Hollywood's release schedule is in the dry-heaves phase after a couple of weeks of heavy, Thanksgiving season reverse-peristalsis. Indulge us as we pick through last week's half-digested corn and come up with a new set of box office projections.
Buried at the end of today's Variety story on New Line's deal to buy the movie rights to the chick-lit advice manual He's Just Not That Into You: The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys is a quote that should drive struggling screenwriters to drown themselves in the nearest convenient swimming pool.
The Defamer Special Movie Premiere Food Critic's report from last night's Hotel Rwanda presentation caused us to ponder one of the industry's most pressing dilemmas: How much food does one order for a party following a movie about African genocide? Too little, and one risks a room full of disgruntled Academy voters with rumbling stomachs; too much, and the event becomes a glaring example of Hollywood excess. Luckily, such questions became moot when our critic's memories of the film's topical atrocities floated away in a river of chocolate.
Paris Hilton once again nearly shreds the fabric of the self-love continuum. Luckily, a quick-thinking salesgirl narrowly stopped Hilton from stepping between two opposing mirrors, which would have allowed the heiress to gaze upon infinite images of her admiring her own image on the shopping bag, instantly causing the universe to implode. Isn't it chilling to think about how close we are to annihilation each time Hilton goes to the mall?
· Nicole Kidman will star in the Robert Evans-produced (apparently he's making time to produce in between hottubbing with Brett Ratner and planning his Broadway show) romantic comedy Wedding Season. [Variety, sub. req'd.]
· Chris Columbus will direct an adaptation from the dregs of Marvel Comics' hero stable, The Sub-Mariner. They're not going to waste any of the good characters on Columbus. [THR]
· The always-innovative Fox picks up "Lost, but on the moon!" pilot Darkside. Prepare yourselves for their coming "Desperate Housewives, but underwater!" project. [Variety]
· New Line Cinema acquires the rights to He's Just Not That Into You, with the book's writers Greg Behrendt amd Liz Tuccillo adapting the non-fiction blockbuster bestseller for the screen. In a related story, we are planning on killing ourselves as a Sex and the City rerun plays in the background. [THR]
· Shitergy Report: NBC Universal sells the syndication rights for Law & Order: Criminal Intent for a record $1.92 mil an episode to sister company USA and sister channel Bravo. [Variety]
MTV announced yesterday that they've signed up Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson for another season of Newlyweds, but maybe they're just trying to make sure they get the relationship-ending murder-suicide on tape. Sister site Gawker has an e-mail from a PA working the Rockefeller Center's tree-lighting show that shows a marriage on its last legs—it looks like it's all over except for the flying china and attempts to invalidate the pre-nup. Here's Lachey's response to a request for extending his intro for his lovely wife:
Nick Nolte, the beloved, quirky actor you may know from his work in The Prince of Tides, 48 Hrs, or the world's greatest mugshot, is being sued by the parents of a teenage girl who was drugged and sexually assaulted at a party held at Nolte's Malibu house. Nolte's people claim that he wasn't even around for the party, but this suit has wide-ranging implications for the local industry party scene. If Nolte's found liable, it could bring down the entire underage-girl-doped-on-GHB-so-a-producer-can-have-sex-with-her-at-a-star's-mansion system, and the town's nightclubs can't handle the massive overflow from a potential house-party shutdown—they're already packed to capacity with mickey-wielding entertainment types.
—Is John Travolta on the verge of his third coming? If Jesus had been in Battlefield Earth, He'd have given up on the second coming.
—Cinemocracy remembers the story of the brave actors who stopped the city of Los Angeles from swallowing up Beverly Hills. Heroes all.
—"No, Johnson, I don't care if it's not a boot. Sew some fucking fur on it and get it into the store before we lose the ability to appall the public!"
—The folks at LA.com give birth to the ClothesHoarse blog, but we can't for the life of us figure out what it's about. Hold on, hot women in bikini tops? It's a blog about waitresses on the Strip! We're down for that.
· Had enough of Michael Moore? What, there's no such thing? Then you'll likely swoon from the vapours of joy as Moore converses with Nixon White House counsel John Dean at the Wadsworth Theater.
· Neighborhoodies, the clothing line that allows people to let the world know exactly which hipster 'hood they live in, throws a party from 6-9 pm at their Hollywood store on Sunset and Vine. Come on, you know where we're going with this: free booze and food. RSVP: mailto:love@neighborhoodies.com.
