Brad Pitt washed his hair for last night’s World War Z premiere in London, maybe because his wife missed the funeral of her mother’s younger sister, Debbie Martin, to be there.
I’m not going to utter a single bad word about the woman who underwent a double mastectomy and sweeps refugee orphans off their feet like a humble superhero with shiny apple-waxed legs. Some might say that Angelina Jolie‘s alter-ego, the woman with no friends who fingerpaints with blood on other people’s husband’s nutsacks, needs to get her priorities straight. But not me.
Maybe her aunt was one of those “live in the moment” people who told her in advance to only attend her funeral if she didn’t have some sort of zombie movie event to attend. Maybe Angie prefers to grieve in her own way. Maybe she already said goodbye at a special one-on-one rich person pre-funeral.
I didn’t go to my grandma’s funeral when I was an angsty teenager partially because I was selfish and partially because it was an open casket and I wasn’t prepared to see a dead body.
We all have our reasons. It’s always easier to judge from a distance. (I’m feeling generous.)
Slight but not complete topic change… World War Z does not appear to differ from other zombie films and the one show besides the fact that the dead are a bit faster and travel in larger, Coachella-sized groups.
Have you seen the trailer? They’re like larger versions of the ants in that one movie that starred Harrison Ford in a hat and Shia LaBeouf in a leather jacket that clearly wasn’t an Indiana Jones movie.
It’s probably going to be crappy, but Angelina’s a good/supportive wife who will probably buy him a ball of hash and a bottle of $4,000 wine instead of telling him the truth.