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In Bad Teacher, Cameron Diaz stars as a pot-smoking, profanity-spewing, inappropriately slutty would-be molder of young minds. Footage of the June 24 comedy screened for theater owners at the annual CinemaCon gathering, where she was honored by the group as its female star of the year.
The actress sat down with EW to discuss the world’s worst educator (see the film’s NSFW curse-filled red-band trailer below), as well as her upcoming role in the Joel and Ethan Coen-scripted Gambit remake, and the fake reports that she’s making a baseball movie with boyfriend, Yankees slugger Alex Rodriguez.
ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: So we’ve got Bad Teacher, but there have also been movies like Bad Santa, and Bad Lieutenant. How about getting them to join forces in one film, like the superheroes in The Avengers?
CAMERON DIAZ: Definitely. Sure. [Laughs] We could have a series of Bads who team up. READ FULL STORY »
I miss the days when actors had bad hair days. When their coifs weren’t so coiffed, when their heads were allowed to look scruffy, greasy, crazy, unkempt. Not Robert Pattinson mousse-mussed, but genuinely dishabille. I miss the days when they could even be — maybe we should whisper this — bald. I admit that I have something of a personal stake in this. I’m a follically challenged male, and perhaps I speak for others who are losing their hair when I say that it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing if we were represented a little more often on screen, and not just by the usual character actors playing dweebish bank tellers and Internet wizards. I do like to think, however, that even if God had graced me with the Jim Morrison-on-Kiehl’s mane of Adrian Grenier, that I’d still want to stand up for a little more healthy hair diversity among contemporary Hollywood leading men. These days, if an actor is losing his hair, he isn’t allowed to show it. He’s got to be plugged, weaved, bobbed, re-strung. In effect, he’s not himself — he’s wearing a permanent costume.
In his schlocky paycheck movies, of which there are way too many, Nicolas Cage often pumps up his energy in a false, blowhard way. He glowers and throws tantrums and over-italicizes his emotions, as if trying to prove to his audience (or maybe to himself) that he’s still got it, that he really means it, man. He does the same thing in Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, Werner Herzog’s demon-rich, loopy, fascinating, and improbably entertaining remake of the 1992 Abel Ferrara dark-side-of-everything cult classic. The difference is that Cage is now doing his strenuous, bug-eyed intensity thing in character. 
