by Nathaniel R
"Ask her about Cold Mountain! Or who her favourite actors were as a child!" I pleaded with a certain Australian goddess. But this REM version of Nicole Kidmanwasn't cooperating. (We know it's considered dull to discuss dreams unsolicited but you'll forgive us when it involves subconscious actressexuality, won't you?)
You see, in my dream last night, Kidman had been asked to moderate a Renée Zellwegger tribute where very long clips were shown...
Curiously the clips played with no breaks, the sound dropping out periodically suggesting that that's when Nic and Zeéeeee were meant to start jabbering, as if recording an ol' DVD commentary. Nicole had gone as blank as fragile lovelorn Ada Monroe in 19th century North Carolinian couteur and I had rushed in to rescue her. 'Nicole, it's Nathaniel!' Audience members were restless and the walkouts had begun. Meanwhile the tributee waited tetchily pretending not to care, recalling that exact moment in Chicago where Roxy responds to CZJ's desperate showboating.
"Or ask her about the time you met on Jerry Maguire? I'm guessing you did right, given the timing? Audiences love stars sharing personal anecdotes!" This was my last idea and I was as desperate as Velma Kelly. But something stirred on both their faces. Was this the key to jumpstart the conversation? Had I saved the event like some actressexual superhero?
And then I woke up.