It's not the dress, per se.
The dress is fine. It's certainly no surprise to see Cate Blanchett in a very unusual yet very metallic frock, but hey, the lady knows what she likes, and usually she has me dripping with envy. That skin! Those eyes! The clothes! Fab.
Today, though, she has me dripping with sandwiches. There's something off about her in the dress, and I can trace it to her weirdly emaciated torso. It makes me immediately want to slather with Jif any carby material I can find -- French bread, Ritz crackers, a throw-pillow -- and shove it into my mouth. Her left shoulder is particularly odd, the way it doesn't quite fit with the bodice.
Take a closer look. If you dare. Warning: may cause zombie paranoia and/or an immediate craving for potatoes.
I can honestly say I've never before looked a photo of Cate Blanchett and feared she might have a passing interest in eating my brain. I realize this is a weird angle, but still -- her eyes manage to be both dead and dead-set on a plate of deep-fried cerebellum. And she's dangerously thin.
Maybe playing Bob Dylan -- as part of what feels like a cast of thousands dropped into just that one role -- has been stressful. Maybe Cate doesn't like knowing how it feels to be on your own, no direction home, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone. Perhaps the answer was not blowin' in the wind, and unfortunately for her, neither was any creamy salad dressing. You know who can help, Cate? The Colonel. He has buckets and buckets of crispy, greasy, chickeny empathy for you, and at very reasonable prices.
* Apparently Cate is gearing up to play a cancer patient, her commitment to which might explain the weight loss -- but we still question the wisdom of an already super-thin person going to those lengths for a job. Seems a tad dangerous to us. But maybe that's just because our job lets us eat Twinkies.