She's got the Midas touch! Fergie goes for gold in metallic outfit after signing up with nail polish line

She must have some rather powerful hands because everything Fergie touches at the moment concerning her career seems to be turning to gold.
After it had been revealed on Thursday that she has been offered her own line of nail polishes, the Black Eyed Peas singer stepped out in an eye-catching metallic ensemble.
The 37-year-old was seen leaving her Manhattan hotel donning shiny gold trousers as well as chained tassels on her large shoulder bag.

Golden girl: Fergie was spotted departing her Manhattan hotel with luggage en route to the airport on Thursday

She toned down the pieces with a black top, long coat and high boots but the further elements of gold featured on her buttons buckles and even sunglasses.

 

The star – whose real name is Stacy Ferguson – left her blonde locks slightly wavy and flowing as she made her way to the airport in New York.
What was evident was her always groomed hands, mainly thanks to the full-finger ring on her right index.

Metallic fashion: The star was wearing gold trousers and bag with chains dangling

She sported claw-like talons which were painted green.
Fergie was stepping out on the day her deal with the Wet 'N' Wild beauty brand called for the launch of 21-colour collection in January.
Without a celebrity ambassador until she came on board in March, they have now asked her create her own line.

Toning it down: The singer - whose real name is Stacy Ferguson - teamed the look with black boots and a coat

The year 2013 will see the debut of Fergie for Wet n Wild, according to The Hollywood Reporter.
Vice President of Marketing, Brian Talbot said: ‘She picked all the colours. After the nail sales, we decided to do a full Fergie line.’
A typical Wet n Wild nail varnish sells for less than an American dollar and even though Fergie’s cost three times that, they have sold more than the past two years of Wet n Wild’s nail polish launches combined.
The star was apparently rewarded with a surprise bonus cheque in the six figures range.

Powerful hands: Fergie is always perfectly manicured

Elle's a belle! Ms Fanning, 14, hits the right note in demure and age appropriate maxi dress at Ginger and Rosa premiere

Both she and her elder sister Dakota have been criticised for dressing in a provocative manner for their tender years.
But Elle Fanning, 14, hit the perfect balance at a screening of her new film with Christina Hendricks, Ginger and Rosa, tonight in New York.

Ethereal: Elle Fanning looked demure and rather excellent at the 50th New York Film Festival Premiere of Ginger and Rosa at Alice Tully Hall

The lovely blonde graced the red carpet in a beautiful maxi dress with long sleeves and a mish-mashed vintage inspired print.
It was fitting for the occasion and she looked stunning... but there could be no suggestion that she was dressed beyond her years.
Her make-up was simple and spun-gold locks flowed loose with a slight wave.
Ginger and Rosa tells the story of two teenage girls living in 1960s' London, and the travails of their friendship.

Oscar buzz: Elle's performance in the low-key film should see her in contention for an Academy Award, say Variety

Co-stars: Elle with Alice Englert, 18, she plays Rosa to Elle's Ginger

Director Sally Potter helms this rite of passage tale told against the backdrop of the Cuban Missile Criris and its earned Elle - 13 while filming - rave reviews.
It also stars Timothy Spall and Annette Bening.
Variety were so impressed by the youngster that they claim she should be considered for an Oscar.

Stunning: Elle's performance as Ginger in the film has won rave reviews

Jon Weisman writes: 'She delivers a performance that I would put in a tier with the finest lead female efforts I've personally seen this year.
'That's a group that alphabetically includes Marion Cotillard (Rust & Bone), Keira Knightley (Anna Karenina), Emmanuelle Riva (Amour), Quvenzhane Wallis (Beasts of the Southern Wild), Naomi Watts (The Impossible) and Michelle Williams (Take This Waltz).

