Sharon Feinstein

How does he do it? He’s the real deal, the total package, the last American hero. Brad’s just a boy, but George Clooney, now he’s the ultimate man. Dashing, charming, and ever so suave. Imagine bringing him home to meet the parents. That glistening hair, the dark, bambi, saloon-singer eyes. The man’s a one-off, who else is there to match him? He symbolises the best of America, the decent guy, liberal thinking, idealist, against the war and for the people.
To me he’s the last of the old-time movie stars, a throwback to Jimmy Stewart or Gregory Peck, or Cary Grant, radiating the easy going, able to handle it all, lean-on-me, kind of guy. Of course there’s always a gorgeous woman on his arm and no snivelling kids or dulled-out teenagers all-gone-wrong, in tow. No, he’s too cool for that nonsense. He has his villa on Lake Como, and boat bobbing on the glistening water ready to take him out in the sunset with a long drink in one hand and someone sensational in the other. Inevitably, it’s one exquisite model or other, generally dark-haired and rather exotic looking, and always just for a snatch of time before George goes back to his home in L. A, alone. He has a screening room where he watches at least a movie a day, often something from the 60s and 70s, the era he calls the Golden Age of American film.
Clooney was born and raised in Kentucky, somewhere I imagine to be a Gone With the Wind type of place, grand rolling estates, men in white linen drinking bourbon or mint juleps, and young women with cream blouses and tousled hair blowing in the breeze. An era gone by, that he still exudes. When George walks into a room or down a red carpet, I have the sense that he leaves behind a whiff of a better world long gone now.

This entry was posted on Thursday, October 15th, 2009 at 10:58 pm and is filed under SharonSpeak. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.