“Where are we going?” I asked "I don’t know," he said. "Just driving." "But this road doesn’t go anywhere," I told him. "That doesn’t matter." "What does?" I asked, after a little while. "Just that we’re on it, dude," he said.”
Lindsay Lohan moves through the Chateau Marmont as if she owns the place, but in a debtor-prison kind of way. She’ll soon owe the hotel $46,000. Heads turn subtly as she slinks toward a table to meet a young producer and an old director. The actress’s mother, Dina Lohan, sits at the next table. Mom sweeps blond hair behind her ear and tries to eavesdrop. A few tables away, a distinguished-looking middle-aged man patiently waits for the actress. He has a stack of presents for her.
Lohan sits down, smiles and skips the small talk.
“Hi, how are you? I won’t play Cynthia. I want to play Tara, the lead.” Braxton Pope and Paul Schrader nod happily. They’d been tipped off by her agent that this was how it was going to go. They tell her that sounds like a great idea.
#LongRead. Stop what you’re doing and read this article. It’s one of the most compelling pieces of entertainment journalism I’ve read in a long time.