OK, now I don’t mean to objectify, or anything, but…
…Sweet Jesus.
In one of my few celebrity stories, I got to meet and have lunch with Drew Barrymore a few months after the original “Charlie’s Angels” came out. She met myself and about 20 others for lunch when she came to accept “Woman of the Year” honors for the Hasty Pudding Theatricals here in Cambridge. I was in the second (and final) year as Professional Light Designer for the troupe. You’d think it would be great---big exposure, meet celebrities, go to Bermuda for free. Mostly it gave me an ulcer the size of a grapefruit, but that’ a story for another time.
Drew was completely cute as a button, totally down to earth, and roughly as tall as a hobbit. Now, I now most Hollywood starlets are short, but she was really short. OK, she’s like 5’ or so, but still. To my 6’5’’ frame she was wee. She had a button with a picture of Tom Greene (this was still in the engagement phase of whatever in Sam hell that was all about). When she was introduced to me, she flipped that I did lights: “Ohmigod, I LOVE lighting guys! You guys make us look so good!” Needless to say she permanently entered my Top 5 Safety List at that moment. A few minutes later, someone wiped the drool off of my chin and pointed out my seat to me.
Now, given that I was pretty far from the power hierarchy in the group, I was actually sitting decently far away from her. But I was placed next to two of her entourage, including her absolutely hilarious, absolutely flaming personal assistant Brian. This ended up being better, in a lot of ways, since Brian and the other guy weren’t used to being treated with the attention the 6 or so around them were giving them. So they ate it up. The 6 of us got a crash course in movie production, gossip, and the like. My favorite story was Brian’s, who told us of flying to Europe for a “Charlie’s Angels” premier with Lucy Lui draping her legs from the seat behind him over his shoulders. Every heterosexual within earshot cursed our fate and his shoulders.
So lunch is over, I haven’t really said much to Drew since the initial droolfest, and now it’s time to head back to Cambridge from downtown Boston. Now, there’s roughly 20 of us there, but only one limo. Drew asked a few of us if we are coming with her, and one guy says no. Sensing my moment to sweep her off her feet with my incredible wit, I chime in:
“Yea, cuz like, we hired a chorus of castrati to serenade you on the way back!”
Awkward silence.
And Drew, very sweetly, goes, “Uh, huh?”
And then, “Oh Christ, McGee,” is heard nearby.
She gets in the limo and heads out.
And I’m standing there, wondering why in the hell I had to break out the castrati humor.
This is why they don’t me near celebrities anymore, I guess.