The Glen Powell Network

15 Dec

Glen Powell’s Hot Pursuits

Photoshoots > Outtakes > Session 040

BUSTLEThe famously nice star of Anyone But You isn’t afraid to fight for what he wants.
It’s been over 24 hours since Spotify Wrapped dropped, and Glen Powell seems to be the only person left on the planet who has yet to open his. Granted, he’s had some obligations that might have taken precedence over gazing at a personalized portrait of his own music taste: celebrating the holidays (at his old friend Paris Hilton’s #Slivmas last night), filming a Twister sequel (for which he’ll decamp to Oklahoma tomorrow), and promoting his latest film, Anyone But You (via photo shoots like the one we’re on the set of today). But because Powell is a famously polite, infectiously enthusiastic, self-proclaimed people pleaser, he’s willing to undergo this intimate ritual in front of me.

itting in a rented house in Laurel Canyon — with record-lined walls, vintage oriental rugs, and imposing wood beams — Powell whips out his phone. As the slideshow begins to load, I guess what Powell’s listening data will reveal. The actor, 35, is a proud Austin native and a Texas Longhorns superfan. He’s also a writer and film nerd, who instantly recognized Francis Ford Coppola’s lesser-known drama, Rumble Fish, when it came on in the background of the shoot. A soulful, introspective guy who’s not afraid to say things like, “The older I get, the more I look at my parents with awe at the fact that it’s really hard for love to survive 40 years in this world.”

So maybe Zach Bryan will clinch the top spot? Or he’ll endear me with some Lucinda Williams and Emmylou Harris?

Alas, the first song to be highlighted is “Unwritten,” by Natasha Bedingfield. Also known as The Hills’ theme song.

“I had to learn every word of this for Anyone But You,” Powell insists as the song blares off his phone. (I can confirm it is one of the movie’s best bits.) “Oh God, that is truly embarrassing if it wasn’t.”

Exposure to soaring, feel-good anthems is one of the hazards of being America’s current Top Rom-Com Guy. His big break was Set It Up, the 2018 Netflix movie that inspired countless think pieces saying that the rom-com was back after a long drought. After that, Powell was cast in Top Gun: Maverick, which inspired countless think pieces about how Hollywood was back post-pandemic. Now he’s in Anyone But You, a modern take on Much Ado About Nothing out Dec. 22. Co-starring Sydney Sweeney, whom he was briefly rumored to be dating (he’s not), it’s a classic enemies-to-lovers tale that sees a pair of arch-nemeses reunite at a destination wedding, where they pretend to be a couple.

But you will not hear Powell dissing romantic comedies, as The Kissing Booth star Jacob Elordi did recently. That’s partly because Powell is a scholar of the genre. He grew up watching The Wedding Singer with his two sisters, who teased him for sharing a name with the film’s villain, Glenn Guglia. (“When you look at movies, Glen’s always the asshole or the weird neighbor. I’m like, ‘God dang, man.’”) One of his first jobs in the industry was working for one of Hollywood’s most accomplished female producers, Lynda Obst, who was responsible for Flashdance, Sleepless in Seattle, and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. He started off as her intern, then was promoted to script reader, where he provided feedback on the many, many rom-coms that came across her desk. He became a student of the Hollywood system, understanding what makes a good script and what he had to offer to one.

So years later, when he discovered a rom-com that he knew checked those boxes, he didn’t care that the Washington Post had recently declared, “The rom-com is dead. Good.” He put his all into landing a role in Set It Up. (The movie was also the breakout for writer Katie Silberman, who went on to be Olivia Wilde’s go-to screenwriter. Powell and Silberman are still close. “I just talked to her last night,” he says.)

“I chased Set It Up so hard. I was working with the same producers on a movie called Sand Castle, but they didn’t really see me in the role [because] I don’t think anybody in my life would summarize me as a dick. I try to treat people well.” Powell’s executive assistant Charlie had to be cocky enough to represent his high-powered venture-capitalist boss, but kind enough to be an eligible match for Harper (Zoey Deutch), a far more earnest assistant. Powell says that the aggression he brings to set compensates for disposition: “As an actor, I am best on my front foot and I think that sometimes feels dickish on screen.” Meanwhile, Powell’s natural sweetness is what makes you root for Hangman, his Maverick character, in spite of his douchebaggery.

