Premiere, the magazine which earlier this year shuffled off its glossy coil and moved on to afterlife on the internets, has just released its annual Power List-, helpfully establishing a hierarchy that will inform which Hollywood asses will be kissed with renewed vigor for about the next 48 hours. (Unless some other publication spits out a differing set of rankings before the weekend, crippling sycophants with indecision over where their congratulatory muffin baskets should be delivered.)

We often find ourselves wondering how superannuated producing legend Robert Evans kills his time in between taking inventory of his world-class turtleneck collection, giving piggyback rides around his estate to protege/adopted son Brett Ratner, and surfing AshleyMadison.com for a love match who might bring him up to a year of nuptial bliss. Thanks to this video forwarded by a reader, we have a better idea of how he's keeping busy: by making noirish fake movie trailers (for an advertising firm called Sinfactory, apparently) with production values so good they could easily later be repurposed as perfume commercials. Are we still a little bit confused about the footage we've now watched more than a dozen times? We are. But are we going to keep replaying it over and over, allowing ourselves to be lightly hypnotized by Evans' silky voice? You bet your sweet little ass, sister.

The Smoking Gun has procured the entire e-mail exchange between all relevant IggyGate parties, tracing the journey of Portia de Rossi and Ellen DeGeneres from proud new moms, kvelling over every healthy poop and successfully retrieved Nylabone, to harried and reluctant parents of a manic mongrel hindering the couple's ambitious construction plans. In light of all the daytime talk show hysterics that transpired afterwards, it's a highly compelling read.

· Ron Howard and Akiva Goldsman are frantically finalizing the shooting script of Da Vinci Code sequel Angels & Demons before the Oct. 31st deadline, hoping that the mad rush towards production won't jeopardize the duo's ability to produce the kind of easily digestible, crowd-pleasing entertainment that always results from their lucrative collaborations. Meanwhile, star Tom Hanks has been presented with a hair-growing schedule that will barely provide the actor with enough time to reproduce his character's signature demi-mullet. Truly, no one is immune from the pressures of the looming™ strike. [Variety]
· In what is always a good sign for a floundering series, The Bionic Woman gets another new showrunner, not even two months after "creative differences" ended NBC's short-lived love affair with Glen Morgan. [THR]

"ghost writer Very busy executive would like to hire a writer to send emails on his behalf on personal dating websites. And do a few enails back and forth to get the ball rolling.. This person needs to know how to write in a masculine, but romantic way and at the same time create a challenge for the reader of the email" [Craigslist via And I Am Not Lying]

A portrait of a nearly nude Sir Sean Connery, painted when the actor was an artist's model in his early 20s, has gone on display at the City Arts Centre in Edinburgh. Thrown in for good measure is one of his skimpy-swimsuit bodybuilding photos, in which the hirsute Scottsman appears to be packing a Walther PPK. [Daily Mail]

Call it a curse, call it a lack of fulfilling leisure activities in Hawaii, call it the stress of never getting to speak any of your lines in English—the cast of Lost has claimed yet another DUI:

When MGM turned over the reigns of its moribund United Artists label to Tom Cruise a few short months after the actor/producer/freelance detox technician was cruelly cast out of the Paramount family, we just assumed that the burgeoning mogul would effortlessly greenlight himself up a few blockbusters that would quickly restore him to his former position as the Biggest Movie Star in the World. But with early reviews of the forthcoming Lions for Lambs, his first UA-branded release seeming tepid at best, Slate's Kim Masters looks at the studio's next projects, finding little that would make one want to stomp a talk show sofa in joy:

With the Attorney General investigating the sinister network of prescription-dispensing Drs. Feelgood entrusted to her care, the Anna Nicole Clown Video: Criterion Collection made the blog rounds yesterday, ensuring sleepless nights for thousands haunted by the direful sounds of a nine-year-old girl baying, "Braaain trouble!" at the former Playboy model's unsuccessful attempts at burping a pineapple. The video only raised more questions: Who, for example, was the "Mark" that metteur en scène Howard K. Stern kept referring to throughout the shoot? Usmagazine.com has the answer:

At least one blogger attending Natalie Portman's recent Columbia University lecture about micro-lending wasn't exactly blown away the actress's appeal for debt forgiveness: "Then he showed a video featuring Natalie Portman somewhere in Africa, on top of a mountain, her knees pulled to her chest, intimately looking into the camera (as the sound person apparently knocked the mic into various objects), musing about the poor people she'd met on her journey and how they've taught her that exploitative micro-finance organizations like FINCA need to forgive all their loans. The real Natalie Portman in the room didn't seem to know what to do while this video played. Sometimes she looked at the ground, sometimes at the audience, and sometimes at the screen. It would have been less awkward if she had lip-synced to herself speaking in the video. The video was short, and afterward Natalie Portman apologized for "not being as articulate as might have been expected" in it. Expected by whom?" This strikes us a little harsh, especially considering how generously Portman has given of herself lately. [I Heart Not You]

