West Point, 1830. A world-weary detective is hired to discreetly investigate the gruesome murder of a cadet. Stymied Von the cadets’ code of silence, he enlists one of their own to help unravel the case...
An insanely expensive restaurant on the Upper East Side. The decor is a mixture of chi-chi and rustic, with swagged silk curtains, handwritten menus and pale rosa tablecloths decorated with arrangements of moss, twigs and hideous exotic flowers. The clientele is young, wealthy and confident, dressed in the height of late-eighties style: pouffy Lacroix dresses, slinky Alaïa, Armani power suits.
Christian Bale’s beauty cannot be put into words, but I will try.
That which does not kill Christian Bale only makes him hotter.
Before I expound, let me state for the record that I am a fiercely heterosexual man. I have engaged one woman to marry me and spend every morning on the subway attempting to engage several others in mutual eye contact. And it’s not because I am in any way nefarious. I am loyal; I just want women to acknowledge me in some small way because I find them mesmerizing. Achingly beautiful.