· Sundance director Geoffrey Gilmore complains about an entertainment industry first: They have too much quality in this year's festival! They may be forced to burn several "must see" entries for warmth on the streets of Park City or go insane from their embarrassment of cinematic riches. [THR]
· Matt Damon, determined to typecast himself as Hollywood's greatest superspy, eyes the lead role vacated by Leonardo DiCaprio in the Robert DeNiro directed The Good Shepherd. [THR]
· Harold Ramis and Owen Wilson team up to write and produce an untitled "historical comedy" for Sony. We knew there was still room for another reworking of the Alexander story. [Variety, sub. req'd.]
· Pamela Anderson is attached to star in a Steve Levitan pilot about a woman with a weakness for bad boys. Also, she has huge, fake tits and is battling hepatitis-C. At least Levitan seems to know what he's doing: "[P]eople sense that deep down, beneath the sexy image, there is a grounded and likable person who they occasionally get to see naked." [Variety]
· Kinsey and Sideways grab nominations for IFP Independent Spirit Awards, which everyone will forget about when they're nominated for Oscars. [Variety]

Say one thing about Oliver Stone's glorious flop-epic, Alexander: People are still talking about it. Now that the media's burned itself out talking about Alexander's moony stares into his lover's eyeliner-encircled baby blues, the disappointing lack of graphic eunuch-fucking, and Colin Farrell's follicular adventures with bleach, Angelina Jolie (perhaps the only good thing in the movie, excepting Rosario Dawson's sex scene) has now come under scrutiny. The LAT rounds up some of the prominent theories about Jolie's accent of mysterious provenance:

For reasons completely unknowable to anyone who hasn't woken up next to one-half of a birdlike multimillionaire 'tween-entertaining industry, lovelorn moglet David Katzenberg still pines away for his eating-impaired soul-mate, Mary-Kate Olsen. In fact, he was recently spotted here in town, ostensibly trying to stage one of those cute, "accidental" meetings with his ex, the kind that are a staple of romantic comedies and restraining orders both. Instead, the heartsick Katzenberg wound up locked in heated eye-combat with her current paramour.

The Curious Case of Julia Roberts' Premature Twins has been cracked wide open by that paragon of investigative journalism, the anonymous Craigslist poster:

A reader from across the pond corrects the American media's references (and ours) to Harvey Weinstein as "Sir Harvey" after he was recognized as an honorary Commander of the British Empire last week.

—Drew Barrymore on father John Barrymore, who died earlier today: "He was a cool cat. Please smile when you think of him." We're not sure if that will make the headstone, but a nice sentiment nonetheless.
—The list of famous people Paris Hilton's hasn't fucked shrinks yet again. Also, (yawn) Paris is spotted in a (yawn) gay (yawn) bar.
—Foot-mirrored sister site Fleshbot offers a highly suspect Britney Spears upskirt photo for your debunking pleasure.
—Towleroad proudly presents Colin Farrell's Man on Man Movie Kiss Manual.

We really can't read enough about the Great Publicist Shitcanning of 2004, in which PMK/HBH's beloved Leslee Dart lost a bloody power struggle with Pat "The Iron Flack" Kingsley. At least Kingsley maintains some perspective on her life's work during her and Dart's unfortunate parting:

· Haven't had enough of Michael Moore in 2004? Want to get close enough (but not too close, he's got bodyguards) to touch him? America's favorite bullhorn-wielding documentarian/polemicist is sure to divide crowds at a Q&A following a screening of Fahrenheit 9/11 tonight at the Eqyptian. Actually, it's Hollywood, so he's probably going to be carried out on everyone's shoulders as confetti drizzles down. The Funkyjenn Gazette has instructions on how to get into the screening. [via LA.comfidential]
· Everclear, a band we're almost certain broke up five years ago, plays the House of Blues. A good option for musical mystery fans looking to get to the bottom of this.
· The two-day celebration of Godzilla's 50th Anniversary ends with a screening of Godzilla Final Wars at Grauman’s Chinese Theater. We regret to inform you that you've already missed the ceremonial destruction of Tokyo.

