New article over at MTV Clutch: Amanda Seyfried has a lock on supersexy victims of fate
Helpless is such a misleading term. Her retinue is merely unable to change the wheel of fortune, like so many of us…just more aware of it. Original version is below because I know you like metaphors in which Comedy is a sub to a hilarious dominatrix.
AMANDA SEYFRIED IS SEXY, HELPLESS
Some actors carve out a weird niche. Ryan Reynolds plays smart-ass superheroes, Paul Bettany takes roles defying God to fight a supernatural army, and Charlie Sheen pretends to be human.
Let us cast our approving gaze, then, to Amanda Seyfried (Pronounced “Sigh” as in the sound you make when you behold her beauty, and “Frid,” as in the only nonsense you can babble when you try to ask her out). Despite other diverse talents, she has dibs on any role for a fecund victim of circumstance. When Hollywood has a sexy character whose destiny is sealed on page 1, they call Seyfried. And while we’re glad to see her getting work…dang, Hollywood, throw a comedy her way. She led humor around Mean Girls on a choke chain and made it eat a bowl of quotable on all fours.
Lilly Kane – Veronica Mars
Lilly Kane oozes more sex than a porn disc in a microwave. She’s outgoing, intelligent, and out of control, but by the time we meet her she’s already a murder victim. Despite haunting – and in some ways, almost possessing – her best friend Veronica throughout the season, she can’t do a thing except point like Hamlet’s father to her murderer and urge the scales be balanced. Damn, that’s some noir story right there.
Sophie – Mamma Mia!
And now for something completely different. Based on the musical stageplay based on Abba songs based on the hope-crushing darkness that is the Swedish winter, when the soul turns toward any glimpse of joy before death snuffs it forever…holy crap, where was I going with that? I tied this noose wrong and lost my place. Oh, right, so our bride-to-be tries to figure out who her father is at her wedding, but that knowledge cannot save her from the depths of Swedish despair. Fortunately, it takes place in Greece, so the end result is the three men agree to share paternity of her without ever finding out who has always been her father (it was Zeus all along!). So it starts as unchanged and indeterminate as it began. Wow, you don’t usually see Broadway or pop songs get so…existential.
Karen Smith – Mean Girls
Karen Smith is not, technically, a mean girl, nor is she smart, so providence sets its hand over her head. Even in a sexy sex cast of oversexualized sexes, Seyfried (and her wardrobe) stick out at impossible vectors. Karen drifts like a spring breeze through life, vaguely mimicking Queen Bee Rachel McAdams, but when she reveals a secret talent and passion, even that’s sexy yet incapable. “My breasts can always tell when it’s gonna rain,” she confides in a breathy whisper. “…Well, they can tell when it’s raining.” Oh, Karen, no true harm will ever come to you, because people are going to watch out for you wherever you go.
Savannah Curtis – Dear John
The plot of any Nicholas Sparks story: couple on the beach drawn together by circumstance. Terrible disease rending life apart. Eventual reunion of some sort. Seyfried isn’t just up against her husband’s cancer or her heart’s destiny, she’s doomed by a force more powerful than fate: an audience that eats up the same plot every time. But does sexy complete the formula? Yes. In spite–or, depending on his fetishes, because–of multiple gunshot wounds, a dead father, and the bitter sale of dad’s mementos to buy his true love’s husband a chance at life, Channing Tatum still can’t write Savannah off as a taker, not a giver.
Valerie – Red Riding Hood
While the new film Red Riding Hood takes an acute turn from the fairy tale, there’s no Grimm heroine so undefined as Red Riding Hood. Her tale is an obedient, unveering errand from point A to point B. So that part’s covered. A story about grandmothers getting eaten and traumatic axe wounds shouldn’t be sexy, and yet…there’s something about a woman in red, isn’t there? Despite a body made for bathing in a moonlit lake, Val spends most of this story hiding from full moons. We’re betting things are set in stone for her because this film opted for a marketing campaign of artistic, snowy forests when it could have just as honestly been titled Gary Oldman vs. A Werewolf. That, friends, is at least twice the draw of even the comeliest young lady kneeling in a cloak of spattered blood.