Try as I may, I fail to see the fascination with Katie Holmes, formerly Mrs. Tom Cruise.
This is not a knock on her, by the way: at worst, she’s inoffensive — and she gets huge kudos for keeping their daughter out of the clutches of the foul Scientology cult.
Or maybe it’s just because she’s the ex-wife of the dwarf action star (what I call the “Chelsea Clinton” effect) that the media seems to follow and photograph her all over the place; and she continues to get movie roles, lots of them. Once again, this is not a knock; but she is unremarkable both in looks and talent: girl-next-door pretty and capable of not screwing up a movie (the latter being no small thing, by the way). Here she is in casual dress:
See what I mean? And yet she’s played up — Vogue covers, etc. — and even when she’s in a movie, that praise continues.
For an example of the latter, one of the characters in the brilliant Thank You For Smoking says of her that she has “world-class tits”, when it’s quite obvious that she doesn’t — not even close to world class, as the movie reveals later when she’s actually topless. And the femme fatale role she’s given… well, she’s not so fatale, as it turns out.
Granted, our Katie does clean up quite well:
…but given the amount of cosmetic trickery involved in shots like this, hell, even Chelsea Clinton can look passable (be charitable, willya?). That said, Holmes certainly plays it for all it’s worth.
But I just don’t get it. The movie business is lousy with gorgeous and egregiously-talented women, and yet Holmes gets more column inches and celluloid time than a lot of them.