There's only three ways the first line in the Telegraph's love-'em-up profile of Claire Danes makes sense: "There's something about the way that Claire Danes both looks and moves that makes you instinctively look down at her feet to check that they're touching the floor." Either she and Telegraph T.V. critic John Preston have crossed the Phantom Tollbooth, where one grows down not up with age, Claire Dane's got her porcelain hands on Marty McFly's hoverboard—or Preston is making a move on milady.
He goes on:
As she walks into a London restaurant, a frail-looking, narrow-shouldered woman of 28, with wispy fair hair and porcelain-pale skin, she seems to almost glide. But there's nothing watery about her eyes with their steady hazel gaze, nor about the confident 'Hey!' with which she greets a large, hairy man who is ambling past our table....
Since the large, hairy man turns out to be Dave Grohl from the Foo Fighters and those hoverboards totally don't work at all, it's clear that Preston is angling to be the next Crudup/Lee/Damon/Dancy. Not gonna happen buddy.
Claire Danes, as any follower of Thalia and Melpomene knows, has moved to a star run in George Bernard Shaw's Pygmalion. Emily Gould actually sat through that mess and will provide her insights into Claire Bear's trademark crumpleface cry and meaty thighs later.
But anyway John Preston, she'll only be sleeping with theater critics now. Good news for the New York Times's Ben Brantley (hmm) and the Telegraph's Rupert Christiansen, bad news for you and Alessandra Stanley.
Joshua David Stein is the new theater critic for Gawker.com