Monday, July 28, 2008

The Bridge to Tera-crap-ia

One of my earlier junket experiences was covering the Disney adaptation of The Bridge to Terabithia. Now, I am not much for Disney anything, nor anything shiny, happy G-rated kiddie fare, so it was probably a mistake to have me cover this one in the first place. But whatever.

Evidently The Bridge to Terabithia is a beloved children’s book about the wonder of imagination and all that magnificence. I never read it, so I am sure I wasn’t appropriately excited to get to interview the author (Katherine Paterson) or her (grown) son (David) who had adapted her book for the screen. They were still pretty interesting to interview, though, which is a shame because my interviews for this movie were on-camera and we had a notoriously lazy video guy from the website, which means there was a zero percent chance he was going to use these interviews.

Then I had to interview the director, Gabriel Csupo, who is Hungarian or Bulgarian or something. It was here that I discovered my true inner fear of interviewing someone who is not a native English speaker. He pretty much answered all my questions in the first minute (obviously doling out memorized speaking points) and then leaving me struggling to find things other than, ‘So, Hungary, huh?’ for the rest of my time.

When I was done with him, I moved onto the two kid stars of the movie, whereupon I discovered the only thing I hate worse than interviewing non-native English-speakers on camera is interviewing kids. In short, they are either over-rehearsed or unpredictable, and either way it makes it difficult to get useable answers from them. Little Josh Hutcherson fell in the latter category, and he was busy trying to ham it up and kiss my hand (slightly hilarious). But his co-star, AnnaSophia Robb, was clearly of the other variety. She was clearly one of those super poised, super groomed Hollywood children who smiles like a robot and spits out exactly what she is supposed to say. Nice enough, but still slightly terrifying. One day she’ll be on the cover of Playboy with a heroin needle in her forehead and I can say I knew her when.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

I totally told you so

So, our friend Christian Bale has been in the news lately for being arrested for some sort of assault of his mother and sister. It might have been verbal, it might have been physical, they might be crazy bitches who deserve it, etc. Whatever the details are, it seemed pretty out of the blue.

I interviewed Christian Bale about a year ago for Rescue Dawn, the Werner Herzog movie in which he played a real-life Vietnam vet who was imprisoned in and escaped from a Laotian prison after he was captured when his plane shot down. The movie was terrific, and Bale was ridiculously amazing as usual.

At the junket however, he was less than delightful. So much so that he is usually my 'go-to' reference when people ask who was the biggest jerk to me. Obviously, I was excited to get to interview him. He's tremendously talented, loved the movie, everyone loves him, blah blah blah.

I had an on-camera interview with him for this one. First, he is totally grubbed out, wearing shitty jeans, dirty sneakers, and a black T shirt that looks like it was taken from the bottom of the laundry pile. However, his hair is slicked back a little and the shirt *is* black, so it probably looks okay on camera. Anyhow, this seems odd since most people doll up for this sort of thing--especially since Rescue Dawn was a little movie that could have used some good press.

I sit down in the chair, and while the camera guys are mic-ing me up and getting the tapes set, I'm just making small talk.

Me: Hi. How are you? Having a long morning in here? You know, you guys shot some of Batman Begins up by my husband's office just north of Chicago.

Him: No, I didn't.

Me: Um, well, he said there were Batman sets up there for a while and shooting. He and his coworkers were really excited about it.

Him: (blank, angry stare) ...

Me: (to camera man) Are we ready? (nervous giggle)

Now given, it is possible that they were doing some principal photography up there, stuff that might not have involved him. However, a nice human would have said something like, 'Oh, huh, maybe that was principal photography,' instead of looking at me like I was a fucking idiot/asshole/maniac who was obviously lying/trying to somehow elicit secret information from him.

Then they start rolling, we lean back in our chairs, smile, pretend he wasn't giving me a death glare. I ask him a couple of questions about the movie, to which he gives good, happy responses. Then I ask him a couple more, like asking him the 'weight loss' question (he lost a TON for The Machinist, then bulked up for Batman Begins, then he and his castmates all quite obviously lost a ton for this movie in which he was playing a food-deprived, dirty, tortured POWs). He at this point denies having lost any weight for the movie, which is obviously a lie; he and his castmates all looked like end-stage Holocaust victims. Then he devolves into giving me one word answers. Awesome. We wound up not even being able to use the interview.