The disaster that is Alexander moves the anonymous troublemaker behind the Query Letters I Love blog to take a respite from posting the insane pitches of aspiring screenwriters to rail against Colin Farrell:

At the Closer premiere, David Geffen explains to Sony head Amy Pascal that the Gay Mafia's stylists have decided on a lumberjack motif for this winter's uniform.

A reader is momentarily appalled that a drifter was about to defile one of the most holy retail destinations in Beverly Hills, then realizes that the offending vagrant was merely an actor with a hobo's fashion sense:

· NBC president Kevin Reilly tears up with Nielsen nostalgia watching the network's Seinfeld special and realizes just how shitty sitcoms have become. He then vows to find out the "rules" so that he can break them...by setting future shitty sitcoms in wacky places like retirement communities and trailer parks. We can't wait to enter this brave new world filled with endless laughter and originality. [THR]
· Surrender now before Desperate Housewives decides dominating the ratings isn't enough and sends Teri Hatcher to eat the nation's first born. [THR]
· Murdoch underboss Peter Chernin's sweetheart contract allows him to bolt Fox for Disney should the opportunity arise. Other provisions in the contract give Chernin truckloads of cash and stock options in severance, grant him a six-year production deal, and compels Lachlan Murdoch to serve as his butler for "as long as he's needed." [Variety, sub. req'd.]
· NBC promotes Mitch Metcalf to VP of programming planning and scheduling, where he will quickly be devoured trying to solve the Must See TV problem. Sadly, the only solution is begging Les Moonves for a job. [Variety]
· Mandalay Entertainment options the film rights to the as-yet-unpublished chick-litty how-to guide The Hookup Handbook: A Single Girl's Guide to Living it Up. We often facetiously use this space to pray to God to quickly and painlessly end our lives, but this time we're serious. We can only hope the afterlife has no books with neon covers and tips on "how to get him to call you back the next day." [THR]

The Sunday LAT chooses "middle class" actor Michael O'Neill as a representative of the throng of steadily-working-but-still-struggling thespians whose very existence is threatened by Hollywood's New Order of reality TV programming and escalating A-list salaries. While not having "The Conversation" with their families (about when to abandon their Tinseltown dreams), the middle class actor is given to concocting crazy scenarios in which the world's Tom Cruises magnanimously sacrifice part of their quotes to save their lower-paid brethren.

Tagged onto the end of a NYT story describing director Wes Anderson's bid to bring his trademark quirkiness (read: small budget, small box office) to a mass audience (read: big budget, big box office) with The Life Aquatic is one studio executive's key to staying viable as an auteur in Hollywood:

We certainly don't expect much from the grunts writing headlines for CBS's celebrity coverage, but this one would look bad even on E!'s relentlessly punning website. In fact, the "Pretty Mother" thing is so offputting that we're momentarily distracted from her new twins' inevitably semiretarded names, Phinnaeus and Hazel (a mere 3 on the Retarded Celebrity Baby Names Scale, where 1=James Broderick and 5=Apple Paltrow), which we think she may have stolen from Madonna's Kabbalah children's book. We wish Roberts and her toothy infants all the best, and hope their pre-arranged paparazzi photo shoots go as smoothly as possible.

Awaken from your three-day turkey coma and head towards the light of the weekend box office numbers. (These are three-day weekend estimates, not super-sized five-day grosses.)

A Fark Photoshop contest wonders what would happen if the Mac was really a cult—and you can't say "cult" without invoking L. Ron's Kids. God, that's so creepy we're going to bury our iPod in the backyard right now.

A reader's series of celebrity sightings on the eve of Thanksgiving confirms that the famous are just like us: They know that a crippling hangover is a wonderful buffer for all of the family drama that unfolds over a day pounding down turkey.

Please join hands with us and give thanks for this week's sponsors, without whom we would've been eating our Thanksgiving turkey at the shelter...again. If you'd like to advertise on Defamer and reach the internet's most spend-happy consumers, see our ad info page.



· Rockstar Games: Grand Theft Auto San Andreas

· Glarkware

· Tylenol Ouch: Free Ron Rege Jr. Vinyl Toy

By nearly all accounts, Oliver Stone's Alexander is a huge, nearly unwatchable mess (all for the bargain price of $160 million). The NYT's Manohla Dargis runs down a partial checklist of what went wrong with the epic: