It’s quiet in the courtyard bar of London’s Corinthia hotel, no other guests around, just me and a couple of waiters who tinkle glasses and wash cutlery. Suddenly, boom, a Jeff Goldblum goes off – rearranging furniture, sending quotes flying. The 71-year-old actor prowls in, light on his feet, half-dancing as if to a jazzy soundtrack only he can hear. He has in his hand an outstretched iPhone. “I was just looking at all these pictures of you,” Goldblum explains by way of hello. He waves around the results of a Google image search. “These do not do justice to your prodigious hirsute scalp.”
By that he means my hair. Goldblum, I’ll quickly learn, is articulate to the point of distraction. He is a talented gusher of synonyms and metaphors. Later in our interview, he’ll describe this love of words as something of a foible: “I string too many unnecessary, repetitive, redundant words together. There I go again!” But for now, he points to my head and says, cheerfully, “That’s a curly endive salad if ever I saw one.”
