If you thought Princess Charlotte was the only princess worth knowing about, perhaps you haven’t been following all of the other regal heirs around the world. Today, there are a bevy of modern-day ladies, aside from our beloved Kate Middleton, who have made the most of their royal roles, which they have acquired from either birth or marriage. From raising awareness of HIV to competing in marathons for charities, a lot of these women spend their time helping those in need. Keep reading for a look at the world’s most noteworthy princesses, then check out celebrities who look like royalty.
I am not, by nature, a particularly envious man. Nor am I covetous. Most days I think I have a decent grasp and appreciation of what my strengths are, as well as an understanding of—and willingness to work on—my weaknesses. And, as a white, able-bodied, cisgendered, heterosexual male born in Europe in the late 20th century, I am certainly very aware of my hyper-privileged position in the grand sweep of human history. It really doesn’t get much luckier than being born then, there, like that.
That’s most days.
The other days I just really fucking wish I was Stanley Tucci.
I have been trying to step out of myself to really think and to break this down: Why, of all people, would I wish to be Stanley Tucci? Amidst all the countless images of idealised Instagram male perfection that are beamed ceaselessly to our brains—the Momoas and the Johnsons—why is it that alone among them it is The Tucc—the un-forced, easygoing Tucc—that prevails?
Our perceptions of actors are naturally moulded by the often carefully managed public image they project, as well as the roles that they take and the characters they portray. Now, Stanley Tucci has been acting for quite some time. His career stretches all the way back to the late eighties, and he has over one hundred credits to his name, but I think I’ve figured out that my Tucci—whatever you want to call it? Fixation? Aspiration?—can be ascribed mainly to just two roles.
I gave away the first right up there in the header. Easy A, the Will Gluck-directed, Emma Stone-starring teen comedy—is rightfully much loved on this site. It’s funny, sweet, slightly subversive, and generally well put together. But, as anyone who’s seen it will surely attest, the movie’s real killer assets are the parents of Stone’s protagonist. Played by the perfection-on-legs that is Patricia Clarkson and the I’m-writing-about-him-right-now that is Stanley Tucci, they almost represent some sort of platonic ideal of parenthood. They are loving but not overbearing; funny, supportive, empathetic; and just the right amount and flavour of corny and annoying. Here’s how they react when they found out that their daughter—whose intelligence and judgement they trust implicitly—got sent to the principal’s office:
And here’s a line—‘Who told you?!’—delivered by Tucci, that scored what was probably one of the biggest laughs from me of any movie I’ve seen in years:
Those roles are well written, sure, but they walk a fine line. Were they to be played by anyone else, by actors of any lesser caliber, they may well come off as artificial and cloying. As it is, Clarkson and Tucci fucking nail it. If I ever become a father, I hope I can be one a fraction as good as Stanley Tucci is in Easy A.
Little known fact and tangential aside: You can take any famous quote about happiness, sub in Stanley Tucci somewhere into it, and it’ll end up making just as much, if not more, sense—
«If you really want to escape the things that harass you, what you’re needing is not to be in a different place but to be Stanley Tucci.» Seneca
«Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Stanley Tucci never decreases by being shared.» Buddha
«Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature…. Life is either a daring adventure with Stanley Tucci, or nothing.» Helen Keller
Stanley Tucci, born to Joan (née Tropiano), a secretary and writer, and Stanley Tucci, Sr., is an American actor of Italian descent. He’s also a writer, producer, and director. He keeps himself busy, having also published a cook book fer chrissakes. He is also the man who, back when they were classmates at college, first called Irving Rhames, ‘Ving’. Over the years of living in the public eye he has always come across as being a man of good humor, equanimity, and as someone who appreciates the value of good, honest, hard work. His persona has never seemed to have any hint of the marketing tool about it. The fact that he’s appeared in a healthy amount of dross does nothing to diminish people’s affections for him. In an industry where we, frankly quite inexplicably, often hold a person’s movie roles as indicators of character, Tucci never seems to be tarnished by his association with poor material. It may be rank hypocrisy of course, but whether it’s because even in awful movies he manages to deliver delightful performances, or just because we plain like him so damn much, Stanley Tucci seems to be coated in Teflon.
The other role of his that makes me wish I was Stanley Tucci is, on the surface of things, the flip side to the suburban dad from Easy A: Detective Morton from the first season (2015) of the much-underrated show, Fortitude.
