I believe in this photo I was just told by Elton John that he chose some poor, community college dropout known as Stefani Germanotta to be the godmother of his unborn baby. My reaction to this news:
I can get so sassy when I need to be. Do not worry, me and Elton are still “tight” as they say these days. Some of us tighter than others, but thats another story.
My assistant and I were enjoying our semi annual Margarita Monday celebration this evening when, through what I can only assume was the mystical powers of the spirits found within my frozen green concoction, I shared with my assistant how I landed the role of Emily Appleton in the smashingly succesful sequel to National Treasure, simply titled: National Treasure: Book of Secrets. Mind you, I never actually viewed this film so I cannot and will now spoil the mystery of the secret book in question, though I was told Jon Voight during our weekly visit to the gates his daughter Angie’s home to play “spies” that the book was actually the spirit of America and found in every man, woman, and son, but no daughters as they are deemed unclean until their 18th birthday. It seems like the movie has many layers, some which will only be pulled back by Helen Mirren scholars in the far future, shhh, I’ve met them.
Back to my story of landing the role. While movie-minded readers might think that Jon Turteltaub directed the film, in actuality, the film was directed by my close, personal friend, Nicolas Kim Sophia Coppola Cage.
I had first met Nic-nac (as only I can call him) during the summer of my 25th year living as Helen Mirren. I was working in an ice cream shoppe, my very first job outside of the theatre and Nic-nac came in from the hot sun for a cool treat. I would be fibbing if I told you my heart did not momentarily stop when I saw him, so struck by him was I that I nearly dropped the hard shell that I was told ice cream was to be eaten from. Get this, the ice cream patrons then went ahead and ate the shell. I brought this to my manager, insisting that we bring up these horrid people on charges of stealing through consumption but my complaints were shrugged off, because I was a woman and it was a different time.
As Nic-nac came up to the counter I leaned forward and asked what I could do for this fine young man. He shyly turned away whilst an older woman, whom I can only assume was a lover, asked for ice cream to be placed in a “cone” (what the patrons called the shells) for Nic-nac. I was mometarily taken aback by this whore’s request, but as I was a lady, I took it in stride and gave an extra scoop of the creamed ice to Nic-nac. He thanked me quietly and walked away. I never forgot him.
My assistant asked how I could have possible known that it was the one and only Nicolas Cage back then, when, as my assistant so freshly pointed out, he would have only been six years of age. That’s my little secret, and may or may not involve a tiny capsule placed inside Nic-nac’s ice cream that contained a tracking device I have used to follow his skyrocket to fame since our chance encounter.
It was not until 2007 that we finally reconnected when Nic-nac called me in under the guise of an “audition”, which to those unfamiliar with show biz lingo is when a director gushes over how brilliant and stunning I am in person then gives me a blank check and a typewriter so I can create my own part in their movie. Nic-nac was no different, only on the back of the check he wrote a little note that said:
“For my dearest Helen, you taught me how to love. You are my treasure”
And, my friends, I am a treasure, a National Treasure. Yet I transcend nations, some may say I’m a Global Treasure. Those people would be correct.
Let me tell you ladies, this gentleman has longer appendages than just his hair. Yes, hair is an appendage, acclaimed actor and my “The Queen” co-star Michael Sheen informed me of this fact during a game of croquet last Autumn.
I really do not see what everyone is fussing over. My outfit wasn’t that yellow and it was to celebrate the coming of spring, which in Greek mythology meant that the wife of Hades was able to come up for air. I bet many of you ladies wish your man would let you do that more often when you are exploring his underworld.
For a very peculiar reason, whenever I visit a chat show, or as you in America call them, talking shows, I am asked about the upcoming marriage between Prince William and that brunette girl whose name I have chosen not to learn. Why would anyone want my opinion? Perhaps it is because I won the Academy Award for my portrayal of Queen Elizabeth, daughter of Colin Firth’s King George. My friends, while I am arguably more famous and well known than all the royalty in the United Kingdoms of England, I do not know anything about this wedding. Yes, it is true I was Princess Diana’s (God rest her soul) backup Matron of Honour, but was sadly unable to attend because of my prior commitment to my role as Grace in “Faith Healer” at the Royal Court Theatre. However, my time Will and the ginger one has been limited.
I will only say that I wish them the best of luck and will be watching the ceremony out the window of my flat with my assistant, who I have already informed will be pantomiming the event for a dinner party the following weekend. He is thrilled.
Oh my goodness, Katherine Perry, a young American songstress and civil partner of Russell was not happy we shared this intimate moment. I had my assistant research her, and it seems like she was born with the ability to emit sparks from her bosoms. A talent I also have but choose not to show off as often as her.