"Back when I was filming The Interpreter with Nicole Kidman, that flame haired loon was constantly on director Sydney Pollack's ass, demanding to view the daily rushes, questioning his impeccable casting decisions, challenging any script rewrites and generally making a nuisance of herself.
A lot of people think my pal Sydney died from stomach cancer, but I'd say that antipodean she-bitch probably caused more fatal levels of bile in his digestive system.
At one point, she even started harrassing the poor catering staff, demanding feedback about her 'effrikan' accent. She would throw diva-style tantrums and suck everyone on the set into a raging vortex of her own insecurities and personal bullshit.
At one point, she even started harrassing the poor catering staff, demanding feedback about her 'effrikan' accent. She would throw diva-style tantrums and suck everyone on the set into a raging vortex of her own insecurities and personal bullshit.
That's when I knew it was time for a no holds barred dose of Penn-manship.
I took Nicole to one side and told her that we are all own own best and worst critics. It was time for her to stop looking for sycophantic reassurance from cast and crew members. It was time to make like a cardiac surgeon at a Roxette concert and listen to your heart. It was time to start 'keeping it real', as my friend Will Smith might say.
She thankfully took my advice to heart and delivered a truly majestic performance as UN translator with a shady past Sylvia Broome. The reality check was in the mail."
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