n the eyes of the outside world, they have everything. They live in their own gilded cages. They are richer, happier and better looking than us – and probably higher up the evolutionary scale too. Should they care to weigh in on debates about politics, arts or the environment, someone will listen. If they want to set up their own wellness and lifestyle brands and sell us strangely shaped eggs or funny-smelling candles, that is fine too. They’re in that most privileged of positions – they’re movie stars.
The reality, it seems, is far more mundane and unpleasant than we like to imagine. In recent weeks, several of these stars have been grumbling about their predicament.
Oscar winner Frances McDormand confided to The New York Times last week her horror at having her privacy breached by a fan who rang her out of the blue. He told her he was watching her film, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri. Somehow, this fan had “tracked down her unlisted landline”. She hung up right away and is certain to have changed her number by now. The last thing she wants to do is discuss her career with random admirers.