A cult classic? Never! Based on the story of Scientology, The Master is topped for Oscar glory... but CHRIS TOOKEY refuses to be brainwashed

Five years after his Oscar-nominated There Will Be Blood, Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest epic is attracting five-star reviews and predictions of Oscar glory.
At 137 minutes, it’s three minutes shorter than Skyfall. But while the Bond film flies by, when The Master finally grinds to its end, you may feel you’ve sacrificed days, if not weeks, of your life.
Booed at the Venice Film Festival and the cause of audience walkouts at Toronto, it will surely suffer a speedy demise at the box office.

A feast of hammy acting: Hoffman as Lancaster and Amy Adam as his wife (far left) with fellow cult members Lorelai Hoey, Philip Seymour and Ambyr Childers in The Master

The visuals are enough to show Anderson is a director with a talent for composing a shot. Unfortunately, it’s just as obvious that he has no producer or script editor willing to pluck his sleeve at the end of a scene and murmur: ‘What, exactly, was the point of that?’
The film has been trailed as being about the founder of Scientology,  L. Ron Hubbard, and to some extent it is. Philip Seymour Hoffman plays Lancaster Dodd, alias The Master, a cult leader whose adoring hangers-on follow The Cause.
Hoffman has the charisma to make us understand why people obey him, and in his calculating wife (courageously played against type by Amy Adams) he has a Lady Macbeth able to keep the cult from falling apart, and her hubby from exploding with bloated self-esteem.
A much better film might have been made, showing how The Master formed his cult, its history and its downfall. That might have been on similar lines to Orson Welles’s Citizen Kane — or, indeed, There Will Be Blood, the portrait of a dislikeable but fascinating symbol of unfettered capitalism.
Bewilderingly, however, the film is not centrally about The Master at all. For reasons that never become even slightly comprehensible, Anderson devotes far more screen time to the least appetising of Dodd’s followers, a seedy, violent alcoholic drifter and psychologically disturbed sex addict called Freddie Quell.

A much better film might have been made, showing how The Master formed his cult, its history and its downfall. That might have been on similar lines to Orson Welles's Citizen Kane, pictured

Joaquin Phoenix plays Freddie as a mumbling Marlon Brando might have attempted to play Igor, the shambling hunchback who acted as factotum to Dr Frankenstein.
Freddie is meant to be a tortured soul looking for a father figure, but to me he looks a lot more like an actor in brazen pursuit of an Academy Award.
It’s impossible to understand why Lancaster Dodd clutches this loser to his bosom, saying: ‘You’ll be my guinea-pig and protege.’
The core of the film is the two men’s troubled relationship, but the audience doesn’t feel anything for, or learn enough about, either man. A near-total lack of character or narrative development adds to the sense of futility.
Unsurprisingly, The Master fails to make anything interesting out of  the relationship between a megalomaniacal poseur and an oafish drunk. You may wonder why Anderson ever bothered to try.
One pointless scene follows another, without one leading character having the slightest impact on the other.
Freddie never changes much as a result of Dodd’s influence, and has virtually no effect on The Cause, or anyone involved in it.
There’s no forward momentum, so both leading actors develop their roles by going further and further over the top. Some will hail this as great acting; others will recognise ripe ham when they see it.
Anyone familiar with Anderson’s previous work will spot his usual themes: the father-son relationship (central to There Will Be Blood and Hard Eight), the ability of people to form ‘families’ in unfamiliar circumstances (most apparent in Boogie Nights), and the power of charismatic, unscrupulous people to get away with almost anything, like Tom Cruise’s sex guru in Magnolia.
But this time round, Anderson seems uninterested in exploring those themes, still less in saying anything about Scientology that might annoy Cruise and other Hollywood chums.
Anderson ignores the elephant in the room: the issue of whether The Cause is a good or bad thing. The Master is neither a defence nor a denunciation of cults; all it says is that they sometimes attract weak, needy people, which is hardly news.
Much as I admired There Will Be Blood, I fear there may be something of Lancaster Dodd about Mr Anderson: a man so in love with his own voice that he expects people to worship his most sonorous vacuities. Excuse me if I am reluctant to bow down.