I will say in his defense that prior to our interview, he was on his cell phone taking what appeared to be some sort of a stressful call in the hallway. And word was, as I recall, that it was around lunch time and he just wanted to break and, you know, eat. Which is totally reasonable. And that he was a dick to everyone and not just me. And, that a couple of months later at the 3:10 to Yuma junket, he was lovely and affable to everyone.

All that said, he was still a raving douchebag. And in contrast, his costars Steve Zahn and Jeremy Davies and director Werner Herzog were all absolutely delightful when I interviewed them. I told Zahn that I was obsessed with Reality Bites in college and told him I still had the video tape of it, and he started calling me a dork, telling me he was up against Noah Wyle for that part and that Janeane Garofalo was up against Parker Posey for hers, joked around with me on camera, etc. Jeremy Davies stood up to shake my hand and was just absolutely lovely all around.

So, while I don't know what crawled up Bale's ass and died -- either that day or the day or this past weekend -- I can say I don't envy anyone who is around him when it does. The frosty look was more than enough for me.

Monday, July 21, 2008

Popping the cherry

My first ever junket was about 1 day after I started my job. When I first got my job, my friend, John, who hired me basically told me I'd be doing movie reviews. He didn't think I'd want the job because I was trying to screenwrite, but you've got to do something to pay the bills until you become Diablo Cody.

At the interview with the rest of the guys on the team, my would-be boss told me I would probably be doing some celebrity interviews, possibly print, possibly on-camera. Down the road there might be some set visits, too. I actually think John may have mentioned this to me, too, but somehow it hadn't sunk in. And still, when they mentioned that at the interview I didn't believe it.

Before I even start I'm getting emails with invites to junkets and screenings and whatnot. The actual day before I start, I get a phone call from my boss saying he wants me to do the TV interviews for The Dead Girl, a little indie starring Brittany Murphy, Giovanni Ribisi and a bunch of others. I'm supposed to screen the movie the next day (i.e. my first day), and then do the interview on my second.

I am floored. So, my first day comes and goes. My jaw is literally hanging open with every new thing the guys tell me. Yes, you're allowed to take a friend with you to screenings. Yes, you get swag at junkets. Yes, you will be interviewing famous people. Yes, it does rain gold on Fridays in Los Angeles. It was truly wonderful.

My second day of work I drive over to the hotel where the junket is going to be. My boss meets me to sort of coach me through things. The boys have told me little tricks--ask weird a weird question or two if you can, since they're getting the same questions all day. Just nod in response, don't say 'mmmhmmm, uhuh' because if the camera is on them then it's just your disembodied voice saying those things and that's weird, etc. Ok, fine.

My boss has me go in and watch a friend of his do her interviews so I can just make sure I have the drill down and then I'm off. I'm sweating bullets. I am about to meet my first famous person, and I do not under any circumstances want to offend them.

My first famous person it turns out is Giovanni Ribisi. I tell him, as I sit in the chair, that this is my first interview. No, not of the day, of ever--at least for this type of thing. He reacts. I ask my questions, trying very hard not to glance down at my list of them while he's talking (note: I no longer make a list of questions and just chat with the people). At the end, we both let out big sighs and he says, 'Wow, I feel like we just did something, here.' I nod. And then he says, 'I feel like I just popped your cherry.' Sadly, I was still too nervous to tell him that indeed he did.

I then proceed to a couple more interviews, a seasoned veteran now. I have Mary Beth Hurt, who I know as Garp's wife from The World According to Garp and am a little in awe, then the writer/director, Karen Moncrieff. Then I interview Marcia Gay Harden (Mystic River, Pollock) and Kerry Washington (The Last King of Scotland, Ray)--who is especially glowing and pretty in person, and also very sweet. I tell everyone it is my first day at this and they are all very nice.

My final interview is with Brittany Murphy. She is running late--quite late, it seems, as everyone else in the cast has been giving interviews for hours already. We all have to camp out in the hallway waiting for her to show up, and when she finally does it is with an entourage. She is made up to the hilt, with a buttload of makeup, including what I recognized as individual fake eyelashes, which I had worn at my wedding. She seems slightly wacky.

