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Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Demi Moore has had a rough couple of years, what with losing the younger husband, a stint in rehab, the rumours that Rumer and the other kids have considered taking out a restraining order against her and the lack of film roles.
In the past, Demi has complained of ageism in Hollywood, claiming she can’t land roles due to inherent sexism in Tinseltown.
In a bid to combat this image, she’s recently been pictured behaving like a teenager on alcopops on nights out and has spent an estimated $500,000 on cosmetic surgery to defy Old Father Time, physics and reason.
Demi is considerably older than me but now looks younger than I did when I was 12. To be fair, I could get served alcohol when I was 12, but that’s not the point.
Despite the knee lifts, nose jobs, suction, peels, implants, personal trainers, yoga, kick-boxing, live-in nutritionists, time machines, virgins’ tears, portrait ageing in the attic and the pact with Satan, she’s still struggling to find anyone interested in giving her a job. Perhaps it’s something to do with the acting.
“It has been a challenging few years, being the age I am, almost to the point where I felt like, well, they don’t know what to do with me,” said Demi.
“I’m not 20. Not 30. There aren’t that many good roles for women over 40. A lot of them don’t have much substance, other than being someone’s mother or wife.”
A wife or mother not being a substantial role, love? That’s fighting talk, especially when your face is held on with a few staples and a couple of elastic bands.
But I take Demi’s point. There are plenty of meaty film roles for men in their 40s and 50s, and hardly any for terrifying cyborgs of indeterminate age or acting ability (unless she’s prepared to commute to Chester to be on Hollyoaks).
Of course what Demi really needs to do is latch herself on to the next Tarantino, a director who can cast ‘ironic’ leads and make them look cool even if their last role was as the father of a baby with Bruce Willis’s voice.
Back in the day when Tarantino’s films weren’t all five day-long self-satisfied claptrap packed with seedy images of women stroking samurai swords, he was able to resurrect careers which had been on life-support machines for years.
In the 1990s, Tarantino could have cast Pat Sharp and Princess Anne in a film and everyone would have applauded like seals.
Sadly, these days Tarantino is rubbish, so he can’t offer any help – in fact he’s probably only another film away from being cast in someone else’s film as a stroke of self-satisfied irony.
But there is hope: it can’t be long before surgeons master talent implants and when they do, we can only hope that Demi’s at the head of the queue.