Benedict Fitzgerald was the screenwriter selected by Mel Gibson in the spring of 2001 to write The Passion of the Christ. By all accounts, the process was a bloodletting, each subsequent rewrite returned awash in red-ink suggestions of, "Way more flesh rending here," "Watch out for those tricky Aramaic verb tenses!" and, "Maybe add, 'Don't blame us. This is all the Jews' fault!'...Or is that too on the nose?" Eventually, a draft was delivered that would become the blueprint for one of the most successful independent films of all time: a $30 million-budgeted production that returned $612 million in worldwide box office receipts. Yesterday, Fitzgerald filed suit against Gibson, accusing Gibson of fraud and breach of contract, and demanding no less than $5 million in damages from the Malibu land czar:

Which of these things is not like the other? Hard to tell upon first glance at W's S&M-inspired, unisexy cover shoot featuring Boleyn girls Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman, both decked out in heavy kohl liner, slicked back hair, and matching not-in-the-mood-for-love glares. The punky dominatrix aesthetic is a far cry from their powder-faced Boleyn characters' makeup and style, but these vampy get-ups are one of ScarJo's trademarks. Not to mention that over-stuffed cleavage look she favors. But Natalie? Going along with W's art direction to look "tough! Bitchy! Like someone stuffed a sock down your pants!"? After a brief memory of those panties and that pink wig from Closer, the initial shock wears off. What doesn't make sense, however, is the dichotomy between this cover look (bad, naughty girls who will whip you and you'll like it!) and the actresses' repetitive, insistance on their sobriety and good girl qualities in the actual interview.

· No, that's not Martha Raye. That's Katherine Heigl. But we can see how you got the two confused.
· Speaking of young(ish) girls who look at least 15 years older than their actual age, we're pretty sure this blind item is about this girl.
· Pretty solid (if unspectacular) piece in this weekend's New York Times Magazine about 2007's breakthrough performances.
· Jerry O'Connell learns the hard way that lightning never strikes the same place twice. So will anyone who watches this video.
· Note to Scarlett Johansson - The next time that a director asks you to shoot a movie alongside Natalie Portman, insist on on wearing makeup. It will only help your cause, trust us.

Dave Letterman has a long history of getting flirty with his guests. From Madonna to Drew Barrymore, from Julia Roberts to any one of the countless number of leggy supermodels he's talked to over the years, Diamond Dave has never been one to shy away from batting his proverbial lashes at his guests. Depending on his mood, this flirtatiousness generally takes shape in either a slew of complimentary bon mots or, when he's feeling aggressive, a subtle graze of the knee. But when Gossip Girl Blake Lively showed up on the set on Friday night proclaiming that Dave was one of her "childhood crushes", the sexual tension between the two was not only palpable, it approached the level of David Addison and Maddie Hayes.

Due to an arcane by-law in the WGA constitution, no strike can officially be called off until one the Guild's longest-tenured and most visible members appears on television to ritualistically recite the story of Lew Wasserman's Toilet, in which the legendary Hollywood mogul supposedly dismissed the idea of paying residuals by saying, "My plumber doesn't charge me each time I flush the toilet." Thankfully, comedian and tenured Oscar gag-writer Bruce Vilanch completed this curious formality earlier today on CNN, allowing the rest of the strike-cancellation process to proceed as scheduled.

Hey, we know what everyone could use right about now! A probably fake Paris Hilton/Lindsay Lohan catfight story, set at Timbaland's Grammys party, and ripped from the pages of a sundry British tabloid. Are we right? Of course we're right! Take it away, Mirror UK:

When it comes to getting every last detail concerning Nicole Richie's eating habits, partying habits and exact partying schedule (down to the minute!), Us Weekly truly is the Economist of its genre. Reporting that new parents Nicole Richie and Joel Madden attended "Four Parties in Just Two Days!", the weekly takes gossip hounding to a whole new level. In this one story alone, there are no less than five time-stamps detailing the duo's every move and remark. For example: "She sipped on a tiny glass of champagne at 1:12 a.m. before heading home to check up on Harlow at 1:48 a.m." Thanks, Us! Not only were we on the edge of our seat wondering how large her champagne flute was, but the other night at 1:48am, we couldn't sleep without knowing for sure that Harlow Richie Madden was "checked up on." We feel so pacified we're not even gonna step out for our daily stress-relieving smoke break. [Usmagazine.com]