“I always liked masculine characters that took a punch, got back up, would bleed, and still fight. I always found that the characters that I liked were not necessarily the most badass characters on screen but guys like Harrison Ford or Kurt Russell,” says Powell, whose filmography is littered with military men, including John Glenn in Hidden Figures. (A rare, good Glen.) While making that movie, Powell says, “I went to a baseball game with Kevin Costner. He told me, ‘Choose the roles carefully, because at the end of the day, people sometimes can’t discern between who you are on the screen and who you are outside the screen. So make sure those two things line up as close as possible together.”

Powell’s magnetism is not what one might call “effortless.” His charm is dogged and earnest; it lies in the care and exertion he puts into every facet of his life. It’s there in the way he humors everyone on set by talking to them about their own Spotify Wrappeds, in the obvious work he puts into his eight-pack, and in his 20-year pursuit of this moment. “Hollywood, for some people, it serves it up,” Powell says. He mentions Charlize Theron getting discovered by an agent while arguing with a bank teller. “It’s not my path. I had to kind of fight a little longer and harder for it.”

Alongside Powell on the journey were his parents, with whom he is very close. His father, Glen Powell Sr., recalls the roller coaster of emotions that he and Powell’s mother, Cindy, felt when their son lost the role of Rooster in Maverick to Miles Teller, and then found himself in contention for another part in the project. They were driving up to Glacier National Park on a wedding anniversary trip and talking to Glen on the phone when he got the news. “He said, ‘Tom [Cruise] is calling. I got to take this.’” But Glen Sr. and Cindy were about to leave cellphone range. “So we pulled down and we found a place before we crossed over into Canada and sat alongside the road for about an hour,” says Powell Sr. “Then he called us and he goes, ‘I’m going to do Top Gun!’ I mean, [we were] literally, on the edge of the road and on the edge, but you never stop being a parent.”

John Stamos, who befriended Powell after filming a shower scene together on Scream Queens back in 2015, says that Powell has also long had many cheerleaders in the industry. “We’re all just like, this guy’s going to be the biggest star. It took a while, and then he did Top Gun and we thought, ‘Oh great.’” But Top Gun: Maverick began filming in 2018; it would be another four years before the movie came out. “It was starting to get like, ‘Oh sh*t, are we wrong about this guy? We can’t be wrong. He’s too f*cking talented. He’s too handsome. He’s too nice.’ And I’m glad to see that we weren’t.”

When Stamos took his family on a trip to the Powell family ranch in Texas, he learned that Powell takes throwing parties as seriously as his career. “Every day there was some theme party with 20 to 25 people, and when we got there it was ’80s day. I go, ‘I am the f*cking ’80s. Why do I have to dress up?’ But anyway, we’re out on this pier by a lake and the dude walks up, tackles me, and throws me into the water. I’m like, ‘Why?’ He goes, ‘Welcome to Texas.’ I’m like, ‘Go find my sunglasses.’”

Back in Laurel Canyon, Powell and I make our way through the backyard, up a set of stairs carved into a hill, to the house’s on-site music studio. They’re treacherous for a reporter wearing heeled loafers, and he springs to action assessing the terrain, then hovering behind me, advising me on the best route. Later, when he finds me standing too close in the road to a sweeper truck, he gently taps me on the shoulder and advises me to join him back on the sidewalk. None of these gestures feels showy or patronizing.

Powell, who broke up with his longtime girlfriend, Gigi Paris, this spring, grows slightly wistful when talking about relationships. He’s enjoying many of the fruits of what he calls having been “relentless and ruthless up until this point in my career.” Particularly, that he can now get writing projects of his, like the forthcoming Hit Man, which he co-wrote with Richard Linklater and stars in, off the ground. But he sounds a little like Drake at his mopiest when he elaborates on how lonely it is to be single and famous. “I’ve been talking to some people in my life and they’re like, ‘Glen, you’re a single guy. I know you’re trying to do all the right things in all the right ways, but you just have to embrace that those failures will be a little more public, a little more hurtful than maybe most people, maybe a little more embarrassing, but it’s OK. But when you’re going to fall, and you will inevitably fall in love, it’ll work,’” he says. Powell is not on Raya, and he says the only person he’s sharing his bed with these days is his rescue dog, Brisket.

