This morning, we walked over to Mann’s Chinese Theater, film equipment in hand, to capture Christopher Walken putting his handprints in cement and being immortalized along with Bette Davis, John Wayne, and other Hollywood ilk who are embedded there. Well, that was our intention. Authorities made it impossible. “People, I’m going to have to ask you to keep this area clear,” we were told again and again in different locations. Even if we could have stood on the sidewalk directly in front of the courtyard where the event was taking place, our view would have been blocked by the scaffoldlike structure supporting a battery of photographers. We trudged to the opposite side of Hollywood Boulevard and stood behind barriers, craning our necks along with the tourists and dress-up Superman and Wonder Woman. We could barely see Johnny Grant, the unofficial mayor of Hollywood, introduce Quentin Tarantino, who talked a lot, or hear Kevin Pollak, who did his Walken impression again, or appreciate Walken, who was gone in a flash. “Why do they have these things if they don’t let you see them?” said James.
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