Christina Ricci has made a name for herself as an actress
who can tap into complex roles – and her latest project is no exception. In
Amazon’s biographical series Z: The
Beginning of Everything, Ricci plays Zelda Fitzgerald, wife of author F.
Scott Fitzgerald. Zelda was known for her beauty and high spirits, but she also
struggled with mental illness and alcoholism.
Ricci explains a common misconception about Zelda:
“that she was this alcoholic crazy woman who ruined F. Scott Fitzgerald’s
life, and if not for her he would have had a great life.” It’s an idea
that was popularized by writer Ernest Hemingway, but as the actress points out,
“He was a huge misogynist.”
The truth, she says, is much more complicated.
A born director. A fearless actor. An unforgettable artist. I Am Heath Ledger premieres May 17th on Spike.
A new documentary explores the life of Heath Ledger using never-before-seen home videos shot by Ledger himself.
I Am Heath Ledger premieres at the Tribeca Film Festival on April 23 then it will be coming to select theaters on May 3rd. The documentary will then air on Spike TV Wednesday, May 17 at 10:00 p.m. ET/PT, and will be released on DVD/Blu-ray & digitally May 23rd.
I remembering the week I got to spend on the set of The Dark Knight in Chicago almost 10 years ago. Heath was so focused; a real professional. What a talented actor. #RIP
Maybe it’s not the most sustainable form of entertainment, but it passes the time for a few minutes and they’re all drunk; plus, Miller just really loves beating people at arm wrestling.
The last guy, Riley, goes down in under ten seconds, and Miller, drunk and warm and cocky, makes a slow show of perusal across the crowd. “Any other takers?” He drawls.
A laugh just behind him. “I’ll take a crack at it.”
Miller stops himself from whipping around to look, but just barely, as slight, nerdy, cute-as-hell Monty Green comes around and plops into the seat opposite Miller. His hair is disheveled, his cheeks are flushed, and his dark eyes are crinkling at the corners as he smiles. Miller’s never loved anyone more.
If only he had the courage to tell him so.
“You sure?” Miller raises an eyebrow, trying to keep his cool, as the people around them laugh and jeer.
Monty smiles again, and there’s something mischievous and wicked about it that has Miller’s breath caught in his throat (combined with his pounding heart and it’ll be a miracle if he makes it out of this party alive.) “Don’t worry about me,” he assures him. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“All right,” Miller grunts, elbow thunking on the table, arm bent, hand outstretched. “Let’s do this.”
Monty mimics him, and his long, pale fingers clasp Miller’s, his thumb feather-light as it sweeps over Miller’s knuckles before pressing into the back of his hand.
He has freckles on his fingers, Miller realizes dimly as Murphy counts down, and maybe he’s a coward, but he can’t quite make eye contact with the boy across from him.
Quick as lightning, Monty grips Miller’s hand, using their combined strength to propel him out of his seat so he can lean forward and plant a kiss right on Miller’s lips.
Before anything else– before Miller can analyze what the fuck is happening, before he can kiss Monty back– Monty pulls away and Miller feels his arm hit the table.
The crowd roars in surprise and laughter and Miller can only stare, shell-shocked, back at Monty, whose lips are curled into a victorious smirk, but his eyes are almost soft and sweet.
Miller must be really out of it, because he completely misses that their hands are still clasped together until Monty brings them both up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to Miller’s knuckles.
Miller smiles as Monty tugs him up from the table and away from the crowd. Losing has never felt so good.