When I mention to Powell’s dad that it can’t be all that hard for Glen Powell to get a date, he’s not blind to the irony. “[He’s] coming from a different angle, a different experience in life,” says Powell Sr., chuckling. “It will happen, for sure, but it’s a hard thing to see from his perspective. It’s hard [for him] to know what’s real, what’s not.”

It’s clear, talking to Powell, that he isn’t just a student of the rom-com as a film genre. He also thinks the pursuit of love is a serious, worthwhile subject matter. “There’s this study where they were talking about the difference between cornerstone and capstone relationships. Cornerstone relationships are where you get married young and you grow together so the relationship is the cornerstone of that. Then there’s capstone relationships, where you become two separate strong people, and the marriage is the capstone,” he tells me. “They were talking about what is more viable in terms of longevity. And the truth is there’s no difference, right? Love is unpredictable and you don’t know what’s going to have an expiration date and what’s not.”

Powell Sr., who is an executive coach, also gets in on the relationship analysis. “Glen has always, in his relationships, asked me to do some assessments for him to better understand himself and how he’s wired, but also for whomever he’s dating,” Powell Sr. explains. The actor’s goals are “to be honest with who he is, what his strengths are, where some blind spots might be.” “But not everybody’s open to that,” Powell Sr. adds.

Recently, Powell was invited to a celebration of the Tuskegee Top Gun in Washington, D.C., where his parents lived when they were dating — and where his dad proposed to his mom during their weekly picnic at the Jefferson Memorial. And the event just happened to coincide with the 40-year anniversary of their engagement. Powell couldn’t resist. He brought them along. He served as photographer for the moment when his dad got back down on one knee. He posted his own photo, beaming in a selfie with the pair after his mom said “yes.”

“It’s really fun to see your parents be romantic,” he tells me. “I know that sounds weird, but they’re goofy and really fun.” He says his parents tell him that’s the key to a lasting relationship, making sure to enjoy each other, finding the humor even in the dark stuff. “If I could have what my parents have, I’d be really, really happy.”

14 Nov

He Is Glenough

Glen is the cover boy for the December issue of Men’s Health! Pick up a copy next week!

Photoshoots > Outtakes > Session 038

MEN’S HEALTHHype is swirling around Glen Powell, the star of ‘Anyone But You,’ but he has other things on his mind—like getting in the best shape of his life, making great movies, and maybe even . . . finding love?
It has become trite compare friendly, happy men to golden retrievers, but actor Glen Powell’s retrieverdom is clinical. This man cannot help but look warmly, excitedly, and adoringly at whoever is near. Onscreen, such as when he played Hangman in last year’s Top Gun: Maverick, the role that brought his career from a simmering breakout to a boil, he can be a dick. Offscreen, he is hopeless.

While Powell was in Australia this past spring filming Anyone but You—a romantic comedy that he will not discuss when we meet in September, out of solidarity with the actors’ strike (any reflections on specific projects included here were gathered during an interview conducted after the strike ended)—he joined his costars in taking in the sights. He got caught in the rain. He rode atop a double-decker bus. He went to the zoo and fed a giraffe a carrot. In every photo, Powell had a wide grin on his face, like a kid on a roller coaster—this, he tells me, is called “the Powell face,” and his whole family is prone to it. In shots with his costar Sydney Sweeney from their Australia interlude, along with one well-documented appearance at CinemaCon in April, he looked overjoyed—he looked, many thought, very much in love.

These photos were coupled with news of Powell’s split from model and designer Gigi Paris; specious reports from the Daily Mail of strife between Sweeney and her fiancé, Jonathan Davino (who in spite of being “photographed carrying a bag and a dog bed out of their shared L. A. home” is still engaged to Sweeney); and an Instagram post from Paris, who had evidently unfollowed both Powell and Sweeney, captioned “know your worth & onto the next.” Suddenly everyone was certain that Powell and Sweeney were having a passionate affair, chaperoned by an Australian giraffe. The evidence was in their eyes.

Except that Powell looks at everyone like that. (Sweeney, too, suffers from resting baby-bunny face.) I experience this myself on an early fall afternoon on the patio of the restaurant at Chateau Marmont in Los Angeles. It’s a gloomy day and the restaurant is thinly populated and subdued, but when Powell bounds in behind the hostess, the few other diners perk up. He’s wearing a baseball hat emblazoned with the logo of Caliwater (in which he is an investor), a Speedmaster watch from Omega (for which he is a “friend of the brand”), and a navy polo shirt from Brioni (for which he is the face of a new campaign), as well as jeans and beige suede shoes (no apparent affiliation). He looks lovingly at the hostess as she seats him, and then he looks lovingly at the server who takes his order for the first of three iced coffees with almond milk that he will consume in the next few hours. He cannot possibly be having a secret affair with all of them. His default facial expression seems to be simply “I love you.”

Getting into dick mode for Top Gun: Maverick required significant forethought and research, in fact. He and his co-star Tom Cruise discussed the role extensively: “We would watch movies and talk about certain actors that he was kind of like, what the body posture was,” he recalls. Cruise pointed out that while every other character in the room was worried about carrying out their assigned mission–a rollercoaster flight conducted at sweaty-palms speeds–Hangman had to have total confidence in his abilities, and had to be totally unapologetic about that swagger. “He was like, You as a person are very apologetic. You don’t want to hurt people, you want to treat people well, you apologize even when you don’t need to. You can’t have any of that in your eyes.”

But ack, those eyes! Powell has wild-card features. Any one of them, arranged or deployed differently, could have looked nondescript. But his mouth, with its barely there upper lip, and his eyes, with their overhanging lids, somehow come together in a face that can switch instantaneously from jocular to flinty, from sly to severe. He says he used to be concerned about his small eyes, worrying that they disappeared onscreen, but now he thinks they might be his most recognizable feature. (His abs may beg to differ.) “There was an era of actors back in the day who just all had these squinty eyes. It was like the cowboy films—the tough, steely-eyed guys.” He squints and makes his mouth into a thin line, and instantly he does evoke Clint Eastwood, looking critically at the blanched horizon. Then he reanimates back into retriever mode.

Powell is often compared with stratospheric movie stars: Brad Pitt, Matthew McConaughey, George Clooney, and Cruise (“There will never be another Tom Cruise,” he says when I bring this up: Cruise, he says, had a mechanical issue on an F-18 while shooting Maverick. “He and the pilot landed the plane with a wire,” he says. “He smiled, got out of the plane. I was like, That guy almost died, and he’s smiling.”) In recent years, streaming services have overwhelmed Hollywood, throwing more films, shows, and bright young actors at viewers than ever before and shortening the contrails of fame. Meanwhile, Marvel and its ilk have been flinging a parade of chiseled action heroes at audiences for the past decade. Under these conditions, many in Hollywood are asking what a leading man in 2023 is. But even those who can’t confidently define a leading man feel comfortable calling Powell one.

“Character actors—they can be great actors, but you might not follow them everywhere. A leading person. . . it’s just ‘I like them,’ ” says Richard Linklater, who directed Powell in Fast Food Nation (2006) and Everybody Wants Some!! (2016) and who cowrote and produced the indie film Hit Man with him. In Hit Man, which leaped from the festival circuit to Netflix, Powell stars as a nerdy professor who goes undercover as a hit man; this required him to play roles within a role. The challenge of delivering such a layered performance, he explains, is choosing moments to reveal the “real guy.” He had to litter his acting with strategic imperfections. “The audience is still oriented to the fact that this is a performance, and that there are flaws in a performance, always,” he says. “That’s sort of the joy for the audience, is wondering if he’s gonna get caught–wondering if he’s gonna get found out.”

