Yesterday, we noted that Katie Holmes' unimpressive turn in Thank You For Smoking was virtually the only one not pimped for awards consideration by Fox Searchlight on their screener for the film, but today Page Six reports that "sources close" to Holmes (read: scrambling publicists) claim that the decision to leave her off the list was her own:
A reader just submitted this scan of the Thank You For Smoking awards screener, lamenting that the conspicuous absence of Katie Holmes among those offered For Your Consideration (an omission made even more glaring by the inclusion of pretty much everyone else who spoke a line in the film) almost certainly ruins her chances for a "Least Convincing On-Screen Fucking of the Year" nod at the Independent Spirit Awards. While disappointing, it's not surprising that Fox Searchlight hasn't chosen to back the actress's performance, defined by the scene of clumsily executed, well-clothed carnality that famously and mysteriously disappeared from the movie's Sundance screening ; executives there are probably as put off by the idea of Holmes' Cruise-era, contractually mandated, one-cursory-mating-session-per-billion-years sexuality as we all are, and don't want her baggage tainting the other deserving candidates from their film.
In industry known for its blind adherence to its centuries-old caste system, there is perhaps no group more woefully disenfranchised than its Armani-clad, blood-extracting agent underclass. (See? There we go reinforcing the kind of systemic bias keeping them down.) Sure, they get their ten percent of the hard work of the creative types who actually "make" the movies, but what they really want is respect, the one aftermarket option they can't buy for their BMWs, no matter how effectively they sweet-talk their dealer. The Envelope calls attention to their struggle to finally gain the awards season voice that the Motion Picture Academy has cruelly denied them for so long:
Borat's popularity grows overseas, with the movie taking in $17.7 million over the weekend at the foreign box office, including $11.5 million at 426 British theaters. Despite the film's instant international success, Fox still has no plans to induce riots in Kazakhstan by showing the movie in Borat's much-maligned homeland. [Variety]
Desperate Housewives is Sunday's most-watched show, but a strong performance by NBC's Sunday Night Football may give the beleagured network the win for the night once the final ratings come in. In the event of a Nielsen victory, NBC will strongly consider shifting to a primetime schedule consisting of nothing but football games (high-level negotiations with the NFL for revolutionary Every Night Is Football Night In America broadcasts are ongoing) and Deal or No Deal. [THR]
Awards Season Art Film Platform Release Mania! The Queen, Volver, and Babel perform well over the weekend, rolling up gaudy per-theater averages at their strategically limited showings. [Variety]
The budget-slashing NBC gives midseason sitcom The Single's Table a no-confidence vote, cutting back its order from 13 to 6. [THR]
· CBS rescues the comedy pilot the The Papdits from development hell, consigning it to a slightly higher circle of its network Inferno, an online run on their Innertube broadband channel. [Variety]
Ellen Burstyn has finally commented on the bizarre turn of events that saw her receive an Emmy nomination for a 14-second performance in the HBO movie Mrs. Harris (she lost, to co-star Cloris Leachman). Refusing to downplay the controversial nod, Burstyn only hopes, as any top-of-their-game athlete would, to shave a few seconds off her best personal time at next year's meet. The AP reports:
A press release in our inbox alerting us to the upcoming nomination announcements for the 33rd Annual People's Choice Awards isn't typically the sort of thing we would bother mentioning, regardless of how thrilled we may be at the prospect of George Lopez getting the popular recognition he so richly deserves as one of America's Favorite Television Actors. But something about the lineup chosen to read this year's nominees struck us as noteworthy:
It's time again for studios to clog the mailboxes of awards voters with their screener DVDs, but this year, some are sending out two versions: plain ones featuring just the movie itself to groups that are uptight about superfluous goodies influencing their principled voters, and fancier ones with extras and nice packaging for associations with looser reins on their swag-whoring membership. [Variety]
The Wachowski Brothers will write and direct a big-screen adaptation of Speed Racer for Warner Brothers. Are they still "brothers"? We've kind of lost track of where they stand in the gender reassignment process. Oops, there we go again, distracting people from the work with some salacious personal stuff. Apologies. [THR]
· We thought that all of the getting-high-and-gorging-on-junk-food questions raised in Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle were sufficiently addressed in the first movie, but we were obviously wrong, as a sequel is now in the works. This time around, the toke-happy pals will be suspected of being terrorists after trying to smuggle a bong onto their flight to Amsterdam. [Variety]
With an episode powered by a completely unexpected plot twist in which its titular, wisecracking doctor makes a crazy diagnosis that was later proven to be accurate, House returned to the Fox lineup with the highest demographic rating of the night, but still lost to Dancing with the Stars in total Tuesday night viewers. [THR]
· Var introduces new blog Wilshire and Washington, which will cover the intersection of entertainment and politics, as illustrated by incidents in which people toss liquids at Barbara Streisand for expressing negative opinions about the President. [Variety]
