One of the joys of being an entertainment journalist is not only getting to meet some of your childhood heroes, but your earliest crushes, as well. Charlotte Rampling was, for me, one of those very crucial women who made me realize at a certain age I definitely liked girls. The movie was Orca, one of her lesser efforts, but the moment she graced the screen, it was as though I had been pulled into a vaccum. When I got to sit down with her nearly 25 years later, I had to smother the butterflies in my stomach that threatened to regress my 34 year-old manhood into that of a ten year-old boy again. Fortunately, I caught my breath. But just barely.
This article originally appeared in the June 2001 issue of Venice Magazine.
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