There was a time, at the beginning of this decade, when I enjoyed Renee Zelwegger. Nurse Betty, Bridget Jones’ Diary… maybe even Chicago (though that was a turning point). But times, and I know I’m not alone here, have changed.
A former co-worker (I was an extra on Cinderella Man, thanks to a casting agent seeing me studying for exams in a Toronto coffee shop and telling me I looked “like I was from the depression” – no joke. This led to one scene in the finished film where you can see me: shaved head, dirty face and dressed in a burlap sack, cheering on Russell Crowe’s character from the audience of the boxing ring), Ms. Z has made a few films I haven’t minded as whole since then (Down With Love), but her actual performances have never failed to irritate me beyond comprehension (probably the most in Cinderella Man, despite the bias that it was a collaboration). And last night at the Golden Globes, Renee chose a dress that perfectly embodied my thoughts on her and her recent performances: over-the-top, ill-advised and painful.