Linklater admires how even when his character’s actions are morally questionable, Powell doesn’t lose his antihero quality. That’s the real test of a leading man, the director says—“you literally let your leading people get away with murder.”

What has been obvious to everyone else has snuck up on Powell, who has only recently started to feel like a star. For the most part, he says, the shift has been subtle, “just like the weather has changed a little bit.” But then there was the time, while he was scrolling on his phone in an airport in Atlanta, that he felt the primal prickle of being watched, and he looked up to see that everyone in the terminal (“the entire terminal,” he says; “it was like a Black Mirror episode”) was filming him on their phones. And at a concert not long ago, he noticed that the man at the urinal next to his was attempting to take a midstream selfie with him.

It was during the frenzied analysis of his photos with Sweeney in Australia, however, that he realized he had entered a new galaxy. “When all that stuff happened, you know, publicly, it felt disorienting and unfair. But what I’m realizing is that’s just a part of this gig now,” he says. The affair (“the alleged affair,” Powell corrects when I allude to it) has become another book in the vast library of fame’s small inconveniences. For now these moments don’t disturb him. He regards them as reminders to focus on what is important and real: namely, his family, his friends, and work that he’s proud of making. Yet in Hollywood, a prophecy is congealing around him. Powell is looking down at his phone, but everyone in the proverbial terminal is watching him.

At a time when the idea of the leading man seems imperiled, many in Hollywood are looking at Powell as the one who might pull the sword from the stone and define the next generation of leading actors. He has earned this attention just by being Glen Powell—pleasant, talented, funny, motivated Glen Powell. (And he is of course in amazing shape: Check out his full weekly training schedule in this exclusive workout story.) These are the prerequisites to leading-manhood, but they’re also the things that Hollywood tends to leech out of its chosen ones. As the adjustments demanded by stardom metastasize from slight shifts in the weather to full-blast tempests, can he hold fast to the qualities that make him so likable?

Powell is entertaining this complex new stratum of his career right as he is entering a complex new stratum of his 30s. He just turned 35, and this, too, has required some adjustments. He has begun to recognize, for example, that certain foods and habits make him feel like shit. He can’t drink beer like he used to. He has also seen the folly in consuming 40-plus ribs in a sitting, which he claims to have done at the Salt Lick BBQ in Driftwood, Texas.

As a small-eyed man, he explains, he has to be careful around ribs. If he eats too many. . . He holds up his fists in front of his face and squeezes them tight, mimicking puffy peepers. “I can eat so much, and I think just for me, on a health level, it’s not necessarily taking the fun out of your life; it’s just riding the brake. Because I can go nuts if I want to.” Today, because he has a photo shoot tomorrow, he is not taking any risks, eye-wise. When the server returns, he orders a hummus platter—he eats the vegetables, I eat the flatbread—and salmon. (Before shooting the beach football scene in Maverick, he tells me, he and his fellow actors ate carefully. After they had shot the scene, spending hours doing push-ups in the sand, frolicking Abercrombie & Fitch-style, and struggling to throw a football with hands slippery from coconut oil, everyone went out and celebrated with beer and tater tots. Later they learned that the camera had actually only been on Cruise all day; they would have to re-tone, re-frolic, and re-shoot.)

Dating is also more fraught for Glen Powell than you might think. The logistics of meeting people are among the “little checkpoints where the world has shifted a few degrees” with his recognizability, he points out after we place our orders. “If you talk to a girl or something like that, and you’re like, We have a really great connection, we’re having a really great interaction, and then they ask you for a selfie, it’s like, Oh. . .”

The logistics of his career can feel like another obstacle to dating. Powell grew up in Austin and has been visiting his family there often, but he is otherwise nomadic, driving between Los Angeles, Austin, and various movie sets in his Chevy Silverado High Country. “I just don’t think drinking the water of any one place for too long is healthy,” he says. (He has been thinking about buying a house in Austin or New York.) He admires Linklater, who primarily roosts in a magical outpost in Texas. But for now Powell prefers to wander the earth, “being a little uncomfortable and not letting roots grow too deep, you know?”

