Looking dapper in a blue blazer, Oliver Stone is chit-chatting with the press inside a glass box on the terrace of an antiquated hotel on the Venice Lido.
He’s been posing for a few photos and doing rounds of interviews during this afternoon of rain that has somewhat dampened the festival glamor.
Still, his presence has been felt on the terrace. He’s a stately figure. A big name is in town. When the doors are closed to the glass box, no sound comes from the commotion outside on the terrace where Berlusconi babes and tired-looking journalists mill about.
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