The international press conference for Wes Anderson's Fantastic Mr. Fox came and went yesterday, with little incident and nary a husky Italian reporter stripping down to a jockstrap and declaring his bearish love for its star George Clooney, the foxy man of his dreams. Six hours later, a who's who of London haut monde would file through Leicester Square for the (awesome) film's world premiere, which also served as the gala opening to the Times BFI 53rd London Film Festival. Sadly, no Beckhams, Ritchies, or even former Anderson muse Gwyneth Paltrow were on hand, the last of whom could have been relied upon to deliver some variation of, "Movie premieres in London are just so much more -- how can I put this -- storied. Grand. Don't get me wrong -- I like U.S. premieres too, but red carpets are just so much younger there. The carpet we're on right now? Elizabeth I strolled across it on her way into Christopher Marlowe's Jew of Malta. True story!"
Our coverage -- including nerdy tourist photos! -- after the jump.
Leicester Square is the site of any major U.K. film premiere, the circular pedestrian thoroughfare nicknamed "Theatreland" for being home to three sizable movie theaters -- the Odeon Leicester, Odeon West End and the Empire. Like Grauman's Chinese Theater, it too features impressions of celebrity extremities along its sidewalk -- for example, Tom Cruise's Oompa-Loompa-like hands are there, pressed into bronze for posterity. Unlike the Chinese Theater, however, it isn't overrun by recent parolees dressed in urine-soaked Teletubbies costumes and threatening to "pan your head in if you don't cough up 5 quid for a Polaroid with the likes of me."
For premieres, a red carpet platform is erected around the square's centerpiece -- a 19th century statue of William Shakespeare surrounded by dolphins. (Little-known fact: the Bard loved SeaWorld-Upon-Avon.)
The risers require attendees to climb some stairs and enter from on high, giving the arriving celebrity dignitaries the opportunity to wave to the hoi polloi gathered below. As it turns out, they'll cheer for just about anyone, so long as you take their photo. (See above.) Unless they were cheering out of confusion -- I could have sworn I heard someone yell "Jason!" at me. So in fairness, I yelled back, "Call your local cable channel and ask them to carry Bored to Death! It's a delightful comedy-mystery romp -- like Hercule Poirot but with hipsters! Do you know what hipsters are in England?!" At around that point, I was escorted inside to my seat by two security guards demanding to examine my credentials.
Inside the 1600-seat Odeon, which can only be described as majestic, a Ryan Seacrest-like presenter was projected on the screen, asking arriving celebrities what their "trademark" is -- as Mr. Fox's is a whistle and click. Cindy Crawford said it was her mole; Wes said it was his suit; Jarvis Cocker took the microphone out of the interviewer's hands, disappeared it completely down his windpipe, reproduced it, handed it back, then opened his palms in a "ta-daa" fashion. National treasure, indeed.
A huge fuss was made over the arrival of Bill Murray, who plays Badger -- Mr. Fox's prickly lawyer. As if possessed by some autograph-seeking Zuul, foamy-mouthed fans screamed, "Biiiiillll! Pleeeeasse -- Billlllll!" and the actor obliged as many as he could. That was until one female fan penetrated the sacred barrier with a handwritten sign and rushed the actor; she was promptly whisked away to a medieval torture detainment room of some kind. It all happened too fast to actually read what she had written on her oversized greeting card. I hope it had some classic Murray line on it, like, "Let's show this prehistoric bitch how we do things downtown -- marry me, Bill!" (Though it more likely hewed closer to What About Bob's "Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm a schizophrenic and so am I.")
Finally, here is the man of the evening: The impossibly debonair George Clooney, who arrived with his girlfriend, Italian TV personality Elisabetta Canalis, on his arm. They were savoring each other's company, save perhaps for a brief moment of tense confusion, that we imagined played out something like this:
George: Didn't you say you were bringing the tickets?
Elisabetta: What? No. You say at hotel, 'Lisa, I got tickets. We go!'
George: I'm almost positive you said something about how 'you'd think a €25,000 handbag would have room to fit two tickets.'
Elisabetta: Don't pull this on me, Georgie. I never even saw the tickets.
George: Well maybe I can talk my way in.
Elisabetta: I hope so.
George: You're beautiful when you're angry. Anyone ever tell you that?
Elisabetta: Kiss me, you ridiculous fool. ♦