Friday, February 10, 2012
On occasion, the role of movie reviewer and talent scout can be quite gratifying - and such has been the case in respect to Zombie-thriller actor - Norman Reedus.
For example, a scant few years ago I attended a tony screening of an Independent film - "Moscow Chill" (Beverly Hills Fine Arts Theatre) and was knocked out by the kid's characterization of a computer whiz which was natural and seamless.
At the time, I enthusiastically predicted that Reedus was slated to become an "it" boy one day come hell or high water.
At long last, it appears that Norman's star has finally risen to heady climbs only capable of being imagined previously.
For example, the rugged star's gifts are currently being showcased on a high-profile TV serial (The Walking Dead) which has earned him oodles of dizzying attention in full-blown cult circles.
Also, studly Reedus recently landed juicy roles in three feature films being buzzed about (talk about stamina!) which are all in post-production.
Fans can't wait to catch the charismatic performer on the silver screen alongside pretty Naomi Watts and heartthrob Matt Dillon in Sunlight Jr.
Recently, OMG, the high-flying actor also rubbed shoulders and exchanged thoughts on acting with the likes of well-respected Robert Redford on the set of "The Conspirator".
If Norman's face looks familiar, it comes as no surprise to most film buffs.
Early on in his career, Reedus starred opposite Sean Patrick Flanery and talented Willem Dafoe in the cult classic "The Boondock Saints".
The way things are going, I expect "American Idol" will be offering him a job as a Judge next season, eh?
I truly doubt he'd sell out or exploit his gifts.
Break a leg, Norman!
At a time when American soldiers are being put on notice that their tour of duty may be winding down at long last, rough 'n tumble top guns - like Prince Harry, for instance - are gearing up for lift-off to take up the cause overseas once again.
For the handsome Captain - brother of the future of the King of England - the maneuvers amount to follow-up (top-secret) assignments previously cut short by dangerous news black outs (according to insiders in the intelligence community).
As the Queen's troops patrol the Afghanistan terrain, Prince Harry - a rambunctious socialite (known to toss back a brewskie or two and party-hearty) - is expected to to man a state-of-the-art Apache attack helicopter overhead as he keeps a watchful eye out.
Without doubt, the swashbuckling bachelor will cause hearts to flutter in the duration, both here and across the big pond.
Just betcha, Pippa will be pining away for the stud in Jolly Old England, too.
Is another Royal Wedding on the horizon perchance?
News at 11!
I haven't posted in a few days - which may have tipped off Tattler readers - that I was either kidnapped, six feet under, or in the hospital being treated for that nasty flu bug that has been floating 'round town in recent days.
Actually, it was the former that landed me in a UCLA Medical facility, where a slew of IV's clung to my limbs daily, as a myriad of tubes pumped exotic antibiotics in - this way 'n that - in a concerted effort to eradicate the infection.
Of course, there was a lot of poking (and prodding) going down, too (by a host of willing participants directing at the helm, I might add).
Get along little doggie!
For the most part, the nurses and doctors on duty who treated me, were polite and on-the-ball.
But, the behavior of one or two of the medical staff raised an eyebrow now-and-then.
One middle-aged gal with a gleam in her eye was terribly attentive - in fact, so much so - that she brought a whole new meaning to the term "bedside manner".
At one point, I thought she was downright kinky in her heart-of-hearts, when she insisted that I roll-over in bed so she could take a glimpse at my - um - butt-hole (what else would 'ya call it?) to ensure that it was pretty as pink and rash-free!
Gosh, I wonder, did she have the hots for me???
But, the most intriguing encounter surfaced out-of-the-blue, when I was preparing for my discharge from the hospital.
A middle-aged maid hovered perilously close to my bed as she hummed a roster of romantic ballads sweetly under her breath.
Shortly after she slipped out of the room with a bag of trash in hand, she suddenly sashayed back in, with a tiny sheet of blank paper in hand.
"For me," she half-whispered in broken English.
"Write down what you like. Good morning (!). How are you (!)," she explained, though it was all Greek to me at this point!
"When I have a moment," I stuttered, as I proceeded to pack up my toiletries.
She smiled shyly, then exited, with little more ado.
Seconds later, she dashed back in though, and proceeded to blurt out additional instructions.
"I forgot. Write your name and the date."
Bossy little health worker, eh?
It suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks.
The poor woman must have thought I was Arnold Schwarzenegger in the very flesh.
Guess I blew her get-rich schemes right out of Santa Monica Bay from the get-go, eh?