WES ANDERSON OPENS RUSHMORE ACADEMY

DEVON – The Grand Budapest Hotel director, Wes Anderson today opened his own college for talented quirky geniuses The Rushmore Academy Educational for the Inexplicably Talented.

The school – which was inaugurated in the English village Quirkington, Devon – is a converted four story country house, the whole back of which comes away to reveal the idiosyncratic rooms within, in cross section. The ceremony was attended by Gwyneth Paltrow and Prince Charles, as well as a gaggle of White Russians and a peck of jaded jet-setting ex-wives and a bundle of Fellini-esque party-goers and drug addicts. The Royal Tenenbaums director explained:

The idea is we all have talents, but wealthy outsiders with floppy hair have more fascinating talents and are also prey to dark thoughts, which no amount of twee irony or alternative acoustic pop can successfully keep at bay. 

What is the curriculum going to be like?

There will be childlike intricate drawing, escape plans, list making, voice over, knot tying, ornithology, dog fighting, orienteering, book keeping, Asperger’s 101 and obnoxiousness. 

And who will be teaching lessons?

There will be no permanent teaching faculty as such. We hope to have visiting eccentrics occasionally offering guidance.  The pupils will be served by a small uniformed troop of Indian servants who will help their almost exclusively white wards in a post-racist way. Everything will be under the supervision of a strict but unconditionally loving matriarch with a sad rapscallion father figure (Bill Murray is already under contract) who will appear bi-annually to offer pathos and one liners. 

Rushmore, however, has stiff competition in the US where Zooey Deschanel has set up the Girls Academy for Tilting Their Heads to One Side Kookily. 

EXTRACT FROM GENE HACKMAN’S NEW NOVEL

HOLLYWOOD – In an EXCLUSIVE, the Studio Exec is proud to present an extract from Gene Hackman’s new novel Payback at Morning Peak.

Chapter One. The Old Hand Hangs up his Gun

The sun was westering over the ridge and the frickering breeze from the West held the tang of rain to come. Rubbing his almost bald pate, Geoff Hackford turned his gaze from the horizon to the task at hand, cleaning his gun one last time before hanging it up for good.

He’d fought it off for long enough: age and enemies and scar tissue had done for him, but the memories still came like so many lonely ghosts. The time that criminal Frenchie had got away, the way he’d been cheated by General Zod of the US Cavalry and even when he’d almost died rescuing those people from the capsized paddle steam The Poseidon on the Mississippi.  Surely, that had been an adventure. But time it was to sit on his porch and enjoy a conversation with the town folk who passed. Not The Conversation, but a Conversation. And if the Tenenbaum’s wanted to invite him for some chow, well all the better!

 To sleep soon. With the sun down. He too would sink, first to sleep then finally obscure rest. 

Telegram! Telegram! The urchin had slapped it into his hand and was running away before his hand had even settled into his pocket in search of coin.

He tore it open and read the words:

desperately need you back to play gruff patriarch in quirky comedy stop come at once stop expenses and 5 percent of the gross stop wes anderson stop

He laughed to himself as he replaced the gun in the holster. Maybe his fighting days weren’t over quite yet.