Im a celebrity, get me out of here

The strange schizoid nature of celebrity demands that one day you’re pouring your heart out to Vanity Fair, telling some well-placed hack that Angelina Jolie was “uncool” to steal your husband away, the next minute, you’re not taking any personal questions.

Today, Jennifer Aniston and her Marley And Me co-star Owen Wilson are most definitely not taking any personal questions.
The assembled press know this because each of us have been taken aside for “a quick word”. We’ve also signed a document which, if I have this right, agrees to the immediate suspension of the Geneva Agreement in the advent of an impudent enquiry from the floor.
The A-listers are late. A-listers are always late, it’s part of their shtick.
In this case, however, they may have some cause. Owen Wilson finally arrives with an easy manner, thrown-on shirt, mid-western drawl. Ms. Aniston, is quite another matter. How long has this woman spent getting ready? How many people were involved? How many nations?
Her dedication to photogenicity shines from every perfectly smoothed hair and every buffed nail. There are heels that will only ever see plush carpet. In a terrifying fashion development, there are catwalk-fresh parachute peddle-pushers.
Smothered in gold jewellery, her skin is so bronzed that if you squint, you might be forgiven for thinking that a quarter of Mr. T had just walked into the room.
Now that’s A-list grooming.
What follows is shockingly polite fiction. There is more than one elephant in the room. It’s not as though anyone here would be unprofessional enough to say “So Owen, what were you thinking about before your recent suicide attempt?”, but really, it would be nice to ask some actual, you know, questions.
The film they are here to promote is Marley And Me, the US box-office smash ($166 million and counting...) based on journalist John Grogan’s bestselling memoir, Marley & Me: Life And Love With The World’s Worst Dog. A touching, goofy account of family life with a naughty mutt, the movie has struck a chord with dog owners of both sexes, prompting one tender-foot scoop to ask if being around children and animals had made Jen feel a little clucky.
Uh oh.
“I don’t think that’s relevant to the film,” responds La Aniston, dismissing the question with a wave of the hand. She speaks with the same, sing-song conciliatory tone she used for serving coffee in Central Perk, underscored with the unchallenged authority of Stalin. An eerie silence descends across the room. Nobody is sure where to go from here.
To be fair, for Jennifer Aniston, there are no right answers and no right questions. A ‘yes’ would have resulted in headlines along the lines of “As Brad and Angelina consider seventeenth baby... JEN GROWS DESPERATE”. A ‘no’ might have been rendered as “Spinster Jen Hates Kids and Puppies”. Hell, even a “no comment” translates as “Jen Fury at Baby Remark.”
This, however, is scant consolation for all the poor saps in dire need of a quote. Some quote. Any quote.
Working with children and animals isn’t so bad, says Jen, “in fact it was quite enjoyable.”
Okay, so maybe not that quote.
Owen tells us that he enjoyed watching The Lives Of Others. He once owned a Dalmatian called Nutmeg and a Labrador who could retrieve golf balls and hold his breath underwater. As a child his dad brought him to see The Producers and Animal House.
Jen tells us about the 22 different dogs that play Marley at different stages of his life. She admits she is a terrible gardener. She worries about the future of the independent film sector, what with global recession and all.
In sharp contrast to your average press call, the gathering is growing quieter and quieter. Owen and Jen look bored. They’ve started doodling during their own answers.
Jen loves dogs because they’re needy. “They’re so helpless,” she coos.
The rest of us know just how they feel.
Marley And Me. It’s a lot more entertaining than the talent.

Marley And Me opens March 11