Monday, 29 September 2014 18:04

George Clooney and Amal wed, but where's the bride?

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Carmen-sandiegoGeorge Clooney and Amal Alamuddin got married in Venice last night.

So, where’s the bride?


You know, the bride?

The woman in the long white dress, carrying the flowers?

The lady who says, presumably, “I do?”

Where is Amal?

We assume, anyway, that despite being 36, Amal wore a white dress because, well, because that is what brides wear!  And even older, middle-aged brides, even those who have been around the block a time or two, sometimes, even those who have been married more than once or twice of three times, just put on a lacy white dress and even a virginal veil and grab that bouquet and just go for it because, hey!

They are getting married!  

And that is what brides do.

But Amal the bride is missing in action.

We’ve seen photos of George Clooney in his Armani tuxedo which, frankly, seems to look like just another nice tuxedo, albeit surely it is exquisitely fitted and everything.  George made some weird faces while being ferried about on the Grand Canal, and then just a glimmer of a smile before disappearing through a deep, brown drape that presumably led him to his wedding, and to the place where the bride was waiting for him, presumably wearing some whitish, shimmering, frothy concoction designed by Alexander McQueen (or perhaps Dior, or Oscar de la Renta), and the bride’s omnipresent mother, Baria, now almost unrecognizably maquillaged and coifed and bejeweled and gowned, lurking about.  

So we know where George went, but...where’s the bride? 

And we’ve seen photos of two or three guests getting on and off Venetian motor boats in various states of finery, from Bono’s leathery leggings, to an Australian friend of Amal’s wearing a black embroidered dress by an Australian designer that was also supposedly a super hush-hush deal,, and Anna Wintour’s furry, weird ensemble combining gray animal pelts, multiple glittery Georgian paste necklaces, and a black, weirdly-patterned sleeveless dress with an enormous pale cumberbund that, frankly, could use a pair of sleeve to cover Wintour’s jiggly arms, ‘cause the gray animal pelts didn’t cut it.

We watched with astonishment as Bill Murry, looking like a tuxedoed resurrected corpse, ferried in with two relatively young babes.

Ellen Barkin looked like an elderly Cat Woman recently released from an asylum.  The wildly patterned pajama bottoms she wore for her entry into Venice are still haunting my dreams.  All I can fathom is that Barkin must be smarting and bit depressed following her ex-husband, Gabriel Byrne’s, recent remarriage to Hannah Beth King.  Byrne’s second marriage was a genuinely secret, low-keyed ceremony in Dublin, Ireland.

It’s not clear whether Byrne attended the Clooney-Alamuddin nuptials with or without the new Mrs. Gabriel Byrne.  And the fellow with the buzz cut accompanying Barkin didn’t look like Byrne at all.  But papers did report that Barkin’s Irish ex was on Clooney’s Venetian guest list.

With these celebrity secret-secret weddings, it’s so difficult to tell.

In the past, Barkin has declared Byrne to be the true love of her life, and that they still have a spiritual marriage going.

So the fact that there are now three of them in that marriage must come s a surprise to someone.

Barkin’s buzz-cut companion was wearing a classic plaid flannel shirt that really clashed with her catwoman sunglassess, plastered-down do, perpetual scowl, and everything else she was wearing  And Mr. Buzz Cut’s coordinating black hoodie might get him shot in certain parts of Missouri and Florida.

But this is Venice, so, no worries.  Italians always dress to the max, no matter what the season, but they don’t seem to expect the same from the rest of us.

Musician Bono and his wife, in head-to-toe black, didn't look fashionably Venetian as much as like the leads in My Cousin Vinnie, but maybe it was just that his luggage got lost or something.

The only glimmers of visible elegance in all this mess were the glorious Cindy Crawford, who looked like a Greek goddess in a goddess-like folded gown in a rich, dark hue falling somewhere between navy and purple, and the beauteous figure of Emily Blunt, who wore a turquoise gown bejeweled with coral flowers, or were they stars?  And just the right touches of rich, gold jewelry.

But wondrous as Blunt and Crawford looked, they were not Amal.

So, where was the bride?

Where are the photos of the much-anticipated ceremony?

Fans of Clooney’s want to know.

Has Clooney, last seen nursing a cocktail glass full of a Tequila brand Clooney markets with his friend and business partner, the guy we know only as Randy or Randee or whoever who married the glorious Cindy Crawford, gone....uhm...Muslim?  Did Hollywood’s newest power couple have a religious service of some kind?  

Or did they just raid a college anthology textbook and write their own vows, like Ryan O’Neal  and Ali MacGraw in “Love Story?”   I think that Ryan O’Neal’s vows would be great for Clooney to recite. And Clooney would love how the camera pans all around them.

Clooney’s publicity people, or at least, persons claiming to so be, announced earlier that Saturday would be the day that the showy, spiritual exchanging of vows took place.

The legal, papery part of actually getting married was reportedly to take place on Monday, at Venice’s town hall.

So, where’s the bride?

You know, the bride?

Amal.  She’s the one in the long white dress, carrying the flowers, saying her vows, glowing in the candlelight and in her husband’s reflected love.

Where’s that Amal?.

When Amal and Clooney emerged from their hotel on Sunday afternoon after all the wedding festivities had at least slowed down, she was wearing a saucy, lacy minidress that Kate Middleton would covet in that it was another one of those so squeaky-high, Barbie Dollish getups that, with one false move, could show all of Amal’s reproductive lady parts in a flash.

And flash.  And flash.  For extra pizzazz, Amal’s post-wedding minidress had pinkish and purplish flowers appliqueed all over.  It looked like a nice bikini coverup to wear on a honeymoon in the Seychelles.

But it wasn’t a wedding gown.

So, where’s the bride?

I guess we will have to buy a Vogue Magazine if we want to have a look.

Until then, she’s just missing in action.


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