When it is finally my turn to interview her, I tell her it is my first day. She continues to seem somewhat nutty, but is nice and we all survive. Then a few minutes later she is going to the bathroom and she stops me to tell me that I did a great, I made her feel very comfortable, and I will do really well at my job. It was really, really nice.

So to all of the people who like to suggest she might be a fan of the ole magic white powder, you may very well be right. But she was damn nice to me on my first very nervous day, so I'm on her side.

And a final note: About a week later, Josh saw Giovanni Ribisi in the coffee shop. He contemplated going up to him and saying, 'You popped my wife's cherry last week,' but he thought better of it. I think he should have.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

The unusual Ms. Posey

Perhaps because I have a predisposition toward indie films, I have had the opportunity to meet Parker Posey twice so far. The first time was at Fay Grim, the Hal Hartley sequel to Henry Fool.

First, I thought the movie was absolutely terrible; I hadn't ever seen Henry Fool, but I don't think that's was a major sticking point. The issue was that this is a very intellectual type of indie for serious indie art movie nerds who like to discuss literary criticism and think about politics and the world. In short, I'm sure it played very well in, say, San Francisco. But in my world, where I like even my indies with a fart joke or two, it was kind of excruciating. Not that there weren't funny moments in there - there were - but my brain was too busy being beaten down by the heavy-handed symbolism to really enjoy it, so I just shut down and fought (and perhaps failed) the urge to stay awake.

The junket wasn't much better as Posey, it appears, is a bit of a, well, space cadet stoner type. And she sat at the table (it was a roundtable) doodling on a piece of paper, as though making eye contact with any of us would be way too much for her, and as though even she was bored by what Hartley was saying.

The next time I met her, however, was slightly better. At least because I liked the movie -- Broken English, another indie by Zoe Cassavetes about a single thirtysomething New Yorker looking for love. Sounds predictable, but it was kind of the anti-Bridget Jones (not that I don't love everything Bridget Jones) in just the right way and hit you right in the solar plexus with all the bittersweet amazingness. It was terrific and the male lead, Melvil Poupaud who was so surprisingly soulful that you totally forget that his last name sounds like Poop-O.

Anyhow, the junket for this one was TV, so I got to chat with the girls about how dreamy he was. Parker seemed far less zoned out this time, although someone started coughing up a storm during the interview and I think they both started calling into the hallway to see if he/she/it was dying.

Well, that wasn't very exciting, was it?

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

In which I do not violate James McAvoy, no matter what they say

It has happened in the course of my job that I have been subject to some teasing, some good natured ribbing, if you will. Since I work with all men, I viewed getting teased as my mark of being accepted as one of the boys--which is a big deal--and anyone who knows me knows I can trade the lewdest of remarks with the best of them.

One particular line of ribbing involves a certain Mr. James McAvoy. Perhaps you might have heard of him? Scottish hottie taking Holllywood by storm, first in The Last King of Scotland, then in Atonement and most recently in Wanted.

It just so happens that Mr. McAvoy is really, really nice. And cute. And smart. And funny. All things I noticed with shock the first time I met him at the junket for Starter for 10, this sweet, smart English little indie romantic comedy. The shock can be attributed mostly to the fact that I didn't realize he was Scottish (you'd think having been in The Last King of Scotland would have given that away, but I hadn't yet seen it at that point). But you show me someone who isn't sucked in by a Scottish accent and I'll show you a person with no heart. Or ears.

So, let's just say that when he sat down and started talking at the Starter for 10 roundtable he got my attention. And perhaps, just perhaps, now, I went back to the office and told the boys with whom I worked about how cute he was. And, you know, maybe I then made matters worse for myself by propogating the myth that I lusted for him by periodically inserting James McAvoy jokes into articles, when really we all know that I have eyes for no one but my very sweet, very smart, very handsome, very doting husband. And no matter how cute anyone else is, I think for two seconds about what they would really be like and I know that no one could ever be as good to me as my husband is. Literally, no one else measures up. But I digress.

Anyhow, a few months went by and we got the invite to the Atonement junket. I was on the Oscar beat last fall, which meant that I basically got to see every Oscar movie out there, and this is a hard core frontrunner. My boss suggested that I request a 1:1 with James McAvoy since I loved him so much. Ha ha ha. So, I do (let's be real -- they're not giving me Keira Knightley), and it comes through.

I go to the 1:1. James is nice as pie, as I expected from meeting him before. Absolutely lovely guy, is very bothered that I won't let him make me a cup of tea, completely humble (really either no idea that everyone who meets him lusts for him or just doesn't buy it), gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek when I leave. His head is really screwed on straight. He feels really fortunate, is very passionate about the part in Atonement, etc.

So, I get back to the office and go to transcribe the tape of the interview, which would be fine except I discover that there IS no tape of the interview. I click forward, I click back. Nada. It appears as though when I attempted to press 'Record,' I somehow failed and instead interviewed him for 15 minutes without recording it. Awesome. I now realize not only have I lost an irretrievable interview, but I am going to have to admit this to my boss, who, although he won't care, will promptly enjoy giving me the mountain of shit I deserve about it. Which he does.

Let's just say that he enjoys claiming that it's not that I didn't press record, so much as that there was nothing to record due to the various, sordid and increasingly outlandish sexual acts I must obviously have been performing upon Mr. McAvoy during our 'interview.' Of course, we know this isn't true, as I'm nowhere near stupid enough to do anything to jeopardize the amazing husband I've succeeded in landing. But the boys do have a point -- it would make me quite the popular interviewer if it were true.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Batman is nuts

So yesterday I had a phoner for Felon, a little indie movie about a normal guy with a happy life who winds up going to prison and the truth about what it's like in prison and how it corrupts you and all that. I would know more about it, but I haven't even screened the movie yet, which pretty rarely happens before you do press for something, but hey, whatever.


So, it happens that they offer us phoners with the talent, in this case Stephen Dorff (remember him?) and Val Kilmer. I ask for a phoner with Stephen Dorff, because although Val Kilmer is more exciting, Dorff has upcoming projects that are more relevant to work so I can get a scoop sort of article from that. But once I say, 'Yes, I can cover, Dorff please' they inform me that it's actually going to be a teleconference and not a straight up phoner.

I've not done a teleconference interview format before, so I ask how it works and am told that everyone on the phone will get their chance to ask individual questions, so it will be just like having a 1:1 phoner. Okay, fine. As long as I can get scoop, all's well.

First, I call in at the appointed time and have all sorts of issues actually getting through like I'm supposed to. Once I manage that, I and my other online on-phone compatriots are informed that we are actually being teleconferenced into the radio interviews that are happening at the press day (which I believe was in New York).

Note: Unless you are in radio, you do not ever want to be in a radio room because they are recording the sound for broadcast, which means that dare you sneeze, rustle a paper, or generally move your eyeballs too loudly you are going to get chewed out by irate radio people. We all know how good I am at staying still/quiet, so I generally avoid the radio room whenever possible, and thus my knowledge of the punitive ways of radio people is only heresay. But nonetheless.

So, we are informed that we should mute our phones since the radio people are recording, which is fine by me as my next door neighbor who owns the usually vacant shack next to me chooses this moment to show up and do yard work, making Big go insane and bark his head off. Awesome.

Then they introduce the director, which is amusing, as I didn't sign up to talk to the director, but it appears that I will indeed be doing the full compliment of press for the movie in lieu of the actual one person I requested. This isn't a huge deal -- stuff like this happens all the time, causing me long ago to realize I had to wholeheartedly abandon my 'I've got my vision for how this is going to go entrenched in my head and now that you want to change the plans I am going to go apeshit' mentality or else I was going to lose my mind.

So, fine, rolling with the punches, I pull up my near-death computer and squeeze out the last remaining drops of function in it to get some info on the director for when I am called upon by the phone moderator or whomever to ask whatever generic question I can that won't give away that I haven't seen the movie yet. I assume this is what is going to be happening since, you know, I was assured that it will basically 'be just like a 1:1 phoner anyhow.'

Not so much. The 15ish minutes go by without a peep from any of the other phone people or any indication that anyone knows we're there, let alone cares that we might need to ask questions. The radio people are just firing away their questions, the director is answering, and then I hear a publicist say their interview is done and now Stephen Dorff is coming in.

Excellent. Now, as we must be the 'Stephen Dorff' conference callers, I presume someone is going to say something about the fact that we are on the phone. But no, not so much. The interview with Stephen Dorff goes on just as the one with the director did, with the radio people piping in with a question as soon as they get a chance and without anyone indicating we are there, perhaps needing something, etc. Without the visual cues as to what's going on in the room, I am asea, essentially unable to unmute and butt in at an appropriate time. I can't quite see when Dorff is going to wind down, when someone is going to pipe up, etc.

