If it were possible to condense the hipster pixie girl trope into a human being, mold that human into a female with talent and respectability and then give her an Oscar, you’d have Jennifer Lawrence.
Hutch, as I will refer to him from now on, sort of plays the straight man to LawLaw’s crazy antics both on and off the set. He’s Dean Martin to her Jerry Lewis, except Jerry is now hot and Dean has lost his top lip. The nicest thing to know is that Lawrence is seemingly always the way we’ve seen her, at least according to Hutcherson:
“She doesn’t have a filter. No, no…She has this thing, where we would do a lot of interviews together and we’d do these roundtables where you go in and there’s like ten journalists. And we’ve had times where we go in there and do these interviews and she’ll just start talking for like five minutes and say crazy, crazy things. And then go, ‘oh sorry, don’t write that, that was off the record.’ And you’re just like ‘OH MY GOD, YOU CAN’T SAY THESE THINGS!’”
I don’t care what the press says, she can talk all she wants to me. Let’s get coffee. No romance required. I don’t even like The Hunger Games, but we can talk about my Winter’s Bone sequel. The one where Jennifer becomes a Chicago cop whose brother is killed by the mob and she has to investigate while Teardrop comes to town looking for mountain justice. It sounds a lot like Next of Kin, but there’s no Helen Hunt.
I don’t know where I’m going with this, but marry me, Jennifer.