DCI Morton is Teflon Tucci distilled into one role. In an era of big screen actors making the jump to the small screen it was Tucci’s first television role, and he was absolute perfection. Arriving at the isolated and remote Arctic town of Fortitude to investigate a murder, DCI Morton plays the role of audience surrogate alongside his duties as detective. Paying homage to any number of unflappable fictional detectives who have poked their noses into a closed community, lifting up rocks to see what scuttles out, Morton is, fundamentally, a hardass. He has a job to do, and he won’t put up with any obfuscating locals making shit difficult for him. The pieces shift around him and different parts of the puzzle become visible to him, and us, in often jarring and confusing ways. But where others might have played Morton simple and straight, Tucci infused the archetype with a wonderful warmth. He was disturbed by what he saw and the roads his investigations took him down, but he never wavered in his faith in, or lost his sense of, humanity. Empathy was his guiding hand, even as a cold and methodical professionalism was his game. It’s in this that the ostensible differences to his Easy A character actually reveal many similarities. That cheeky, knowing glint behind the eyes. The sense of a calm stillness at the heart of a raging storm. Quick to smile and laugh, but never anybody’s fool. You get the sense that these are the qualities that don’t just define the characters that Tucci plays, but the man himself too.
Plus he looks cool as fuck.
Damn do I sometimes wish that I could be Stanley Tucci.
When a celebrated thespian like Sir Anthony Hopkins deigns to be in a big, garish summer movie like Transformers: The Last Knight, the more cynical among us will snicker about his «paycheck» gig. But as someone who has seen this fifth installment of Michael Bay’s Transformers franchise, let me assure you Hopkins isn’t phoning it in. He is living in every insane moment of bantering with a robo-butler and throwing his distinct elocution at the commoner’s word «dude!»
TK’s review is coming soon, and guys, I can’t tell you how excited I am to see what he thought of this truly bonkers movie. But I digress.
The point is Hopkins seemed like he was having a blast making the movie. And now on the press tour, he’s living his best life, answering fan questions with all the enthusiasm and decorum they demand.
Josh Peck was surrounded by friends and family as he tied the knot with longtime girlfriend Paige O’Brien in Malibu on Saturday, but there was one familiar face that was missing from the crowd: his onscreen brother Drake Bell. While Josh’s former Grandfathered costar John Stamos attended the ceremony, fans were quick to notice that the Drake & Josh actor wasn’t on hand for the event. Well, it turns out, he wasn’t invited. Following the wedding, Drake responded to the invite snub with a cryptic tweet. «When you’re not invited to the wedding the message is clear….,» he wrote in a post that has since been deleted. «Loyalty is key,» he continued in another deleted comment. «ALWAYS remember where you came from.»
According to an Us Weekly source, Josh is pretty upset over Drake’s Twitter rant. «At Josh’s wedding this weekend some guests were asking Josh Peck where Drake was,» the source explained. «Josh told everyone that he and Drake hadn’t spoken in three years. They would tweet each other back on social media a couple times a year, but never actually spoke. When Drake didn’t get invited to Josh’s wedding, he started tweeting all of those dramatic memes. Josh was really hurt. They aren’t close anymore and Josh had a very small wedding.» The two recently reunited during an episode of Grandfathered in February 2016, but it seems like their brotherly love isn’t as strong as it used to be.
Diseases are getting dragged this week. First, Hansoncompared Chlamydia to Justin Bieber’s voice, and now Lorde is saying that being friends with Taylor Swift is like being friends with someone with an autoimmune disease. Hanson has yet to burp up a sorry for shitting on Chlamydia like that, but Lorde has apologized, and probably because she realized that someone with a disease like Lupus already has enough to deal with and they don’t need to be compared to the exhaustive snake in Skipper’s clothing.
To sell her new album Melodrama, Lorde talked to The Guardian about what her life has been like since she became a STAH thanks to Royals. Lorde doesn’t only look like Snow White’s old witch after getting fillers, she says she talks like a witch too. I took that to mean that Lorde says, “I’ll get you, my pretty!”, a lot, but she means she “meanders” a lot when she talks. So when Taylor hands Lorde an invitation to her Fourth of July party before yanking it back and saying, “Psych, I don’t invite mega bitches to my parties!“, Lorde can explain by saying, “I was just doing my usual old witch talk and meandered into comparing hanging out with you to hanging out with an MS patient!”
Lorde is friends with a few famous people, including Taylor, Lena Dunham and Florence Welch, and says that being friends with celebrities is a little difficult.
“It’s like having a friend with very specific allergies. There are certain places you can’t go together. Certain things you can’t do. There are these different sets of considerations within the friendship. It’s like having a friend with an autoimmune disease.
That analogy hit the outrage switch in some people, which made Lorde apologize and say that she didn’t mention Taylor by name.
didn't mention taylor, but regardless, i fucked up & that was really insensitive. i'm sorry
I see what Lorde was trying to say with that analogy, but I don’t know if it works for me. I would think that hanging out with Taylor is more like being someone who is suffering from a severe head cold, diarrhea and narcolepsy. As soon as Taylor begins to talk, your ears ache, you get the dizzies, your head throbs and you shit yourself before falling asleep.
And here’s Lorde, who is totally going to be put on Squad Member probation for this, at Much Music Awards in Toronto on Sunday night.
Josh Peck and Drake Bell have appeared on multiple Nickelodeon TV shows together (The Amanda Show, Drake & Josh, the two Drake & Josh specials). But that was clearly a long time ago. Josh is no longer a chubby kid in a series of bad wigs, and Drake has moved on to the messy former child star chapter of his life. By all accounts, they’re not close. That didn’t stop Drake from pouting online about not getting an invitation to Josh’s wedding.
Josh Peck married his girlfriend Paige O’Brien on Saturday. E! News says that several fans wondered online why Drake Bell was MIA from the wedding. Drake took his complaints to Twitter and tweeted (then deleted) “When you’re not invited to the wedding the message is clear…” which was followed by “Loyalty is key. ALWAYS remember where you came from.”
That’s not to say Josh didn’t invite any of his former co-workers to his wedding. On the contrary, E! says the guest list included his Grandfathered co-star John Stamos, as well as the mom of the two 4-year-old twins who plays Josh’s on-screen daughter.
I’m sure there’s a very good reason for why Drake didn’t get invited. Weddings are expensive, and Josh probably only had enough money left in the budget for one extra celebrity guest. And when it comes down to it, you know he’s always going to keep a seat open for Oprah.
Before there was Moonlight, before there was Carol, there was Velvet Goldmine, Todd Haynes’s fearlessly fantastic and brazenly queer re-imagining of the history of glam rock. This is the cinematic wonder that dared to ponder what if Oscar Wilde was not only the forefather of the gender-bending music form, but also an alien gifted to us from another planet to bring glamor, beauty, and decadence? What if the story of David Bowie, Iggy Pop, and Lou Reed’s rise to stardom were reimagined as a heady gay romance, snarled with broken hearts, breathtaking musical numbers, and an assassination hoax, and all that unfolded in the non-linear structure plucked from Citizen Kane? «It’s all too much,» you can imagine the pearl-clutchers screaming. But in 1998, Velvet Goldmine gave us glam rock gods glittering, glorious, vulnerable and broken.
Jonathan Rhys Meyers stars as Brian Slade, a Bowie stand-in/androgynous bisexual rock star who claws his way to fame and fortune by stepping on the necks of his fey manager, his American party-girl wife (the ageless Toni Collette), and his grungy lover Curt Wild (Ewan McGregor playing a menacing and yet unnervingly sexy mashup of Lou Reed and Iggy Pop). Once Slade and Wild were on top of the world, the Tracy and Hepburn of queer culture. Yet theirs became a story lost in a tangle of cutting tabloid headlines of addiction, meltdowns, and self-sabotage. But in a grim 1984 where rock is manufactured and grimly safe, music journalist Arthur Stuart (a tender Christian Bale) digs back into the past—his and theirs—to make sense of the rise of Brian Slade, Curt Wild, and the sexual freedom glam rock promised, and how it all fell to pieces among the fallen feathers of a career-killing rock show.
This is Meyers’ best work, turning his natural beauty and air of arrogance into spell that lures us in and breaks our hearts. Haynes paints Meyers’ soft yet strong features in pinks and purples, and the actor surrenders his slim pale flesh to play this ambitious musician to the fullest. As the wispy long-haired boy in a dress, he’s wounded and rough. But as Brian Slade creates his extraterrestrial alter-ego Ziggy Stardust Maxwell Demon, Meyers comes alive, becoming something divine, demented and electrifying. Performing songs by Shudder To Think and The Venus In Furs, Meyers does a mean lipsync that’d make RuPaul proud, slaying with face, swagger and towering purple platform boots. He’s every bit the glam rock fantasy. So pretty and untouchable we can’t help but follow the glitter like breadcrumbs down the trail to see where he went, and along the way discover the damage he wrought.
As Stuart interviews scorched business associates and spurned lovers of Slade, a dazzling legend unfolds that’s punctured by the pain of such petty things as human feelings. The shine of Maxwell Demons is brilliant. The truth of Brian Slade is dark and cruel. But amid these flashbacks to backstage blowjobs, heady honeymoons, and tearful breakups, Velvet Goldmine reveals its true hero to be the mild-mannered Stuart, a wide-eyed gay teen who looked to Slade and Wild as inspiration and formative queer crush. Looking back not only means discovering the dirty secrets of his heroes, but also plumbing the wound of his first love.
All of the performances in this film are abject magic. Always the powerhouse, Collette transforms from a golden girl haloed in curls and dripping in jewelry to a bitter ex-wife, haloed in the cigarette smoke and dripping with bitterness. Eddie Izzard pops by to play a big talking manager with a cigar-chomping flare. McGregor brings a frightening ferocity to the no-fucks given stage persona of Curt Wild, who flips the bird as easily as he flashes his dick and sets the stage literally on fire.
But McGregor offers tenderness too, finding the cracks of pathos that played in Reed’s music. Wild and Slade become lusty glam rock love birds, sharing an overwhelming and explosive chemistry as they live out the rock n’ roll fantasy with a brazenly gay spin. Looking back, it feels like fan fiction that defied the odds to become a big beautiful movie moment that left its audience quivering in awe. I remember seeing Velvet Goldmine for the first time and fearing I should hide it, lest it be snatched away from me. Sexuality this alive and unafraid seemed illicit and dangerous. It sparked me something I didn’t know was there, and definitely didn’t know what to do with. And that’s exactly the point.
Bale’s role is less showy. Despite Stuart’s earnest love of glam rock, he never gets the full genderfuck fantasy, burning out at crudely dyed blue hair with a bit of eye-makeup and one gawdy doorknocker earring. But he is our audience surrogate, reaching for the stars, though cruelly stuck on the ground. The big story is Slade’s, but the heart of Velvet Goldmine is Stuart’s coming-out tale, which was sparked by Maxwell Demon and concludes with a extraterrestrial blessed tryst with Wild. Playing a bashful teen, Bale sets our hearts alight as he sneaks out of his conservative middle-class home wearing a femme top ornamented with glitter and shiny baubles. His smile lights up with freedom and the thrill of daring to stand out. And so Haynes gives us the fantasy and the reality, urging each and every viewer to allow themselves the same freedom to be who they are.
I could go on and on about the intoxicating visuals. Toni Collette’s curves wriggling ruthlessly in a translucent silver dress. Maxwell Demon in his pastel pink wig, stomping about with a cigarette holder longer than a corvette. McGregor as a soot-covered satyr with a wicked wink and a volatile smile. Or the literal circus of Slade responding to a small army of chuckling suits with a series of Oscar Wilde nonsequitors, dressed like a gilded ringmaster. And sex scenes passionate, hazy, and earnest. Haynes never shying away from any which way his bisexual heroes swing, never shaming them their sexual desires. And all of this enveloped in a soundtrack of smoke, seduction, and exhilaration. How could anyone not swoon?
Weaving together the influences of Wilde, Bowie, Reed, and Pop, the daring writer/director created a film that played less like the straightforward biopic it might have been and more like the dream we wish was real. Everything is either glitter or grunge, but nothing is boring. This is a story of inspiration, lust, fantasy, and waking up from the dream. And oh my, the waking up is brutal. But Haynes makes the dream so sweet, you can’t help but return again and again to crushing glamor and gorgeousness of Velvet Goldmine.
I’m not going to pretend to know anything abut Drake and Josh for the benefit of this post. The Nickelodeon series was after my time as a kid, so my first exposure to either Drake Bell or Josh Peck was the terrific 2008 Josh Peck film The Wackness (which also introduced us to Olivia Thirlby, who disappointingly did not become a thing, as I had hoped). From my recollection of my review of The Wackness, many of our readers alerted me to the fact that Peck was the heavier-set individual in the Drake and Josh duo, which I found surprising at the time:
Anyway, Josh and Drake had a sitcom together. It ran for four seasons and 57 episodes, which I suppose means to those who grew up in the aughts that Josh and Drake are obligated to remain friends forever. Apparently, Drake Bell also believes this because he was surprised and saddened to learn that he was not invited to Josh Peck’s wedding.
Apparently Bell had been replaced by John Stamos, which I guess is a bit like Will Smith replacing DJ Jazzy Jeff as his best friend with Tom Cruise.
The Internet was apparently rather upset by this development, and while I do not share in that grief, I will bring it to your attention.
Barb’s mucky demise on the first season of Stranger Things was, to say the least, a real bummer. In fact, some viewers were so distressed that they hoped—and in some cases convinced themselves—that she wasn’t really dead. Death, while seemingly pretty permanent ~IRL~, can sometimes be cheated in the sci-fi and fantasy…