It is at this point that the next door neighbor (I assume) chooses to ring my doorbell, likely to respond to a note I left him asking if I could put some gravel down between our driveway and his house (either that or the Prophet Elijah was coming over). Big loses his mind and barks up yet another storm, and because I am taking my job seriously (even though I am being ignored), I run into my room and hide.

Luckily, Dorff starts bringing up his other projects that he's working on, including the one I need to ask about (he's in the John Dillinger biopic, Public Enemies, with Johnny Depp). Surely, I can count on one of these other radio people to take the bait. We all need scoop after all. NOPE. The morons just plow on, asking shitty personal questions about does he have a feud with Jeremy Piven or some crap like that. I still can't figure out when to jump in, and then the publicist comes and ends it. I am not amused.

Then, Val Kilmer comes in and even though I am thinking I can't use the interview, I decide to stay on the phone anyway. I mean, how often does one get to chat with Val Kilmer, or eavesdrop on him chatting with other people, or whatever? I was a Real Genius fan, a Doors fan, after all.

So, he's talking, about the movie, about his white linen suit, about having to lose weight for some movie, etc. etc. and then all of a sudden he realizes there is a teleconference phone in the room and he loses his mind. He starts yelling into the phone 'HELLO! WHO ARE YOU?' -- in an amused, screwing with us sort of way, not an 'I'm going to trash my hotel room because I can' sort of way. But still.

He goes back to answering questions, sounding generally happy/drunk/nutty, reliving the good old days when he did Tombstone, telling us how he called Kurt Russell 'concrete head', telling us how much he adores name-dropping, mentioning how he is BFFs with Bob Dylan. But he just can't forget about the starphone. He is obsessed with the stinking star phone, fascinated by who could be out there. Periodically, he picks it up and yells into is some more, claiming that he is taking off his clothes, he is nude, he wants to know who we are, etc.

I contemplated unmuting and putting him out of his starphone-induced misery because THIS time I had an obvious easy moment to jump in. Except the thing is, I hadn't seen the movie, and I didn't have any informed enough questions, so I didn't want to, you know, call attention to myself in quite that way. 'Yes, I'm Heather, I'm with ReelzChannel, and how was working with the monkey? What? There was no monkey? Oh, um...' That, and it pretty quickly would have turned the whole interview into him talking to me, and unlike the radio people, I didn't want to waste their time with unusable stuff. So I didn't. I stayed quiet. But Val Kilmer was amusing anyway. Totally insane, but amusing.

Friday, July 4, 2008

Californiaaaaaaaa, Here we cooooommmmeeeeee

Archive time again. Last year I covered In the Land of Women, a fairly unmemorable romantic dramedy featuring Kristen Stewart (why do people like her?), The O.C.'s Adam Brody, and Meg Ryan's giant plastic fish lips. The movie was written and directed by Jon Kasdan, son of the weighty writer/director Lawrence Kasdan (you know -- The Big Chill, Body Heat, The Accidental Tourist, The Empire Strikes Back, Raiders of the Lost Ark -- need I continue?).

As I said, the movie wasn't so great, showing that either talent isn't necessarily genetic OR that it was the guy's first effort and you've got to learn somehow.

Anyhow, the junket was a little odd. It was roundtable sized, but in press conference format (translation: we were seated in rows in a big room with the 'talent' up on the dais, but there weren't very many journos there). But whatever, it was fine. Adam Brody was fine, Jon Kasdan was very nervous about doing okay.

The exciting part is that that night Josh and I were having dinner with my uncle who was in town for a medical conference or something of that sort. We went to Jar, a fancy but not too narcissistic steak restaurant on the edge of BH (sidenote: Jar = yum). Lo an behold I see Adam Brody and Jon Kasdan at the next table. I figured they wouldn't remember me (God knows how many people interviewed them over the course of that day, or any day, for that matter), but I decided it was still appropriate to march over there, since I had been at their junket that morning and all.

