(image via timeinc)
Charles McGrath -- it's his fault -- writing in this Sunday's Arts & Leisure, describes Scarlett Johansson as "Ripe," to which we reply with gusto: Abbondanza!
Scarlett Johansson has always seemed, to The Corsair, at least, to be on the verge of exploding into a glorious jammy mess staining incandescent white surfaces nearby a bugundish-ish incarnadine. She’s almost obscenely radioactive in her vivid juiciness. It’s almost too much, this-this refined air of overripe fruit that she exudes, like bee pollen saturating the wind. Wine-like fertility nimbuses her every curve. The things that stand out about Scarlett: Her swollen strawberry pucker, and the plush décolletage always threatening to erupt and liberate itself. She –she probably smells like warm strawberry preserves on fresh bread (OK, we’ll reluctantly concede that last line was seriously creepy, but it stays).
Even Senator Obama picked up on the dangers that a ScarJo stain on his crisp campaign might cause. Her Politico interview – all nectar and honey – was met with a sober Obama denial.
The best directors know exactly what to do with Scarlett. Sophia Coppolla in “Lost in Translation” had her opening the film in sheer underwear. Nude would have been louche, de trop. Scarlett is at her best physically when she is barely contained by her clothing. Her flesh, her curves, struggle against the fabric. Woody Allen in “Match point” had her finally give in to the dark pleasures of Jonathan Rhys-Meyers in a meadow in the rain – like a blooming flower exploding at summer’s peak.
Is Scarrlett Johansson Too “Ripe”? No, no -- she’s just right.
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