Saturday, 27 September 2014 20:29

Amal and George Clooney drama begins in Venice

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amul Amal Alamuddin was beautiful and accomplished and, well, interesting— long before she ever met Hollywood’s aging Lothario actor, George Clooney, and accepting a honking big diamond engagement ring from him.

In press conference photos with her human rights cases at the London bar, Amal was dignified, serious and composed.


But now, ever since she got engaged, that’s all gone out the window!

For the past few weeks, we’ve been treated with photos of Amal shopping.

And shopping.

And shopping some more.

She’s bounced around London in distinctively un-lawyerly silky jumpsuits that have deep cleavage where it looks like her tah-tahs are going to just burst forth at any moment, and her long, jet-dyed hair that still shows a lot of silvery grey flails in the breeze like a witch’s fright wig on All Hallow’s Eve.

And now, arriving in Venice for what pundits are calling “the wedding of the year,” Amal, thinner than ever, with the black hair swirling all about her, is photographed lugging an enormous, beribboned hatbox of some kind,, while her mother, Baria, negotiates with a man identified as an “assistant” as they load up an enormous luggage cart filled with gigantic purple suitcases.

What happened to human rights?  To saving the starving of the world?  To championing human rights around the globe?,,20855255,00.html?

It’s all gone to hell in a hatbox, apparently. 

And Oxford-educated Amal has more than one gigantic hatbox.

Much more.

Later, Amal was seen in Venice, where her nuptials with Clooney are variously taking place even now, lugging yet another, different hatbox around as she waved, in movie starlet style, at curious crowds.  Gone were the slinky, sexy jumpsuits, and in was a stripey couture sundress with black heels– a bold, “statement” kind of ensemble that made us long ever more for the classic, simplistic anonymity of Audrey Hepburn, who would never have sought to draw so much attention, who practically invented the notion of modern celebrity human rights, and who had lots and lots of class.  

Audrey Hepburn would never have worn a black and white-stripey dress that looked like an “O Solo Mio” barber pole, or a piece of Venetian awning.

And if Audrey Hepburn carried around an enormous hatbox, we never saw it.

And if she did, it must have had something important to donate to UNICEF in it.

For all the chatter about Amal Alamuddin’s great legal skills and human rights career, there just doesn’t seem to be much “there” there.

And now, it looks as though Amal’s going to disappear into one big enormous black hole of hairiness!

That is, if she doesn’t fade away first from anorexia. Or not eating.  Or whatever you want to call what’s clearly happening to her now.

Amal’s become markedly thin, and this thinness has aged her overnight.  Her arms, always bare now, reveal a startling, boney gauntness.  Her hands, grasping the hat box or the shopping bag or some high-end purse have become almost arthritic-looking in appearance.

Her bachelorette dinner last night was fascinating.  Amal wore what fashionistas over a year ago were calling a “high-low” dress– miniskirt-high in the front, and down to the ground in the rear, and it was colored “look at me!” red.  Okay, so Amal made us all look, and what we saw was a set of painfully skinny legs, scarlet fabric flying around every which-way, and a lot of pancake makeup sitting astride an enormous nose that surgery has yet to tame.  As she boarded the small motor launch to head down Venice’s romantic canals to the restaurant, Amal was surrounded by a fluttering flock of women, including her mother, similarly attired in silky, slinky evening gowns.

Vixens on the loose!

Talk about a transformation! With Mama Alamuddin, anyway.

From a stout, podgy, “Hey, buddy, get these bags moving along” pushy-looking prison matron, Amals’ mother, Baria, had transformed into a bare-shouldered, heavily mascaraed, lipsticked and rouged-up well-coiffed woman of a certain age who appeared to be a well-kept madame leading a flock of giggley brunette courtesans to some exotic assignment. Mama Alamuddin was enveloped in a violet silk cocoon of a gown that seemed glued to her aging boobies.  

She treated us all to her best gummy smile.

Pale and blondish wedding guests Anna Wintour and Ellen Barkin looked like thirsty vampires stalking fresh blood from the Levant.

George Clooney, meanwhile, is saying all the right things (“Oh, Amal, I want to be your husband and I want you to have my babies” blah blah blah), but he has yet to really show a public smile about his impending wedding to Amal.  Maybe it’s just that his face is frozen from all that botox and the other plastic surgery he almost certainly has had.  Oddly, Clooney appeared to toast his Lebanese bride with his highball glass as they took off in separate motor boats along Venice’s Grand Canal.  Or maybe he was just pointing out that his glass was empty.  The meaning isn’t quite clear, Amal being the daughter of Druze and Sunni Muslims and all.  Rumors are that Amal is already pregnant, so maybe he was hinting that she shouldn’t have a highball.

Who knows?

Clooney has always been cryptic about his women, and Amal appears to be no exception.

If a pregnancy is indeed underway, that would be good news if the couple really wants children.  Amal is 36, and Clooney is 53.  Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock.....

Call it the wedding of the years.  Both bride and groom are, frankly, middle aged.

Wealth and flash and the bride’s charming overbite make them look younger.

But what is time, in the haze of a romantic wedding weekend?  In a few hours, we’ll be treated to even more photos of movie stars, Clooney with his pals, and Amal wearing this, Amal wearing that.  Maybe we’ll find out what was in those enormous hatboxes she carried all about.;  Maybe Amal’s mother will wear yet another daring, Madamesque concoction for us to stare at. Boatloads of celebrities will travel up and down the Grand Canal.  Amal will do this.  Amal will do that.

Some folks are saying that Clooney is on the rebound from his breakup with the last woman he dated, who allegedly dumped him, married someone named Jared, and got pregnant right away.  Stacey, Stacey....Kiebler, the professional wrestler. Indeed, the real question is how Clooney was able to bond with Amal, a brainy human rights lawyer, when ordinarily, his taste in woman has stayed with an earnest but sexy young underdog type.  Remember that Las Vegas waitress Clooney was so in love with?

Sarah Larson.  Cute.  Engaging.  So much more than what people expected.  A genius waitress who went on to have a genuine life.

Do men ever really change their type?

We shall see with Clooney.  Meanwhile, there is no doubt that Amal has changed her type, and also herself.  She’s now amongst the flouncy, hairy, makeup-piled-on-thick kinds of women who are movie stars.  She now dresses like them, and in fact, she now out-dresses them.  And she out-blings them.  Her earrings have become as big as Christmas tree ornaments.  Her smiles are more and more manic.

Where will it end?

Not in Venice. Venice is just the beginning.  The drama that is George Clooney’s life is well underway.

And as Hollywood writers tell us, the best dramatic screenplays write themselves. 

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