HEY, Mickey, you’re so fine/You’re so fine you blow our minds wearing sunglasses indoors and a necklace with a picture of your dead Chihuahua on it/Hey, Mickey!
White suit by Jean Paul Gautier, who “did [him] a solid” by whipping up something last minute? Yes.
Smoking a cigarette while walking the red carpet? AMAZING.
Molesting Angelina Jolie? Yes! More!
Because here’s the thing: Back when she was fun, kissing her brother onstage and wearing vials of blood around her neck, Jolie and Rourke would have been an item. They would have had crazy wild sex, sex that would have single-handedly revived the economy, launched empires and restored cheer to a weary nation.
They would have had a groovy kind of dead-Chihuahuas-and-vials-of-blood love.
But while we’re left to ponder the beauty of what might have been, Mickey moves on without regrets. He has more close-talking to do.
OK, so he didn’t win for “The
Wrestler,” but that seems beside the point. Because he’s back – and the devastating sex appeal of the brash young man in “9 1/2 Weeks” (“Has someone been a Nosy Parker?”) has been replaced by something much cooler, darker and more unhinged.
He’s like Hollywood’s crazy old Uncle Bob now, and that’s a good thing. Because everyone needs a crazy old Uncle Bob, especially in these tough economic times.
And because the person who shows up on the red carpet wearing a necklace with a picture of his dead Chihuahua on it wins at life.