Rupert Everett, the handsome actor who says any old thing that pops into his follicular wonder of a head, has penned a memoir called Vanished Years that The Guardian's Decca Aitkenhead enjoyed so thoroughly that she would now like to "gallivant about town with [Everett] forever." Apparently, Everett doesn't hold much back in the way of juicy, name-littering gossip, or scathing critiques of people he doesn't so much care for, people like Piers Morgan.
After explaining that just seeing Piers Morgan's beady eyes triggered his sudden flight from an appearance on Comic Relief Does the Apprentice, Everett reveals just what it is that makes Morgan so distasteful:
To me, Piers Morgan was a person who just reminded me, exactly, of all the people I was terrified of at school. I don't like how he is; I've seen him on a few other Apprentice-like things and he takes it too seriously. He's a killer. He's pathological.
Then again, Everett admits that Morgan is strangely fascinating, especially in the way he's been able to reinvent himself for American audiences and in the way that he was able to marry Celia Walden, whom Everett adores:
But, at the same time," Everett reflects, suddenly looking quite impressed, "I think how he's molded himself into a new career – well, I love people managing to achieve things. I think it's quite clever. Also, he reminds me of Oscar Wilde, in a way. He could play Oscar Wilde if you put him in a long wig – he's so kind of slobby and elephantine. But I can't imagine him with poor Celia Walden [Morgan's wife]. She's gorgeous and very funny. I mean, she deserves to be fucked by a god.
Body snarking aside, Piers Morgan does bear an eerie resemblance to Oscar Wilde, and all I can think about now is that there's an oil painting of Piers Morgan with long hair sitting in the attic of some obscure Dublin address, waiting to be accidentally destroyed in a fire, hopefully not during a Piers Morgan interview because I don't even know how American censors would deal with an inexplicably immolating television host.
Let's not end on such a gory note, though. Rupert Everett doesn't just have strong opinions about Piers Morgan's jowls — the proto-gay-best-friend also thinks (and it's not just grouchy middle-age talking) that all the charm has been sucked out of American real estate by McMansions:
I guess middle age is, well, probably every generation feels the world is ending, slightly, at that age – and it is. I guess every generation is kind of ending. But New York has really changed. I mean it really has changed, so it isn't just a middle-age whine – the old New York of the 70s really doesn't exist. Everywhere is the same place now; everything's been made into a Disney Street. If you look at books of Hollywood homes in the 70s, it's just amazing how humble they are; they're like little beach shanty houses with bric-a-brac furniture. Now, the smallest fucking brainless Hollywood producer lives in an Earth Wind & Fire Egyptian palace. It's just… It's become so tasteless, I suppose.
Hear that, America? Rupert Everett does not approve of your homogeneity, and he has the winningest British scowl to prove it.
Rupert Everett: the queen of mean [Guardian]