In a predictable volte face, Kevin Spacey has now decided that movies are still important to him and he will return as Lex Luthor in Superman: Man Of Steel, as foreseen by your reliable media clairvoyante only a few weeks ago. Feel free to send me your pathetic attempts at apology.
Remember how I laughed at Spacey's claim a few weeks ago that he'd be shifting his focus on theatre production, away from movies - "I don't care about my personal acting career any more. I'm done with it" - that's what he actually said in an interview with ITV's London Tonight. Subsequently The Times reported that the actor had used the word "retirement" (from film acting) in the interview - this he denies in a phone chat with Daily Variety - "Theater is the No 1 thing in my life. But I love movies and will continue to make movies when I can," he says now. It's a more sensible mantra.
But my God! You mean to say one of the most prestigious of the dead tree media, in the world, made up a quote? Oh my! I never thought I'd see the day. I think The Times should consider suing him for libel. I'm sure he'll have more sense than bother the Press Complaints Commission - an organisation of toothless, methane emitters, lunchers extraordinaire and corrupt scrotes, full of anecdotes shared with the drunk fantasists who edit our nation's dead tree sheets.
More troubling is the news that Spacey is appearing in Nick Moran's Telstar, all about '60s record mogul Joe Meek. Is that the song of a turkey farm ringing in my ears? The last time Moran had the misfortune of encountering Arcati (in Cannes) I nearly destroyed his career and certainly earned him the eternal enmity of Vinnie Jones - one of my finer minor moments. I won't go into the details now.
Meanwhile, Spacey is so up his movie career, he's got two other films coming out in the next few months - Fred Claus (more turkey song) and Robert Luketic's 21, in which he plays an MIT professor who teaches his students to count cards. Never mind, Superman will keep the popcorn hot.
His Lex Luthor brings out the inner camp that resides with him, as Stanislavsky might say.