Paul Rudnick

As I was watching Gods of Egypt I was so dazzled that I could only think of three words: Vegas Bat Mitzvah. While the film is set in ancient Egypt, the production design is so glorious that it reminded me of the ceremony I’d dreamed of but could only approximate, when I was turning 13 at Temple Beth Lauren in Great Neck. Sure, I had lovely floral arrangements and monogrammed cocktail napkins, but Gods of Egypt is like a late-period Michael Jackson video crossed with an even whiter Oscar Nite Best Song production number.
The story follows Set and Horus, the two warring sons of Osiris, who, like deities and pudgy Republican candidates everywhere, both want to rule the world. Set is played by Gerard Butler, in a rugged style I can only term Hungover-Divorced-Dad-Yelling-At-The-Valet-Parker. Gerard is handsome, grizzled and angry about everything, which, as with so many Scottish actors experiencing mid-life angst, makes him occasionally morph into a gleaming, winged, golden creature who looks like the hood ornament on a custom Maserati.
Gerard is especially upset by his arrogant but good-hearted brother Horus, who’s played by the dreamy Danish actor Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, whose name does sound like a chain of Scandinavian big-box stores. Nikolaj shares Gerard’s swarthy, sweaty, where’s-my-latte-and-my-agent-who-I’m-about-to-fire machismo. My favorite moment was when Nikolaj was introduced to the people of Egypt as, “Horus – Lord of the Air”, which made me hope that Nikolaj was about to riverdance, but instead he just strutted around in a streaky spray tan and a wardrobe of Donna Karan-style, work-into-evening leather wrap skirts. At one point Gerard plucks out Nikolaj’s eyes, which become glowing ice-blue crystals, perhaps to be mounted on Gerard’s stick shift, or dropped into Gerard’s tumbler of fancy flavored vodka.
Gerard and Nikolaj also battle over Hathor, the Goddess of Love, who’s played by the slinky Elodie Yung, wearing all the Golden Globe gowns which even the Real Housewives of Anywhere deemed, “a little too bachelorette-party belly-dancer.” While Hathor can use her sultry gaze to get anyone to do her bidding, she spends most of the movie trudging through swamps and conjuring up visions of the afterlife in sand tornadoes. No one ever suggests that Hathor might be the best choice to rule Egypt; she’s like Elizabeth Warren with a perpetually bare midriff and too many bangles.

During their warfare, the gods are accompanied by Brenton Thwaites as a mortal lad, seeking to retrieve his dead girlfriend, Zaya, from the underworld; when she was alive, Zaya worked as a temp for a royal architect, and together she and Brenton inspect many scrolls filled with hieroglyphs, which resemble laminated takeout menus. Brenton is always pointing to a picture of a sacred cat and announcing, “It says that the entrance to the pyramid is right here!” Zaya is played by an actress named Courtney Eaton, and I kept thinking about how great it would’ve been, if her character had been named Courtney as well, or maybe Madison of Thebes. Brenton is adorable, but with his button eyes and his asymmetrical shag, he reminded me of both young Princess Stephanie of Monaco, and Kimmy Gribler from Full House.



Eventually everyone in this movie tries to stab everyone else with a spear, as guided by Geoffrey Rush as Ra, who wears a hefty Marin County gluten-free braid and steers a golden chariot through outer space; as I’m sure Geoffrey’s business manager informed him, when the script for Gods of Egypt arrived, “It’s a job.”
Gods of Egypt isn’t quite as lustily homo-erotic as 300, where Gerard cavorted with hundreds of other Spartan bodybuilders in swirling capes and leather Speedos, and it doesn’t have Christian Bale, glowering as a goyische, hipster-bearded Moses in Exodus: Gods and Kings. But it’s still altogether wonderful, in teaching us just how difficult it is, for an actor to wear what looks like a plastic Burger King crown, and try to bring peace to the Nile, if you ask me.

My new book has been getting some extremely kind attention – there was a very nice interview with me in the New York Times today – a Valentine treat!

There have also been more terrific reviews: Publishers Weekly called the book “a whirlwind, laugh-a-minute escapade about a girl swept far outside her comfort zone, with real heart beneath the acid humor”, while Booklist called it “one riotously good read.” My favorite review may be from the delightful Maria Mei on Goodreads, who said, “FIVE STARS! I DON’T CARE! I LOVE IT.”

Reviews are always a tricky proposition, especially when they include everything from raves to snark. I included an especially snitty character in the book itself, the scary fangirl Ava Lily Larrimore. As Caitlin, one of the book’s heroines, says, “I feel bad for Ava because she’s backed herself into a corner, where nothing will ever be good enough. But I never want to become Ava, sitting at home with her arms crossed, sneering and judging everyone else, ruling from her iPad and never taking a risk or daring to enjoy herself.” Luckily, the Avas tend to be in the minority, although they never recognize themselves.

Speaking of Avas, the Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia died yesterday, at age 79, in his sleep, in Texas. Scalia had been a terror, doing active, far-reaching damage for years, to both womens’ rights and gay causes – Scalia wasn’t just bitterly opposed to gay marriage, he’d wanted homosexuality to remain a crime. His supporters mourn him, while liberals are in a quandary – should we actively celebrate the passing of such a genuinely villainous figure? I’m not sure, but I do know this: there’s something especially awful about anyone in a position of great power, who uses that power to harm innocent people.