I'm not bitching. It's worth all this to see someone who shatters the old- fashioned feminine and reconstitutes it for today, for the benefit of the collective libido.
We're talking Drew Barrymore. More accurately, we're talking Drew Barrymore in faded jeans, leather chaps and cowboy hat. Drew has all the bases covered. Heterosexual men want her, girls want her (she's the number one lesbian pin-up). She even gets gay men going - a fairly screamy friend recently confessed to unexpected urges after watching Drew plant her lips on Sara Gilbert in Poison Ivy. Now he doesn't know whether to pen a fan letter or seek aversion therapy.
One understands. There's something about that baby face that speaks (well, whispers) to all, something beyond sex appeal and, oh dear, androgyny. It was there from the very beginning, during the time of ET and Firestarter and Cat's Eye. Then drink, drugs, boys and a string of B-movies (see Doppelganger et al) combined to blot it out. She actually seems younger now - an adolescent belatedly experiencing childhood. Perhaps that's what we're responding to. For most teenagers, life is stale: Drew Barrymore looks at life as if it were new, as if she had hope, as if there were a future to look forward to. Heading towards the year 2000, what could be a greater turn-on. . .
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