiere of The Breadwinner the day before, but that was just a movie she produced. FTKMF is a film by Angelina Jolie. You know, the award-winning director of Unbroken? Sorry, Brad, but this is the kind of big deal film premiere that requires the participation of all members of the child army.
Things are really tough right now at the Jolie mansion. The ‘change filter’ light on the Evian Septic System For Stars & Other Richies™ has been blinking for weeks. One of the gardeners took the afternoon off and forgot to leave the fresh Tahitian gardenias in the ancillary powder room located inside the second and third floor guest bathroom. And to top it all off, Angelina Jolie’s stylist is dead, because she accidentally on purpose laid out a navy blue muumuu instead a black one for Angie’s “surprise” trip to 7-Eleven with the kids. I mean, for fucks sake, does she have to do everything herself?!?!
Angelina Jolie wants so badly to be likeable, carefree and fun. Too bad being Angelina Jolie makes all that nearly impossible. While promoting her latest Debbie Downer of a film First They Killed My Father, Angie has been reluctantly giving interviews. As we know, long gone is the fun and flirty Angie who once famously made out with her brother on the red carpet and carried a vial of her (second ex) husband’s blood around her neck. Today’s Angie can’t even buy her kids a hot dog without being followed around by a sad trombone.
Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have emerged as the Ross and Rachel of Hollywood, and all of us are over here sitting on the side tables at Central Perk wondering how in HAIL is this they’re-getting-back-together/no-they-aren’t story going to end. Here’s how: Brad is going to be up the altar getting married to Sienna Miller, George Clooney, his sculptures, or some other valued treasure, and say Angelina’s name. Even then, it’s going to take another six seasons and twelve additions to the child army before they start bumping uglies again. GAH!
Imagine you’re a fabulously wealthy A-list celebrity (an Angelina Jolie type, let’s say) who’s been having a bit of a rough go of things lately. You’re in the middle of a messy divorce and the media seems to be taking his side. Your good works have recently come under scrutiny. You call your ex-husband’s former “herbalist.” This provides temporary relief, but leaves you famished. You’re in an introspective mood and look to your children for inspiration. “What should mummy have for a snack?” you ask. Two of your six children both scream in unison, “Hot dogs!!”