We needed a little time today to digest our feelings after the miserable box-office showing of Meet Dave, whose free-fall over the weekend resulted in the ugliest opening of Eddie Murphy's career. Not having seen it, we have to assume that $5.1 million gross aside, the film is at least superior to Norbit (not to mention Vampire in Brooklyn, Pluto Nash and a sprinkling of other Murphy misfires over the years). We'd even venture to say it'll be better than Beverly Hills Cop IV, the PG-rated abomination to which Murphy and Brett Ratner are attached for Paramount. Certainly it's better than The Love Guru, whose own beleaguered comic icon Mike Myers nevertheless had flowers and a thank-you note on Murphy's porch by sometime Sunday afternoon.

Let this evening's installment of Defamer To Do's be a lesson to all of you who complain that Molly McAleer never asks the hard questions in her nightly videos. Her work tonight makes Carl Sagan's work on Cosmos look positively elementary. Enjoy!

It’s always fun when a Shiny Happy People show like Full House, The Partridge Family or The Brady Bunch is unveiled as a breeding ground for future meth addicts, domestic abusers, and on-screen mother/son duos still bitchily feuding decades after their stars have burnt out. And the Brady cast is by far the most over-achieving bunch of fuck-ups to efficiently destroy any warm and fuzzy associations we may have had with that humorless bundle of 70s saccharine. Following Jan and Marsha’s fictional sibling rivalry leading to a non-fictional lesbian porn, little Cindy Brady showed up to a radio interview last week reeking of vintage wine and memories, excusing herself to vomit during commercial breaks. And now, reality trainwreck Christopher “Peter” Knight has taken down the last remaining beacon of Brady light, Florence Henderson, by involving the (until now) scandal-free actress in a messy online war of words:

Stop us if you think you've heard this one before, but we've repeatedly stumbled upon cocktail chatter lately in which the topic of Juno—the Oscar-winning 2007 teen pregnancy movie that ushered in a whole generation of pact babies—has come up. More specifically: that there exists a 2005 movie from Korea, called Jeni, Juno, about high school sweethearts who conceive and see their baby to term. According to the movie's Wikipedia entry, Juno screenwriter Diablo Clody was unaware of the other movie's existence when she wrote her screenplay. We've posted the trailer above, with some helpful translation courtesy of Molly McAleer. Beyond the title and basic premise, we think you'll agree the two films couldn't be more different.

It's arguably the most anticipated movie of the last five summers—the second installment of a rare franchise resuscitation, helmed by a maverick suspense master with nary a misfire to a short but stellar career. Weak links would be replaced. Tragedy would strike. And then a lucky few got to see it, instantly dislodging an avalanche of superlatives. The Dark Knight has, until now, been enjoying the best advance word-of-mouth of any release in a surprisingly bountiful mind-candy season that included Iron Man and Wall-E. In fact, it's until only recently been coasting at an astonishing 100% Rotten Tomatoes score. What changed? Two Daves of note filed their pans: The New Yorker's David Denby (who just lavished his highest praise upon Hancock, so take that for what it's worth), and New York's Dave Edelstein. The cumulative effect of the Dave-naysaying? A sizable dent in the dark armor, with the movie's RT score tumbling to 88% at post time. As for our worst fears—that Ledger isn't posthumously Oscar-worthy, just hammy from the grave—Edelstein confirms every last one of them after the jump. We're seeing it tomorrow, after which we'll try to get our Defamer Instant Review up as quickly as possible, for those who are just dying to know how categorically good this movie is, in easy-to-digest IM format.

Service With a Smile: More than a little blandness was bound to result from any overlap of Playboy and The Olive Garden, an illegitimate union no one (least of all us) quite saw coming. But then Kendra Wilkinson dragged her leftover fettucine alfredo to the Playboy Mansion in a porn-y April plea to servers nationwide: Send in your pictures, ladies, and you could be chosen as one of Playboy's Girls of Olive Garden! We have no idea if any of the women featured in the resultant Web pictorial are actual waitresses at the nation's least-convincing Italian chain eatery, but just in case: Let's all salute "Amy," the pride of the OG in Arcadia, having reached the pinnacles of both the local food service industry and international Web smut in less than three months. And to think we never believed that the Olive Garden's Culinary Institute could take a girl places. We're kind of happy to be wrong, though. [Playboy via Goldenfiddlr]

Poor little Vivienne Marcheline Jolie-Pitt. Not only does she face a future of scratch marks on her chubby cheeks wielded by notoriously jealous Zahara, but the female half of the Chosen Twins has to compete with older sister Shiloh for a spot on Hollywood’s Best Dressed Little Girls list. OK! has released their juvenile version of Mr. Blackwell’s annual rundown, awarding gold stars to everyone from newborn Harlow Madden, with her “mix between chic and rock,” to 2-year old Shiloh’s ability to “navigate the line between girly glam and tomboy cutting edge.” Yes, well done, Chosen One. What skill and grace it must take to lie back, spit up a few gaga goos, and wait for personal dresser Brad Pitt to equip you with a pricey new cashmere-and-diamond onesie. The rest of the list, including the mag’s pick for #1 most fashionable little doomed diva, after the jump.

Dynamic duo Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson attempted to blend in with the guests at Chateau Marmont. The inseparable pair had noticed that a majority of the guests at the legendary Hollywood hotel were dressed in a similar manner, but they were quickly spotted in a sea of hipsters. While sitting in the lobby, the twosome concluded that maybe if they venture to less profile locations like Eagle Rock or Long Beach they'd go unnoticed, but they quickly realized that there wasn't anything to do beyond the West Side.

We don't know how many more young Hollywood power-couple breakups our hearts can bear: Days after learning that Drew Barrymore would never again look the Mac Guy in his built-in iSights, cooing, "You're so unbelievably special and have a huge, amazing heart. You really do have the soul of a manatee—free and strong and beautiful," out of the side of her mouth, comes word now that Sarah Silverman and Jimmy Kimmel's open-fucking-relationship is no longer. (Sure, this seems like Matt Damon's perfect opportunity to swoop in and bag the potty-mouthed Jewess of his dreams, but we'd argue that it was the illicit nature of their mini-bar rendezvous that really fueled the affair. Now that she's available, we doubt we'll be hearing any musical odes to fat Damon moustache rides.) While their flacks would only offer, "Jimmy and Sarah will have no further comment," usmagazine.com spotted Silverman with "a male friend" at WeHo bruncherie Hugo's, where they obsessively chronicled her every menu choice, facial expression, and A-list tableside condolence:

While the French and those who somehow love them celebrate yet another Bastille Day, July 14 has even more festive repercussions around Defamer HQ and Hollywood at large. To wit: Megaproducer/amateur publicist/career advisor Joel Silver was born on this day in 1952. The pride of South Orange, New Jersey, Silver made his first impact in 1970 as the co-creator of Ultimate Frisbee and never looked back. NYU Film School preceded his journey west, followed by an assistantship (and eventual partnership) with producer Lawrence Gordon and, before long, his own shingle — Silver Pictures, the epicenter of bullying, intimidation, projectile paperweights and bona fide blockbusters like Predator, Die Hard, Lethal Weapon and The Matrix. The flops came as well, including Hudson Hawk, Richie Rich and House of Wax — the latter of which is avenged in a little tribute video we cobbled together after the jump.

While out with friends in Venice over the weekend, Vince Vaughn was brought up to speed with celebratory hand gestures. The Rudy star felt the need to high five after joke he made, but his friend told Vaughn that all the kids pound it or bump knuckles these days. The friend quickly taught the basic elements of pounding to Vaughn which he enjoyed. Vaughn said, "I can see why everybody likes this. Cuts down on the germs."

· Meryl Streep dazzles foreigners with her ability to perform the splits in mid-air, as the early international release of Mamma Mia has audiences around the globe wishing every paternity test could be set to the infectious pop-standards of ABBA. [Variety]
· GLAAD pats ABC on the head for being gays-friendly, but FX is still the most transgender-curious network on basic cable! [Variety]
· Greg Berlanti signs a five-year deal with ABC Studios, where he'll continue to oversee his current three series Brothers & Sisters, Dirty Sexy Money and Eli Stone, while helping the studio in their ongoing mandate to borrow great foreign show ideas. [THR]
· Jon Heder and his identical twin Dan are producing Loudermilk, about "a Napoleon Dynamite-like oddball who becomes contaminated with a substance that gives him what might arguably be considered superpowers." Great World of Sound writer/director Craig Zobel has been hired to attempt to make it not suck. [THR]
· DVD and Blu-ray Disc sales and rentals are doing strongly despite the rest of the economy floating in the Andy Gump. [THR]

As with any story involving Lindsay Lohan, we have good and bad news to report. We noted back in March that the queen of all things Lesbian Chic would finally follow in every other bored starlet's wobbly footsteps and design a clothing line. And, being the non-traditionalist that she is, Lohan intended on sticking to leggings. Which made sense, considering the practical usage of leggings when taking a walk of shame, in need of a secure and moisture-proof hiding place for substances, and stretching out one's legs while passed out in SUVs. And leave it to Lindsay to turn the otherwise boring piece of clothing into a racy collection of pieces custom-made for any girl looking for a comfy place to rest her knees mid-blow job. Not to mention a surefire way to slip on a pair of "ankle gloves" and alert every male within 30 miles just how eager you are to spread said ankles:

The revelations unfolding this summer over at Diddy Blog — your home for crystalline cultural commentary by P. Diddy himself — have enlightened us on subjects ranging from Barack Obama to black superheroism to Lil' Wayne's bulletproof success tips. But we aren't sure how Diddy will surpass the insight of his most recent entry, in which the mogul clues viewers in to an unforeseen crisis devastating everything in its path. We also can't determine to what degree we ourselves are responsible for the "bitchassness" and other Internet hating cited herein, but last we checked, our non-ashy lips and robust weed supply suggest Defamer is not responsible for any part of the epidemic — whatever the epidemic actually is. Anyway, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, so read on and watch your back. The bitchasses are coming.

Actor Robert Blake wondered what happened to all of his fans while out for his morning coffee in Los Angeles. After all, at the height of Baretta's popularity, he couldn't walk down the street without somebody saying, "That's the name of that tune," to him. Blake said, "Nowadays, whenever people see me walking the down the street, they run away. They run across the street. Walk out on their jobs. I've seen it. They just get up and go. I don't get it."

We've already seen how Corey Haim's first day of work on the Lost Boys sequel—what should really have been a day for triumphs and smiles—quickly turned into a bloodsoaked, Euripidean tragedy. But what if we were to turn the clocks back to eight hours before his trailer meltdown? Thanks to The Two Coreys, we become a fly on the wall of Haim's improbably plush living quarters, watching him pace nervously as he attempts, via repetition of the mantra, "Breathe, dog," to locate his canine center.

If we had just produced an entire feature film in about 12 days like the gang behind Oliver Stone's W, then we, too, would probably have been in a bit of hell-raising mood when it was all said and done. We're not sure if getting arrested would have been on the agenda, but we'll grant newly shorn Josh Brolin and Jeffrey Wright the benefit of the doubt, anyway: The duo, who play President Bush and Colin Powell in the film, spent some time in custody early Saturday after coming to the aid of a rowdy crew member at a bar in Shreveport, La.

Another day, another provocative pictorial series starring a scantily clad Miley Cyrus. The latest batch of photos featuring the 15-year old Billion Dollar Girl staging her own personal Playboy Jr. shoot for boyfriend Nick Jonas has surfaced online, thanks to a hacker who claims he got a hold of everything on Miley's iPhone. We've already seen Miley's makeout sessions with various girls and boys, eating her clothes off and, of course, daringly flashing her bare back in Vanity Fair. But now we have the (uncomfortable) pleasure of seeing the then-14 year old showering in a wet t-shirt, photographing her widely seen midriff and, in a highly anticipated step closer to actual kiddie porn, totally topless. And judging by Miley's posing style, stances, and familiar Blow A Kiss act, this is not a matter of kids growin' up so fast these days. If you're looking to point fingers, look no further than original self-produced porn star Lindsay Lohan:

Hunky actor Josh Hartnett stopped by the New York Stock Exchange hoping to boost morale. Hartnett had noticed that the market recently has taken a tumble and thought maybe he could cheer up the men on the floor. Hartnett said, "I just saw that things were going rough and I thought maybe I could turn the market around." Hartnett hopes his appearance at the exchange will make investing seem cooler to a younger demographic. Hartnett added, "It's okay to save for the future, guys. That trip to Cabo can wait."

Four ways to jump start your Monday morning: 1. Moisten fork prongs with mouth. Place end of fork between teeth, press prongs into nearest wall socket. 2. Fill microwave-safe cup with water. Microwave for 2-3 minutes (times vary). Remove cup, pour contents directly onto eyeballs. 3. Have a co-worker hold a duct tape gun to your left ear. Spin in counter-clockwise circles until your entire head is mummified inside a sticky cellophane prison. See how long you can last without breathing before slicing open at mouth. 4. Read the box office numbers!