Sitting at Chateau Marmont, Powell looks simultaneously “of L. A.” and not “of L. A.” His polo feels decidedly un-Hollywood; the biceps emerging from it, which are so defined that they look like they’d make a wooden thunk if whacked, are ultra-Hollywood. (Powell began working with Ultimate Performance, which he calls “rip-roaring strength training,” after an ex-girlfriend profiled Kevin McHale, detailing the actor’s post-Glee transformation with the trainers.) When he first moved to California, he recalls, armed with polos and jeans—“basically what I’m wearing now”—he felt some pressure to adopt the actor uniform of the time: tank top, leather jacket, beanie. “After going through all these little identity crises, you slowly circle back to your truest form,” he says with a shrug. He tries not to spend too much time in Hollywood, because he finds that when he’s here he focuses on the fluff around the business rather than his growth as an actor. He explains this via a stream of metaphors: Angelenos are “heat-seeking missiles”; in L.A., “the chorus in your play is too loud.” When he leaves California, and particularly when he’s at home with his family in Austin, he feels that he approaches his work with more purity.

But he acknowledges that his rootlessness could be frustrating for a hypothetical wife and any hypothetical children. At this stage of his career, he says, he might get a call on any given day summoning him to Bulgaria for five months.

“That’s why I became a dog dad,” Powell says. Over the summer, the actor adopted a rescue dog named Brisket, a medley of small breeds (with, Powell qualifies, the soul of a bear) who earned his name from the white lines around his face and along his back, which resemble marbling. While shooting Twisters in Enid, Oklahoma, he saw a photo of Brisket when he had hit his “low of lows”—more likely in Oklahoma than in other places, I’ve found, there being little on the horizon to distract someone from their despair—after the end of his relationship with Gigi Paris. “I needed to put love into something. I saw Brisket’s face and fell in love.” Should he be dispatched overseas for the role of a lifetime, Brisket is more portable, in both size and temperament, than most women. But he would like to meet someone—a human—with patience for his lifestyle.

“I think that’s the thing that has been on my mind the most recently,” he says. Being surreptitiously photographed at the airport is one thing; not having the bandwidth to be a good partner looms larger. “When the sun is shining, you gotta make hay. And you gotta chase this while you got it. And on a romantic level, you gotta find a teammate who is down for that adventure, down for that uncertainty, down for that thing. It’s a lot to deal with. Honestly, I really try to be a great partner. When I love, I love hard. I also understand that the speed and uncertainty of my life is a very hard thing to put up with.”

Once Powell has finished eating, he turns himself perpendicular to the table, sinks a bit in his chair, and stretches out his long legs until he is as close to horizontal as possible while remaining technically upright. He crosses his arms, foregrounding the biceps. Our interview has stretched beyond the allotted hours, and when I ask him whether he needs to leave, he says he may have to go feed his parking meter but makes no move to do so.

He can be, as he puts it, a people pleaser, a personality type that is less tenable now that more people want more from him. “What I’m realizing right now is that you have to give yourself grace for not responding to everybody right away, and not texting everybody back, and not having to be there at every single thing. Because I was known for saying yes to three dinners in a night. I would go to a five o’clock, a seven o’clock, a nine o’clock. I would just try to make everybody happy.”

I wonder if this instinct to not be a dick is what those who extol his “leading-man qualities” are referring to, and I ask Powell about it. “What is a leading man? What is a leading woman? I don’t know—it’s not a thing,” he says with a laugh. “It’s just people who continue to work.”

I’m disappointed in the answer, and when I say so I see Powell begin cleaving for a less cynical response. “When I first moved out to L. A.,” he starts off, then he pauses for a long moment, buffering, and starts again. “When I first moved out to L. A., there was a guy named Ed Limato, who signed me.” The agent had also signed Antonio Banderas, Richard Gere, Mel Gibson, Matthew McConaughey, Meryl Streep, and Denzel Washington, Powell explains; he had looked up to Limato as a guardian angel until his death in 2010. (At that point the agency dropped Powell and left him, for two years, on his ass.) “Ed told me,” he continues, qualifying that he is almost certainly misremembering the phrasing, “the definition of a movie star is somebody you want to grab a beer with, and when you get too drunk and leave the bar, you can trust him with your wife.”

