I had waited for more than an hour now. Bruce and Demi had not yet shown.
I figured Bruce was still standing in front of the mirror in his Majestic
suite, debating whether a scarf or a hat would better compensate for his
follicle deficiency.
We -- the gawking onlookers crowding around the new Planet Hollywood Cannes
wishing to get a glimpse of a star, any star -- had been here a long time
now. The rastafarian gentleman selling cheap plastic sunglasses had made
the rounds four times already. Just as impatience was threatening to overtake
my will, there was a buzz in the crowd. Bruce? Demi? Sly? Michael?
None of the above. Try Charlie Sheen. Correction. Charles Sheen, star of
the new release "Bad Day on the Block," certainly not a contender
for Un Certain Regard and likely to already be appearing as an in-flight
movie by the time I leave France next week.
Aw, go easy on Marty Sheen's kid, right? He's turned in decent performances
in the past (see "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" and "Major League").
Even "Hot Shots" was alright. And he's not his brother Emilio,
which might be enough right there.
But please let me digress, let me wax Sheen (I think that's something Heidi
Fleiss did as well) for just a moment. The guy was always on the fringe
of the Brat Pack. A little too young, never made a definitive 'packer flick
like "The Breakfast Club" or "St. Elmo's Fire." He missed
his great chance at climbing to the next level when his "big co-starring
break," the Clint Eastwood vehicle "The Rookie," bombed.
This all probably left him a bit embittered, especially when the best offers
that crossed his agent's table were dreck like "Cadence" and that
UFO movie from last year whose title keeps eluding my memory.
So Charlie tried some notorious stunts to gain attention. Like renting out
the entire left field bleachers during a California Angels home game in
hopes of catching a home run ball, but in greater hopes of making the ten
o'clock sportscast. Like his aforementioned $57,000 soiree with Ms. Fleiss
and her girls, following which Charlie took the stand to testify in hopes
of injecting some new blood into his career a la Hugh Grant. Like his conversion
to born-again Christianity and subsequent divorce. Nothing seemed to work.
Cut to his agent's office: "Charlie, Chas, may I call you Chuck? Hey,
babe, this name thing is just wrong. 'Charlie.' It's just too... well, it
sounds juvenile. You're grown up now. Look what a name change did for James
(formerly Jim) Belushi and Lawrence (formerly Larry) Fishburne. It's time
for a change."
Which is essentially what the "new" *Charles* Sheen told a reporter
tonight when stopped on his entrance to the Planet Hollywood party. "It's
a change for the better... I'm a new man... blah-blah." And then he
pushed me out of the way so he could climb over a metal barrier and go sip
80-franc margaritas with Jean Paul Gautier.
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