We realize that stumbling upon an unwanted Emmy statuette on Craigslist is about as rare and momentous an occurrence as, say, wandering into the Hyde ladies room on any given night and hearing a voice that sounds a lot like Lindsay Lohan's shouting, "What the hell did I do with that second baggie?!" Still, for some, the trophy carries a great deal of significance—Jeremy Piven, for instance, who's rarely been seen further than five meters from his own since winning one back in August, even breaking it out to use as an impromptu drum stick whenever the urge calls to hit the skins at a local rock club. That said, we're happy to pass along this most recent posting to the ever growing "los angeles craigslist > for sale > awards > emmys" section:
Today's LAT profiles Bobby producer Edward "But My Parole Officer Called Me Michael" Bass, whose shady past in mail fraud, Oscar gala guest-list deception, and poetry contest judging irregularities may be coming back to haunt him now that there's awards buzz around the movie, especially since Bass's clashes with director Emilio Estevez (writing that never feels quite comfortable, as much as we revere Men at Work) resulted in him being tossed off the movie. The Times kicks around some of the bones in his closet as Bass laments an inability to leave the past behind:
TVPredictions.com annual Swanni Awards are a purely aesthetic competition, fêting the best and worst in celebrities' complexions when viewed through the unforgiving filter of a high-definition broadcast. As with any Hollywood trophy ceremony, there are bound to be blatant oversights: Passed over for an HD Horrible this year is Battlestar Galactica's Cmdr. William Adama—aka Edward James Olmos—edged out once again in the Best Male Craggly Facial Terrain category by perennial favorite Ray Liotta. This year's top eyesore and eye candy awards went to:
When the trench warfare of the Oscar campaign season commences anew, there is perhaps no better person for an actress to have in her, ahem, foxhole than Harvey Weinstein, the ruthless, battle-scarred warrior of countless awards skirmishes. The Envelope's statuette-fondling Gold Derby blog notes that Weinstein will probably channel his For Your Consideration bloodlust on behalf of Sienna Miller, star of Factory Girl, though another member of his harem of skinny, blonde war brides might also enjoy his affection:
High Times' annual Stony Awards might not carry the same patina of prestige of some of the better known industry accolades, but it is the only Hollywood trophy ceremony to recognize excellence in the chemically-induced- paranoia-and-munchies screen arts, thus making its nominations announcement a noteworthy event. Among the many deserving performances singled out for achievement in stoner "acting" this year was Luke Wilson's tour-de-force turn in The Family Stone, for which he was required to get baked enough to convincingly find Sarah Jessica Parker hot. Other nominees included:
This weekend, actor, director, and oft-photographed househusband Ben Affleck took an important step in reclaiming some buzz for a once-promising career stalled by a blow to the head from James Gandolfini's shovel and ill-advised participation in various, doomed J. Lo-centered endeavors, as Aflleck's turn as Hollywoodland's suicidal TV Superman George Reeves won the best actor award at the Venice film festival. But the The Envelope's Gold Derby blog notes that stay-at-home dad Affleck probably shouldn't start arranging a nanny for Oscar night quite yet:
It looks like Jon Stewart's streak of consecutively hosted Oscars telecasts is going to end at one, as the Academy has this afternoon announced that it's repossessed his tuxedo pants and already handed them over to his successor, daytime television's most nonthreatening, proudly uncloseted chat-lesbian, Ellen DeGeneres. And if the level of humor presented in the press release is any indication of what DeGeneres will bring to her hosting duties, America should brace itself for a magical evening of semi-amusement:
We conclude our coverage of the VMAs with a look at the coifs and tonsures that make us realize this is truly the best of all possible worlds. Warning: Do not look directly at images.
We don't want to oversell it, but this may very well be the single greatest video ever posted here to Gawker. Turn your audio up to ten, please.
We're gonna go ahead and say that this doesn't require a whole lot of explanation. Except for that whole WTF? thing.
We were at the gym kind of late last night, running on the elliptical trainer and watching MTV on the personal TV, because THAT IS HOW WE ROLL. We were just in time to catch Beyonce's performance at the VMAs. Did you catch it? We will describe it for you: all these sirens go off because it is an emergency, a DANCE EMERGENCY, and then Beyonce is lowered to the stage? On a rope? With the most serious look on her face? But like, sexy-serious? Wearing a giant tan trench-coat? We actually laughed out loud and said "This is the most retarded thing we have ever seen" to no one in particular. It's shit like that that makes us stay away from shit like that, which is why we sent Gawker Correspondent Neel Shah to the actual proceedings, because THAT IS ALSO HOW WE ROLL.
While Jeremy Piven had the liver-pampering foresight to arrange corporate sponsorship of his post-Emmy ceremony alcohol needs, guests at the TV Academy's Governor's Ball seeking to distract themselves from the angel-shaped void in their lives through the magic healing power of free liquor were unpleasantly surprised to discover that getting a good buzz on was going to cost them. Kudos-crashing LAT reporter Richard Rushfield overheard at least one gripe from a displeased attendee:
