Jennifer Connelly is about to get…carded? It is 9:00 p.m. on a Thursday night, and she is on her way into Union Hall, a cavernous, crowded bar with indoor bocce courts in her neighborhood in Brooklyn. Just inside the door is a bouncer sitting on a stool who looks like he hasn’t smiled in 20 years. “Can I see some I.D.?” he says, oblivious of the fact that he is asking a 36-year-old Oscar-winning movie star to prove who she is. She reaches into her bag, fishes out a wallet, and hands over her driver’s license. As he studies the picture and then looks at her face, her eyes dart self-consciously around the room in the hopes that no one, including me, is noticing this slight bit of embarrassment.
Connelly sits down and joins me at a table just past the door and orders a vodka and soda. She is wearing wide-leg, almost hippie jeans, a peasant blouse, and a pair of jewel-encrusted high-heeled sandals. Her hair, which is nearly black, looks as if it has been ironed straight. She has around her neck a turquoise pendant in the shape of a Chiclet; delicate strands of gold dangle from her ears. “It doesn’t surprise me at all,” she says of getting stopped at the door. “It’s a real mixed bag: Some people have no idea who I am or what I do. You know, I can come in here and get carded. I ride the subways. It doesn’t always work out, but most of the time I don’t have any trouble.”
more at vogue