Why I Hate... Jude Law


23rd August 2005

I think I have rage issues. It's not like I kick small children in the face or punch pregnant women in the stomach, nothing like that, it's just my blood boils at a lot lower temperature than everyone else. If you've ever read a single article on this site, you'll probably quite familiar with my hatred for many things movie-related - child actors, posh Brits, fat Italians trying to be funny and so on - but there's one face in the industry that is guaranteed to make my teeth itch, my fists clench and the insane little devil sitting on my shoulder whisper terrible things in my ear. I'm sure you've heard of him; his name is Jude Law, and I think I would prefer this planet if he was not on it. Ladies assure me he is dashing, debonair and talented. All I see on screen is a lanky streak of piss with a cocky streak a mile wide and a smile that makes me wish for nuclear holocaust in his immediate vicinity.

"Oh, you're just jealous," the three girls that are reading this are no doubt thinking. "Just because he's good looking and rich." Well, I couldn't possibly comment on whether or not Jude Law is good looking or not (I'm too busy thinking manly thoughts about football and fighting bears to comment on that) but yes, I think I have a fundamental problem with the fact that this bangrod is still getting given high profiles in Hollywood and isn't quietly signing onto the dole like we all know he should be (Chris Rock was right to complain that every time he went to the cinema last year, Jude Law had managed to weasel his way onto the cast list). Jude has twice been nominated for two Oscars - that's right, the posh twat who couldn't cockney his way out of a bag of jellied eels in Shopping way back in 1994 was actually considered one of the five best actors on the planet, not once but twice. I'm sure this is nothing to do with the fact that approximately 50% of the Academy have vaginas.

Let's take a look at some of his more famous roles. There was his turn as Gigolo Joe in Spielberg's AI, in which he flounced around on set like a big shiny phallus and managed to get out-performed by an infant portraying a robot. Then there was his 'emotional' turn as wounded war pussy Inman in Anthony Minghella's Cold Mountain (the first Oscar nod) in which he gets a doctor's note to leave the Civil War early so he can go home and get a pity jump from Nicole Kidman (coming soon in this very series). He managed to take the term 'metrosexual' to flamboyant new levels in the remake of Alfie (pissing in Michael Caine's hair while he was up there) and even his role in Love, Honor and Obey (a dreadful Guy Ritchie-lite back-slapping gangster comedy) as an egotistical London type called Jude proved too much of a stretch. The last time I didn't want to strangle him with a bicycle inner tube was when he starred in Closer, playing an arrogant, conceited prick - a part he played perfectly, strangely with almost no effort required at all.

While I'd rather slowly roast my own testicles than read any celebrity tittle-tattle magazines, sometimes you just can't avoid hearing about Jude's latest escapades. It seems like every day, one of the red-tops is reporting the exclusive story that Jude has inserted his penis into another woman he shouldn't have, or how he's ranting and raving about paparazzi intrusion one day then gliding down a red carpet, bathing in the light of the flash bulbs the next. You can guarantee that there will be some sort of story concerning him and his equally nauseous social circle (comprising of Sean Pertwee, Jonny Lee Miller and all the Primrose Hill toffs) who all enjoy guffawing heartily, consuming mountains of extremely expensive drugs and swapping wives on a weekly basis. His smug face seems to say 'I'm mediocre, but gosh darn it, I'm so damn handsome I'm sure you can forgive me.' Jude is also a vegetarian, has a child called Rafferty, supports Spurs (because you can just picture him at White Hart Lane) and has a girl's name. Unconfirmed rumours suggest he likes the smell of lavender and has a bed adorned with teddy bears.

If I had ovaries, then maybe I'd feel different. However, I can safely say that my dick doesn't dictate which films I go and see, and it certainly doesn't have any of its own opinions on acting talent - you won't hear me singing the praises of Lindsay Lohan any time soon (despite the fact she would get it). Ladies, in ten years time when the Hollywood producers find a younger piece of ass to pound and Jude's roles start to dry up, maybe then you'll realise that the countless hours you spent with your fingers up your snatch were wasted over an untalented, over-hyped no-mark who is the very personification of the word 'average'. Still, at least I have one thing to look forward to: the pictures of a down-and-out Jude, bedraggled and begging for change on the underground in Heat magazine. Not that I read that sort of thing, obviously. Too busy reading Shoot magazine and picturing naked ladies.

More:  Why I Hate
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