The shuttering of Morton's, the longtime home of the post-Oscar orgy where Vanity Fair invites a few hundred of its closest Hollywood friends over to enjoy a second round of congratulatory fellatio, has necessitated a change of venue for the most eagerly anticipated bash of the awards season. Variety reports that editor Graydon Carter has chosen Craft's new Century City outpost for this year's event, a location nestled so close to the CAA Death Star that the restaurant's management often has to ask the evil agency to change the position of the enormous laser cannon on its roof to minimize the shadows it casts across its dining area. Say Var:

• Halle Berry discusses Calif. fires, pregnancy [LiveVideo]

· Dear ladies of The View: Don't feel special that James Lipton shared his French pimp story with you. He'll blab on and on about it to any talk show host he thinks can help him move some books. Aside to fill-in host Kassie DePaiva: Back in the day, Lipton would have turned you out so damn fast you wouldn't know what hit you.
· We've been told that if you watch these Harry Potter-inspired videos and animations, Naked Dumbledore makes an appearance. Do with this information what you will.
· RIP Peter "The Stomach" Hume, onetime Meatballs competitive hot dog eater.
· Pregnancy is really agreeing with Halle Berry. Or at least with parts of her.

Right about now, as you confront the very real possibility that your city will either be consumed by raging wildfires or an Apocalypse-beckoning strike, we're betting that you could use some uplifting news to distract you from those hard-to-shake feelings of dread. And so we direct you to the LAT's tale of how former Warner Bros. chief Bob Daly, using a method originally played out in the blockbuster Bible story of Noah (and recently reimagined in a somewhat less-acclaimed form now available in your local Video Hut sale bin), came to save the impressive menagerie at his Malibu ranch from a fiery doom:

Just a few minutes ago, WGA West president Fightin' Patric Verrone sent out an e-mail blast in response to today's Variety story about the Guild's alleged plan to give up on its reality organizing efforts, ripping the publication for splashing "baseless assertions" and "opinions" about their strategy all over its front page, and reassuring the exploited that it will picket as many shitty game shows as it takes to get them into the WGA family.

Look, it's not a gay wizard, but it's the best we could come up with on such short notice: A very special "Gays Around the World"-themed episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show featured as its guest of honor Prince Manvendra Singh Gohil of Rajpipla, the famed Indian prince disowned by his family after outing himself to a shocked nation so anti-gay, they still refuse to speak to those albino Bengal tigers who ran off with Siegfried & Roy a decade ago. Rocking a Punjab-fabulous fuchsia headwrap, Gohil candidly discussed the nitty-gritty of arranged sham marriages, including the Royal Headache that suddenly rendered him impotent on his wedding night. Stumped trick-or-treaters: We believe we've found your costume.

· Music round-up: Earlimart at the Troubadour; Mum at the Orpheum; Sia at the El Rey
· The NuArt screens Control, the film about Joy Division's Ian Curtis that everyone seems to be going so nuts over.
· Mortified comes to King King, a showcase where adults relieve the pain of their awkward childhoods by cracking open their old journals for the amusement of strangers.

A crucial part of the mourning process for a network forced to euthanize a hopelessly enfeebled, Nielsen-sick primetime child is the speedy removal of its web presence, a compassionate measure that stops heartbroken programming executives from obsessively surfing over to the show's page in hopes a message promising "ALL NEW EPISODE THIS SUNDAY AT 10 PM! " will magically appear.

What a difference a week makes, as only days ago our state's greatest displacement tragedy revolved around the fate of one lovable rat-dog, ripped from his hairdresser home by a mercenary squad of anal-retentive canine adoption officials. Still, those who hoped the IggyGate crisis would end with Ellen's clear-eyed meditation on the power of televised crying were sorely mistaken, as the armchair psychiatrists at Star Magazine have begun to examine the Iggy behind the Iggy—i.e., Ellen and Portia's allegedly deteriorating relationship:

If you have any interest in professional wrestling, ladies who were once in Playboy, or upsetting YouTube video of sports-related injuries, this clip of the WWE's Candice Michelle slipping off the top rope and suffering a broken collarbone at a recent match might be up your alley. It's not quite as dramatic as the X-Games guy's fall, but you'll probably wince just as loudly from the sound of the thud. [AOL Sports]