So Marisa Tomei was on Conan last night promoting The Ides of March, the new movie she stars in with Clooney, Evan Rachel Wood and Ryan Gosling, because he’s in everything. And at one point she told a story about the time she and Evan Rachel Wood went skinny dipping with PBS talk show host Charlie Rose — CHARLIE F*CKING ROSE — at George Clooney’s Italian villa. And Rose, according to Tomei, was the one who started the whole thing: “He instigated! He instigated!” she said.
Apparently, people — particularly old white men — just feel compelled to do crazy things at Clooney’s house. Just the other day I read this interview with CNN political analyst David Gergen in which he describes his time spending a weekend at Clooney’s place in Italy.
We were a small crew for the weekend — no Clooney girlfriends, no Hollywood — and together we had some of the most spirited times in memory. From start to finish, Clooney was relaxed, thoughtful, open, sometimes playful — and always generous. He was, I discovered, a master host. Our conversations ranged from film to politics, directing to acting, family to friends, the deterioration of civility in the U.S. to his hopes for Sudan. Every few moments would be punctuated by a funny story, a mischievous aside.
I lost track of time, but by 2 a.m. or so — when I was hammered and was reasonably certain that others were, too — we had become raucous. Out of nowhere, Clooney jumps out of his chair and starts climbing a fence that overlooks the lake below. From the top, fully clothed, he counted, One… two… and jumped. I heard three just before hit the water. Within seconds, he was challenging our masculinity. Okay, guys, let’s see your stuff. One other guest was next up and jumped. Hell, I thought, I have an early morning plane and I don’t want wet clothes. So… what choice did I have? I stripped down to my skivvies, climbed that darn fence…. And whoa, it seemed like I was 30 feet above the water. One… two… I was in the water by three. It was very dark, a little cold, but terrific. So we kept jumping.
Eventually we repaired to his kitchen in bathrobes, trying to warm up. Out came a bottle of limoncello, and the conversation flowed on until I finally crawled up to bed at 4:30.
I want to be friends with The Cloon. So bad.