Howdy. By now, you've certainly read the news that Mark Lisanti is moving on at week's end. That's the bad news. The good news — good being a relative term in this circumstance — is that we are actively looking for a few good candidates to round out our stable here at Defamer. Specifically, we are looking to hire a small handful of talented writers, of either the aspiring or proven variety, who have the ability to cut a unique swath through all of the tired bullshit and who can consistently deliver insightful and entertaining pieces about the accursed industry that consumes our souls when it isn't already claiming our firstborn. Ideal candidates will have strong, original voices as well as a close familiarity with the machinations that make Hollywood and the culture of celebrity go `round.

Of the 9 or 10,000 posts I've done since we started this site, this one is the hardest to write. After almost four years here at Defamer, I've decided it's finally time to move on. In an effort to keep this short and sweet, I'll be climbing out of the blogging hamster-wheel this Friday, and though I wish I had exciting news about where my next paycheck will be coming from (or some great story about why I'm leaving other than "it's time"), I'll probably just be taking a little hiatus to figure out what's next and work on some projects I haven't had the time or energy for since, oh, mid 2004: writing that might not involve typing in a tiny box in a browser window, eating the occasional lunch, spending lazy afternoons standing in front of the Chinese Theater in a loose-fitting Power Ranger costume, shaking down tourists for money. You know, how everyone in L.A. spends their idle hours.

National treasure Dolly Parton, who only recently acted as unwitting guardian angel to a seemingly hopeless American Idol contestant, has postponed her upcoming tour for back trouble caused by years of supporting her trademark rack. It's perhaps a slightly risqué topic for a family wire service like Reuters, but we think their headline tackles the material with just the right amount of tact. The breasts had no comment.

With only 111 theaters willing to show The Hottie and The Nottie, Paris Hilton's big breakout flick only took in $25,000 at the box office this weekend. As we mentioned earlier, the film's $225 per screen average was, by far, the worst of the weekend. When you couple this flick's performance with Jessica Simpon's recent Texas-sized disaster (not to mention the whole Crossroads fiasco and LiLo's stripper movie), it's become clear that public interest in vadge flashes, sex tapes, and gurney rides is inversely proportional to the public's appetite to plunk down $11 to see a ditzy poptard attempt to emote on the big screen. So what's a pair of talentless wannabes to do? Well, getting nude, ugly or even (gasp!) fat might be a good start.

Poor Research in Motion. First the iPhone shows up and makes its BlackBerry look old and busted. Now, it really is old and busted. RIM is experiencing a "disruption of service" affecting all wireless carriers in North America. BlackBerry users could "experience difficulty" using data capabilities like email and web connectivity on their phones. RIM has called the event a "critical severity outage" which started this afternoon and affects enterprise clients and "users of the Americas network." The company has no estimate for when service will be restored. Quick, call a meeting — people will pay attention for lack of anything else to do. (Photo by decaf)

Moving decisively into the Post-Strike Era that began with today's Return of The Showrunners Parade on Hollywood Blvd., ABC has already picked up nine—nine!—of its series for next season, giving Desperate Housewives, Lost, Grey's Anatomy, Brothers & Sisters and Ugly Betty full orders, while giving 13 episode each to newer shows Private Practice, Pushing Daisies, Samantha Who? and Dirty Sexy Money. Curiously absent from this list: Cavemen, an indication that the network's groundbreaking sitcomfercial experiment may have finally come to an end. [THR]

In a crowded awards season, studios have never been above resorting to clever marketing gimmicks to get their movies noticed, plying critics and journalists with everything from fanciful Juno hamburger phones to desktop pneumatic-bolt-stunners accompanied by notes reading, "How many times do we need to drill this into your skull: No Country for Old Men is this year's most acclaimed film!" Hopping upon that bandwagon is Paramount Vantage, who, reports slashfilm.com, have caught wind of the "I drink your milkshake. I drink it up!"-mania currently gripping the nation:

Quickly following Friday's announcement that The Insider's Pat O'Brien was returning to rehab to re-exorcise the demons he previously beat back in early 2005 was the reappearance of the I'm Stuck in Rehab with Pat O'Brien blog, whose anonymous author also finds himself back in the same undisclosed recovery center through an incredibly unlucky twist of fate. Reports the blogger: "It seems Pat O'Brien is still under the impression that he's on Celebrity Rehab. At breakfast this morning Pat O'Brien asked me if I had had sex with Mary Carey yet. 'As soon as I see her I'm going to lock that up,' he said." We can only hope that O'Brien has learned from the clumsy, cameraphone-assisted romantic overtures that drove Daniel Baldwin from Rehab, and that his hallucinatory pursuit of Mary Carey doesn't result in the same kind of sobriety-challenging disappointment. [I'm Stuck in Rehab With Pat O'Brien]

While No Country For Old Men has been collecting most of this award season's Best Picture statuettes, the stuffy limeys at BAFTA instead decided to award their prize to one of their homegrown jewels, the weepy Anglophiliac wet dream Atonement. However, the most intriguing award of the night had ostensibly nothing to do with a great performance and everything to do with ensuring that the British Academy of Film And Television's bottom line was sufficiently padded. The award in question, the Orange Rising Star Award, was handed to Shia LaBeouf and presented by the mobile phone company Orange. Now that the normally reserved BAFTAs have cashed in their principles for a taste of the almighty dollar pound note, can The Oscars be far behind?

· Network executives are trying to make sense of the brave, new, post-strike world they suddenly find themselves in, either taking this unprecedented opportunity to blow up their development system, or shrugging it off as a "blip" and going back to the old, comfortable ways of doing business (i.e., throwing a bunch of money at talent and pilots). Also, tough decisions need to be made about which series should be rushed back into production to finish up this abbreviated season, which should be put off until the fall, and which should be put out of their misery after losing their momentum. [Variety]
· Unsurprisingly, utterly fearless NBC perfect storm Ben Silverman (motto: "Let's do stuff!") is seizing the chance to shake things up inside the Peacock Family by shuffling around some executives and eliminating its largely vestigial current series department. [THR]

Ringing in her 27th birthday a little early this weekend—plus the recent addition of a new litter of 13 pomerhuahuas to her ever-growing doggie menagerie—Paris Hilton celebrated by indulging her inner wild-child, throwing on a tiara, pink hair extensions, and a pair of varicose-vein-patterned tights, and table-dancing the night away at a party virtually devoid of pissy rap stars. What inspired off-again/on-again grenade-jumper Elliot Mintz to show up with a face smeared in a brownish-orange substance isn't entirely clear, however. While Mintz initially insisted the look was the result of having tripped and landed face-first into Lisa Rinna's back on his way into the festivities, the meticulous, ear-to-ear coverage suggested something else entirely:

Though Herbie Hancock delivered a huge upset by capturing the Album of the Year Grammy that clearly belonged to criminally underappreciated superstar Kanye West and Amy Winehouse selfishly distracted from his four-win night by hoarding five statuettes that would have looked much better upon the humble rapper's mantle (not to mention Winehouse's attention-whore hijacking of the ceremony's precious screentime via satellite), West would, in the end, have his Big Moment, even if he had to fight for it like he's had to battle for every scrap of recognition the System tries to withhold from him.

Because we at Defamer are committed to documenting every snake-bite, whip-crack, and Nazi-fart on our thrilling journey towards the next Indiana Jones adventure, we now have some important news concerning the movie's first teaser trailer. IndianaJones.com reports the trailer will air exclusively on Good Morning America between 8 and 9 a.m. February 14, then be made available on the official site and at Yahoo! Movies, and preceding showings of The Spiderwick Chronicles on the big screen. [IndianaJones.com]