· The Egyptian Theater hosts a screening of The Aviator to benefit the Neuropsychiatric Institute at UCLA. Leonardo DiCaprio will be on hand to answer questions about Howard Hughes, and, presumably, how he manages to stay so totally dreamy in period films.
When we heard about the epidemic of Val Kilmer graffiti breaking out across Toronto, we dared to hope that the pranksters responsible were Oliver Stone and Kilmer himself, trying to build some viral buzz before our neighbors to the north learned the awful truth about Alexander. The real story behind the graffiti is somewhat less magical than our dreams of Val and Oliver, clutching bags full of stickers and cans of black Krylon, leaving their mark on a sleeping city. And yes, they're wearing togas.
We've heard that at least one network has put its affiliates on notice that Elizabeth Taylor is on her deathbed, giving them the heads-up that those creepy, sepia-toned special reports may soon be coming through. Let the major media deathwatch begin. Ghouls, all of them!
As we bring yet another installment of the Blind Item Guessing Game to a close, we'd like to pause, lightly punch our readers in the arm, and tell them how much we love them. Yes, we're quite drunk, and typing is exquisitely difficult at the moment, but we mean it this time. Quickly review One Useless Blind Vice before moving on to your answers:
Robert Evans Day continues here at Defamer, as the NYT reports that the legendary producer, not nearly satisfied that his life has been the subject of a documentary, a memoir, and a cartoon, will write and star in a Broadway show about his life. And while Evans has undoubtedly seen some truly frightening shit throughout a lifetime tearing through Hollywood, he realizes that putting himself on stage might be chilling for all involved:
· Al Pacino is looking to star in MGM's remake of Witness for the Prosecution, the 1957 Billy Wilder courtroom drama. Good move—these lawyerin' flicks inevitably provide ample opportunity for overblown scene-chewing, a Pacino speciality since Scent of a Woman. [THR]
· A day after Les Moonves crowed about CBS' sweeps victory, former NBC golden-boy Jeff Zucker dejectedly appraises his network's sweeps performance as "good but not great." NBC then announced the midseason series (like the much-delayed boxing flop-to-be The Contender) it will dump into its schedule. Please, someone confiscate Zucker's shoelaces before any of the new shows premiere. [THR]
· Hell-bent on more efficiently liquefying the brains of its young audience, The WB picks up a script based on Plum Sykes's novel, Bergdorf Blondesto develop into an hour-long drama series. [Variety, sub. req'd.]
· The Broder-Webb-Chervin-Silbermann agency finally discovers "reality television" and starts a department to rep creatives in this exciting new genre. They're still researching the financial feasibility of starting a "talkies" department. [THR]
It's been way too long since we've had any Andy Dick news to report. As far as we can tell, he hasn't been spotted crawling around on all fours and begging for drugs in clubs on either coast (or he's been much more discreet about it). Perhaps Dick's only been partying with his muse, because he's recently finished a script aimed at giving big-screen birth to his alter-ego, Daphne Aguilera, Christina's trashier sister.
Wherein we invite our readers to risk catastrophic brain injury puzzling over humpy E! gossip encoder Ted Casablanca's weekly blind item. (Blind item health tip: If you start to hear colors and your coffee begins to taste like copper, step away from the computer and take a short break.) This week, the sex is straight and the drugs for self-medication, but don't let that stop you from bringing your "A" game. Roll around in One Useless Blind Vice:
A web entrepreneur is hawking an invite to tonight's Motorola Hollywood Christmas party on eBay, an event sure to draw open-bar, goodie bag, and flashbulb-seeking glitterati in droves (last year's event featured all the usual suspects: Lindsay Lohan, the cast of The O.C., etc etc). The seller claims that this is an effort in putting a monetary value on Motorola's celebrity-courting policies, but whatever—if you want to spend at least $250 to get loaded and try to see if Paris Hilton is wearing underwear, knock yourself out. Um, anyone want to lend us a couple of hundred bucks?
The Corsair blog dutifully transcribes the minutes from the latest meeting of the Robert Evans and Brett Ratner Mutual Admiration Society. Fittingly, this new chapter in the unlikely love affair between the superannuated producer and überhack director unfolds in the pages of Interview magazine, the print media's only pure medium where celebrities can get together for orgies of admiring rimjobs, salad tossings, and mutual masturbation. In this excerpt, it's hard to tell if Evans is about to faint from the force of his own self-love, or if he can hold on long enough to be overwhelmed by Ratner's unabashed brown-nosing.