So I went over, said hi, told them I'd been at their junket (true), probably told them I liked the movie (not so much true), told Jon he'd done a perfectly fine job at the junket and he didn't need to be so nervous (back to true again). They were very nice, and also, might I add, rather drunk considering that they were having dinner and not just at a bar. But whatever, Adam Brody is like 22 or something, so why not? I also informed him that he seems like the love child of Tom Hanks and... someone else equally as ridiculously likeable (hey, it was last year). He is (for you fogies) best known for starring in The O.C., a v popular teen show that ended a couple of years back. I'd never watched that, so I wasn't v familiar with him. What I discovered during this movie is that he did a great job with what he had to work with and looks like he could seriously fill the nice-guy romantic lead nitche easily should he get the chance.

So I gushed all over them, went back to my table proudly, and then five minutes later noticed someone else went over to chat with them, at which point I realized I had broken the seal and now other patrons thought it was appropriate to bug them during their dinner and that I was an asshole. Oh well.

On an unrelated note, it is the night of the Fourth of July right now, which means it is 3400 degrees in my house at this moment and that my neighbors are just killing themselves with glee setting off their own fireworks and giving my dog a heart attack. I will not be sad when tonight is over. I may hope they blow of their hands, just a little.

Tuesday, July 1, 2008


There comes a time in everyone's life where they must meet someone else with their same name. In my case, this someone is Heather Graham. You will recall her from her previous glory in roles like RollerGirl from Boogie Nights and Felicity Shagwell in Austin Powers. Now she is more in the vein of pseudo-direct-to-video projects, for which I have interviewed her twice. Oh, how the almost mighty have fallen.

I recently interviewed her a month or so ago for a small movie, a little indie would-be romantic comedy called Miss Conception in which she plays a British woman who discovers she has baby fever and only one egg left. Not great, but I expected worse and in all honesty her British accent was shockingly good.

The junket for that one was at a Glendale hotel that never has junkets, so when I went in to find out where it was, the people at the main desk were like, 'What? We're having a junket?' And I had to sit in the lobby calling the publicist that hooked it up until they could figure out what room to dispatch me to. Then when I left the valet refused to accept my parking validation. In short, not the smoothly run operation that junkets are at the hotels that have them almost daily.

(Note: the interview itself was fairly unremarkable, except that we all sat around what felt like a boardroom table, which is distinctly un-LA. The most exciting part was that there was a journalist there who was deaf, so I was signing to her across the table. She seemed to think my ASL was way better than it was, so I stared at her hands trying to pick out one in 10 words and then nodded my head dumbly like I understood what was going on).

My first Heather Graham encounter was slightly more exciting. It was at the junket for Gray Matters last year, a little indie romantic comedy that wasn't as good as it hoped it would be (notice a trend here?). This was back when we were doing TV spots for the web, which basically means that you do the TV style junket with all the other TV people and then, well, it goes on the web. One day, I shall debrief you, my adoring minions, on the different types of junkets. Sadly for you, today is not that day.

Anyhow, it was a two-fer, so she was in the little room with her co-star, Tom Cavanagh (he was the lead in the TV show, Ed), and the two of them were having a delightful time together. Later on, I got reprimanded by my editor (who thinks I suck) for not 'controlling them better'. I invite you to figure out how to control two attention-loving celebs who have been cooped up in a room all morning under hot lights answering the same questions every 4 minutes on a movie that is going to have 5 viewers. Okay, perhaps I could have leapt in more, but personally, I found them entertaining. They were both very nice and very funny.

More importantly, I came in just after my friend had her slot. What you should know about said friend is that she is ridiculously gorgeous. Like, your mind melts she is so pretty. And although I would wager that she bumps up the blonde in her hair, otherwise I think it is all natural -- and that includes gigantic boobs and a waist the size of a paperclip. In short, Barbie dolls hate her. Note: the craziest thing about this friend is that you expect her to be a raving bitch because she is so gorgeous, yet she is totally nice.

Anyhow, this friend was wearing a particularly cleavage-bearing outfit that day and I could overhear them all discussing her boobs as I was waiting my turn. So basically when it was my turn, I went in and told them how she was a hard act to follow, and Heather Graham and Tom Cavanaugh proceeded to discuss my boobs. Heather felt that she would have thought mine were lovely and large, but after my friend's, well, even I had to admit they pale in comparison.

Should you be interested, the review of Gray Matters and Miss Conception, plus the TV interview from the former and the print interview from the latter should all be available on my work website.