What has America done with Nicole Kidman’s freckles, and why does she no longer blush?

We’re watching the popular Netflix drama series The Perfect Couple. I should be concentrating on the beauty of the setting, Nantucket, and boy it sure is pretty. Not far from the famous Martha’s Vineyard. Playground of the rich and fabulous.

Definitely, I should be focused on the drama’s key event. A member of the wedding party has been discovered floating in the shallows, lifeless as a loofah. The body’s washed up close to the mansion that the family calls their summer home. It’s going to be a kind of Agatha Christie whodunnit, the characters appropriately vile or dodgy. Even the seagulls look suss.

Not a wrinkle, not a freckle … Nicole Kidman with Sam Nivola in The Perfect Couple.Credit: Liam Daniel/Netflix

But all I care about are Nicole Kidman’s eyes. (And the two-thirds-along false eyelashes.) They look so different. What has she done to them? What has her plastic surgeon done? Or was it in fact the make-up artist trying to illustrate that Kidman’s posh character has had “work” when really she’s just the same underneath?

Whatever the answer, she just doesn’t look like “our” Nicole. Could someone please fix this as it’s really putting me off the story. I’m worried. Ever since she left us to marry Tom, she’s been losing things. Her gorgeous curly red hair. The Aussie pluck she showed in Dead Calm. Her bottom. Tom. Her freckles. What has America done with Nicole Kidman’s freckles and why does she no longer flush or blush? Forget the murder stuff. This is the greatest mystery of all.

Yes, I know. This is Hollywood and this is what Hollywood does at the first sign of crow’s feet – and all the other face “failings” fixed by the cosmetic industry. The brow droops, bunny lines, marionette lines, nasolabial folds, elastic creases, dynamic wrinkles, mental creases ... What in the name of Juvederm is a mental crease? I thought this only happened in the brain. Turns out it’s the sad little upside-down smile emoji right under your lower lip. (Check it out, it’s not that bad.)

The American Society of Plastic Surgeons reports that Botox was “the top minimally invasive procedure of 2023, with nearly 9.5 million procedures counted in the US”. To get the “executive edge”, an increasing number of men are having a “Brotox”, while more Gen Zs are opting for a “Baby Botox”. It sounds almost as cute as a “babyccino”. It is, in fact, to stop wrinkles before they form and there’s nothing cute about that.

Love her work: Nicole Kidman with Sam Neill in Dead Calm.

When you no longer look like you or even a version of you, it’s freaky – and worse, distracting for your audience. It sounds cruel but how can we take the plot seriously when our main character’s dermal-filled cheeks are upstaging the rest of the cast? Or their nose has caved in from an attack of the rhinoplasties?

More. If everyone’s homogenised like an Ikea loungeroom, where’s the variety? Yes, all surfaces are smooth. Yes, the wood knots or skin tags have been sandblasted into oblivion. But isn’t it the wonky stuff that gives us personality? (On the subject of US shows and interior settings, how curious are the curtains in the average American home? I can’t help thinking of Scottish picnic rugs – the greenish, tartan variety. Walter White’s home in Breaking Bad IS a Scottish picnic rug. And they use a helluva lot of lampshades over there. Could dimmed lighting be the solution?)

The changing faces of older actors, mainly on US screens, spooks me in a way that their actual wrinkles never could have. Pruny-faced actors rock. They’re real and authentic and believable. Look at 94-year-old lead June Squibb in the recently released Thelma. How I’d love to have her as an aunty and sink into her unsaddled bosom when times are tough. And Maggie Smith, bless her. Imagine the Dowager Countess of Grantham having a bleph (that’s short for blepharoplasty, which is long for eyelid lift). She wouldn’t look nearly as “old money”.

I don’t mean to shame the raft of actors who’ve gone under the knife. I get it. I get the fear of looking older. It’s hard enough for us mere mortals so it must be hell for great beauties and Gorgeous Georges whose faces, in many cases, were their tickets to celluloid success. Imagine the pressure, the studio expectations, the competition from the next pretty young thing waiting to step into the spotlight.

All I’m saying, dear thesps, is think of your audience – think of yourself! – and go easy with the cutlery. A little cosmetic work, a subtle tweak here and there – so people will say, “She looks so refreshed!” – is plenty. No one wants to be famous for their “work”. They want to be famous for their work, if you get my drift.

US casting director Risa Bramon Garcia has some sage stage advice: “Take ownership of what you look like rather than conform to some deformed image society is dictating … You’ll have a much better chance at being seen, being wanted, and a greater prospect of longevity as an actor.”

Andie MacDowell has seized this idea and run with it. In Netflix’s Maid, she plays the wonderfully unhinged-when-not-on-meds mother (and real-life mum) of the main character, actor Margaret Qualley. MacDowell’s famous dark mane is grey now; she has crow’s feet and laughter lines. And she’s never been so appealing.

Jo Stubbings is a freelance writer and reviewer.

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