He’s describing a decency deeper than golden-retriever niceness—a golden retriever is gonna be all over your wife. Powell is friendly, to be sure, but he is also very intelligent and profoundly grounded. (He attributes this to having two sisters who lovingly but constantly check him.) He brings to mind the high school golden boy who easily drifts into the popular crowd but who is somehow immune to their insecurities and competitions. In Linklaterian terms, he’s a Pink (Dazed and Confused): the big man on campus who is still chill, still principled.

“I don’t worry about Glen at all. As far as I can tell, there’s no bad habits there,” says Linklater, laughing. Besides, Powell seems to have a genuine enthusiasm for the work. He’s now an actor, a producer, and a cowriter: Hit Man is an auspicious forerunner for future multihyphenate projects. “You gotta love it enough that you like every part of it,” Linklater adds—and Powell does. “Ben Affleck had a certain quality like that. He just thought big, even as a young man. It was like, ‘Oh, he has a big picture.’ Glen does, too.”

When it’s time to leave the restaurant, it takes a while to exit as Powell navigates a gauntlet of beautiful women. He poses for a photo with a duo at a table nearby, then stops to say goodbye to one of his acquaintances, with fabulous blond waves, and her friend, with fabulous brunette waves and a small white terrier who is fully extended on the chaise next to her, apparently dead. “He’s very old,” the woman says apologetically, as though the dog might otherwise stand to pay his respects. (Is there a more satisfying pairing than a glamorous young woman and a truly decrepit dog?) The terrier senses eyes upon him and lifts his head slightly, revealing a curly Mohawk—bold styling for a geriatric.

After a quick hug during which I, unfortunately, dissociate, Powell hurries away to finally feed his meter. I meander down to street level in a daze, then jolt back to cognizance and race back up to the restaurant. So tipsy on Powell’s charms was I that we had inadvertently dined and dashed at Chateau Marmont. I still don’t feel qualified to diagnose a leading man, but I suspect that’s a symptom.


What you bought with your first major paycheck?
“A sauna.”

Favorite book?
“Devotions, by Mary Oliver.”

Favorite book when you want to sound cool?
“[Laughing] The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand.”

Workout anthem?
“A playlist of random house music Daisy Edgar-Jones gave me.”

Frenemy workout?
“The sled. It kills you. It’s a full-body thing—it prevents you from being the guy who just wants to look good.”

Most exciting phrase in the English language?
“One thing I learned from a costar is to say ‘Here it comes’ right before a take. It’s a sense of anticipation. It’s a sense of ‘Let’s get after it.’ ”

Weirdest fan interaction?
“Signing body parts not appropriate to sign.”

Euphemism for sex?
“Smokin’ the brisket.”

Posted by jen under Gallery, Glen Powell, Photoshoots, Press
04 May

Sydney Sweeney & Glen Powell Romantic Comedy ‘Anyone But You’ Eyes Pre-Christmas Launch

DEADLINE – Sony is determined to bring moviegoers back to comedies in theaters and they just dated their Will Gluck directed Anyone But You for Dec. 15.

The trailer dropped last week during the studio’s presentation at CinemaCon.

The screwball comedy, which stars Sydney Sweeney and Glen Powell, follows two people who loathe each other so much — they can’t resist the other. The pic is set in Sydney and follows the two as they go on various vacation hijinks from falling off boats to getting big spiders down their pants.

Screenplay was penned by Ilana Wolpert and Gluck. Joe Roth produces with Jeff Kirschenbaum and Gluck. EPs are Sweeney, Natalie Sellers, Alyssa Altman and Jacqueline Monetta. Alexandra Shipp, GaTa, Dermot Mulroney, Rachel Griffiths, Michelle Hurd, Bryan Brown, Darren Barnet and Hadley Robinson also star.

The only other wide studio release on Dec. 15 is Warner Bros. Timothee Chalamet movie, Wonka.

Posted by jen under Anyone But You, Glen Powell, Projects