As the second week of the WGA strike comes to a close and a picketing-free weekend draws rapidly nearer, we offer this Friday morning round-up of what's going on in the world of idling writers, their high-profile friends, and their sworn studio enemies:
· People wasn't entirely off the sexy nerd tip: Check out this sexy video of Rainn Wilson getting frisky in a swimming pool and riding a very macho all-terrain vehicle.
· Bored of green tea and chai? You might enjoy some piping hot Dr. Pepper! (And if you want to slip a little rum in there, we won't tell.)
· 2.89 million people watched Project Runway's premiere last night, and one of those people was Santino Rice at some lucky bastard's viewing party.
· Happy Milli Vanilli's House of Lip-Synched Cards Comes Crashing Down On Them Day, everybody!
The breakout contestant of episode one would undoubtedly be resident kook Elisa, who "imbued" her expensive fabric with intentional grass stains, "hand-measured" her models (sure to be a commonly used defense from now on in designer rape trials), and who sent something down the runway that looked, to quote one party guest, like "a blue sack that shit the NBC logo out its back." Sadly, when it came down to Elisa's peacock poop or Simone's "boring, poorly made, no 'wow!'" outfit, as Michael Kors put it, the decision was all too easy: On Runway, the crazies always win.
· Music round-up: Film School at Echoplex; Calvin Johnson at the Smell; Thursday at the El Rey.
· The Ghettogloss gallery's Gorilla Thursday event will be projecting Quentin Tarnantino's Death Proof onto the side of a building, serving chocolate-dipped bananas, and pushing booze, just like the way they used to do it at all the old-timey drive-ins.
· Immortal bachelor Hugh Hefner will be at the Grove's Barnes and Noble to sign copies of Playboy Cover-to-Cover: The 50s, a searchable DVD-based archive of the most revered nudie mag of the modern era.
Carrying on the new, but still proud, tradition of provocative signage that's been established during this nearly two-week old WGA strike, picketers at today's Gay Gate march took Sharpie to posterboard and hit the sidewalks outside of Raleigh Studios. We'll leave it to you to judge how this batch compares to previous efforts from the line, but we will say this: we're glad that the artist behind Katherine Heigl's now-infamous placard wasn't on hand to lend his talents to the cause, for a cartoon depiction of Sumner Redstone engaged in any kind of intimate act would likely haunt us until the possibly distant day writers return to work.
Trailing the troubled starlet jail-time land speed record set by Nicole Richie in August of this year by two minutes, Lindsay Lohan checked in and out of the the Century Regional Detention Facility in Lynwood this morning in a still-respectable 84 minutes, after being denied parole at the 37-minute mark. By the time the broken actress was retrieved mid-push-up from her solitary confinement cell, its walls covered in bundles of striked-out scratches counting down the long minutes to her release, any remnants of the Lindsay we knew were all but drained from her once vibrant, if glassy, eyes. We've included the notorious cokepant-wearing Denalijacker's mugshot, in which she looks suspiciously full-lipped and tan for someone on the inside; then again, it's amazing what you can accomplish by bribing a guard to punch your in the mouth and bathing in smuggled orange Kool-Aid.
After drawing his 100-decibel HuffPo blogophone to his lips to let Hollywood know he's displeased that his personal strike fund is being rapidly depleted by his constant contributions to his children's swear jar (if this keeps up, they'll have enough saved for Priuses of their own by February), Endeavor superagent Ari Emanuel directs his frustration at WGA negotiator David Young, reminding him that all the red-shirted groupie tail he's been pulling after crowd-surfing at Guild rallies will dry up if he forgets what made him so desirable in the first place: "And Dave Young, the writers' chief negotiator, seems to be basking in the limelight, telling the LA Times that he was treated like "a rock star" at rallies and pickets all over town. Must be heady for a union organizer who came out of the schmata business. Yes, Hollywood is intoxicating. But Dave, you need to remember that people are hurting — and that this is not about you, and it's not about being a rock star. In any case, rock stars don't get the cheers and the adulation and the groupies and the money by not recording records and not going out on tour. They get in the studio, they hit the road, they make deals." [HuffPo]
The quality of the footage is, to be charitable, shitty; still, that won't stop fans desperate to devour any morsel they allegedly aren't supposed to be gobbling down until tomorrow from scouring the video frame by frame, hoping that somewhere in those blurry shadows lies the utterly terrifying truth about the nature of the cinematic beast Abrams and company will unleash up on the world in January.
Between her recent canine custody battles and the contempt of her fellow striking WGA members, there's no question about it—Ellen DeGeneres has had a go of it lately. In this confessional monologue from yesterday's broadcast, a dejected DeGeneres recalls the time an officer offered some kind of words of fashion-police support during her darkest hour, inspiring her to the Gucci-tuxedo-wearing, Oscar-hosting heights to come. In doing so, she reminds us—and herself—that even in those moments when it seems like everyone you work with and deal with on a daily basis can't stand you, that too shall pass.
