Rupert Everett decided to bash Jennifer Aniston, even though he talked about A-list darlings, saying that he wasn’t going to name names. Still, he named two, Jennifer and Colin Firth. It seemed that he saved most of his venom for her, though.
In a new interview with BBC Radio 4, Rupert talked about how the Hollywood A-list is made and said that the industry basically stands behind members of “that club.”
He said, “If you look and analyze the careers of many, many stars, you’ll find that they’re mostly sustained by the business. I’m not going to start naming names of people whose films have not succeeded at the box office, but you’ll find there’s lots of women and lots of men in the business that the powers that be decide are right for their business, and they’ll stand with them for quite a long time.”
He obviously changed his mind rather quickly, because he named names. He said, “Okay, something will go wrong, like Jennifer Aniston will have one too many total flops, but she’s still a member of that club, and she will still manage to…like a star forming in the universe, things will swirl around her and it will suddenly solidify into another vital tasteless romcom, you know, a little glitter next to the Crab Nebula.”
Popular VideoThis young teenage singer was shocked when Keith Urban invited her on stage at his concert. A few moments later, he made her wildest dreams come true.
The man does have a point. She has starred in a ton of romantic comedies, but still, she remains one of America’s sweethearts. Still, she wasn’t the only one on Rupert’s radar. He also called out one of my favorite actors, Colin Firth. Ugh. He was asked whether or not Colin had taken away any roles from gay men.
He responded, “Colin Firth I don’t think was at all good in ‘Mamma Mia!’ You know, I would have thought it was almost a careericide. On the other hand, I think his performance in ‘A Single Man’ was the best performance of his life.”
I hope he’s got his battle face on, because Jen has some pretty vicious stans!
Read more at Allie is Wired