![]() We discussed the drama, the ins and the outs, but we never got around to a critique of the film.Olivia Wilde, actor, writer, and the director behind the triumphant Booksmart and forthcoming psychological thriller Don’t Worry Darling, introduces nuance and opens up vital conversations with every project she helms. But it pains me to have written this entire piece and never once mentioned the art. I suspect the right way for a woman to date Harry Styles will forever be a topic of conversation for a certain part of the internet few have emerged from it unscathed. She’s been judged on what we’ve decided was the right way for a woman to work, the right way for a woman to manage her actors, the right way for a woman to leave her partner. ![]() I’m sad that Wilde hasn’t been judged on merit, on the content of her second film. Notice it and call it out every single time. All of this is misogyny, plain and simple. That they go behind each other’s backs to achieve personal goals. It’s the quiet and toxic idea that powerful women (perhaps all women?) manipulate. This paradigm has cheated Wilde and it’s cheated Pugh-and we don’t expect this from our male directors and actors. Her decorum is scrutinized and prodded and pummeled. We all piled in because it felt benign, but we fell into the toxic trap of misogyny that sees a woman’s creative expression eclipsed by her personal life. I’m obviously gutted that a woman-directed Hollywood film descended so quickly into debate about the relationship between two women-whether they liked each other, respected each other, which of them had been wronged and how. We’re just jabbing at each other, jousting our hot takes. Late-stage Twitter appears to be the frenzied analysis of a moment we’re all fairly certain is made up. We already knew it wasn’t true, and then poor Chris Pine had to issue an apology, not only compounding the absurdity but also ruining our fun. Who among us truly believed Harry Styles spat on Chris Pine in Venice? It was simply an extra-long in-joke, each of us enjoying the frenzy, enjoying the absurdity. We’ve been watching it unfold and learning almost nothing revelatory or of value. But at the same time, the actual truth in all of this is irrelevant. Unfortunately, the “no comment” strategy somehow ratcheted up the ante, leaving us all guessing and grappling for the truth. What can I tell you: Hollywood people really do love a dramatic scene.Īs you can see, the trouble comes down to rumors and gossip-not so much he-said-she-said, as nobody said. Depriving anyone of “Watermelon Sugar” feels particularly petty, but Sudeikis has also had Wilde served a manila envelope with custody papers in front of thirty thousand people at CinemaCon. (What is it with celebrities and their nannies?) According to nanny anonymous, Sudeikis also allegedly-this is the first “allegedly” in the clusterfuck of allegations in this Hollywood debacle-banned the staff from listening to Styles’s music in the house. It was the couple’s unnamed nanny who spilled the beans on the protest. (The special dressing in question appears to be merely a favorite recipe from Nora Ephron’s Heartburn.) Sudeikis performed the one-man Extinction Rebellion stunt to prevent Wilde from taking a salad with “special dressing” to her new lover Harry Styles. This week, the burning question on everybody’s lips appears to be, completely unironically, whether or not Jason Sudeikis threw himself under the wheels of his former partner Olivia Wilde’s car as she was backing out the driveway. ![]()
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