· Jamie Foxx signs a two-year deal to produce unscripted shows for MTV and VH1, with the first product of their new union being From Gs to Gents, a series "in which a group of men are given social makeovers in a bid to turn them into gentlemen," efforts that a guest-starring Foxx will entertainingly attempt to thwart by dragging them to nightclubs, pouring alcohol down their throats, and urging them to "make it rain" upon nearby members of the opposite sex. [Variety]
· DreamWorks/Paramount is discovering that they have their work cut out for them in trying to simultaneously sell an R-rated musical about a bloodthirsty British hair stylist to the different segments of the film's built-in, but hopelessly fragmented, audience. Potentially ineffective ads telling moviegoers "You've seen him flounce around on a pirate ship, now see him dance around the world's scariest barber's chair" to follow. [THR]
Today's LA Times reports that the family of Ray Charles is not particularly pleased with the Pasadena Playhouse production "Ray Charles Live! A New Musical." The work, penned by Pulitzer winner Suzan-Lori Parks, opened to mixed reviews last week (Variety raved; the Times didn't approve). It portrays Charles not so much a genius as a womanizer and buffoon, according to the family:
If this year's "Sexiest Man Alive" issue of People left you wanting—sure, few of us would argue with their choice of sexiestest man Matt Damon, but the Shemar Moore-caliber also-rans were frequently lacking—we direct you instead to Salon.com's Sexiest Man Living 2007. Bringing together 26 of the hunkiest guys for the thinking woman and Gay, their list recognizes the pasty, the paunchy, the bespectacled (Ira Glass, Judd Apatow, 2007 Alec Baldwin, etc.) celebrities that send their editors into a sexy-man lather.
Though it happened on the pages of the apparently profitable Huffington Post, it could have just as easily have been on an episode of the Hills. Dreamboat playwright, blogger, and writer for ABC's Brother and Sisters Jon Robin Baitz responded at length to an incredibly patronizing and, well, shitty piece Times Theater critic Charles Isherwood wrote. Isherwood had wondered "whatever it is television and movie writers do when they are not cooking up dialogue for detectives, superheroes or nerdy, horny teenagers." "You, sir, are a dick," Baltz replied. (Okay, paraphrasing!)
In a moving display of uxorial devotion, Sarah Michelle Gellar has officially changed her name to Sarah Michelle Prinze as her five-year anniversary gift to husband Freddie Prinze, Jr., a selflessly career-sabotaging act that should allow her to spend even more time at home with her sporadically employed spouse. [USMagazine.com]
Following a recent mission of dolphin-saving mercy off the coast of Japan to prevent the slaughter of her favorite ocean-bound mammals (a commemorative tattoo of a pair of playful bottlenoses circling her navel is being custom-designed as we speak), indestructible Heroes cheerleader Hayden Panettiere now finds herself a fugitive from international justice for her interference in Pacific Rim commerce. Reports E! News:
"He knows in his heart he is totally innocent of these charges and believes in the jury system," O.J. Simpson attorney Yale Galanter said yesterday upon learning his client would stand trial for the now-infamous shit-recovery armed ambush of two sports memorabilia dealers in a third-rate Las Vegas hotel room. And while we have no doubt Galanter is at this very moment frantically scribbling down and crossing out potential catchphrases on a legal pad ("If the gun don't load, it can't explode!"), Simpson is clinging to the sunny side of life, even chatting up his fellow Delta passengers on a recent flight of Las Vegas to Fort Lauderdale. Reports a Page Six source:
Selflessly lending his image to the WGA cause, oft-troubled former child actor Todd Bridges has teamed up with Everybody Hates Chris showrunner Ali LeRoi in an impassioned plea to the studios, begging them to share in profits that could save writers (and the next generation of young performers) from a bleak future of crack addiction, armed robbery, and desperate participation in televised, exploitative bloodsports. If Bridges' tear-soaked appeal can't thaw the hearts of those controlling the industry that once drove him to the pipe, this strike may never end.
As we await the announcement of the theme of the WGA's next picketing event (we're hoping a petting zoo is involved, or at least a parade of more cute dogs in sweaters bearing protest slogans), here's the obligatory morning round-up of strike-related news.
· Either Adam Sandler's next movie is about the Geico Caveman they call Hung Like Woolly Mammoth, or we have a whole new appreciation for the actor. Either way, he has our attention.
· "My mom and I stopped at a church during a road trip we were making from our home in Mexico. When we went inside, I prayed for the miracle I wanted to happen. I put my hands in holy water and said: 'Please God, give me some breasts'. And he gave me them!" Yes he did, Salma. Yes he did.
· What feature is Renée Zellweger most proud of? Her unflappable sanity in the face of massive movie stardom. Just check out the screws on that girl—not a loose one in the bunch!
· David Letterman is reaching into his deep pockets to take care of his staff of stagehands, cameramen, and blank cue card holders.
· Looks like O.J. Simpson will be going to trial on "on kidnapping, armed robbery and other charges," where he could face a life sentence with no parole in a prison full of amply endowed inmates.
What with the bleak, suspended state of things these days, the time seems right for Film Threat's annual Frigid 50 list, celebrating 2007's "coldest people in Hollywood." Some of their choices might surprise you—particularly the top spots, occupied by President George W. Bush at #1 (easy swipes in Transformers and Michael Moore's oeuvre make him "as much a cinema celebrity as the next despotic tyrant,") and Angelina Jolie at #2, for whom they prescribe "adopting an American kid and making movies that people want to see."
