PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are submitted by our readers, and are posted several times a week, so send them in often. Submit yours to tips[AT]defamer.com (please put "sighting" or "PrivacyWatch" in the subject line so we don't lose them) and tell everyone about the time you spotted a close-to-bursting Salma Hayek giggling at herself in a Beatles musical.
A reinvigorated Fred Goldman, eager to capitalize on his $33.5 million 1997 civil suit ruling against O.J. Simpson, was undoubtedly pleased to learn If I Did It—the hypothetical double-murder confession whose ghostwriter claims is anything but hypothetical—is a hot enough seller to garner a second printing. With Simpson's promotional tie-in of an arrest, Goldman's eyeballs again transformed into spinning dollar signs, as he hoped a judge would award him the much-contested memorabilia at the center of the Palace Station armed robbery—a request the judge rejected:
· CBS has quietly set up preview screenings of Kid Nation at elementary schools in major markets for students, parents, and teachers, where families can come together and discuss the exciting child-labor-law issues raised by the controversial new series, as well as receive assurances from the network that no children were eaten by bears during the show's production, even though that unlikely eventuality was covered by that now-infamous waiver. [Variety]
· HBO Films greenlights a feature version of Grey Gardens, the 1975 crazy-cat-lady documentary that has also recently spawned a crazy-cat-lady Broadway musical, and which will star Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange. [THR]
· In an onscreen pairing that will result in a dramatic showdown between the dreamiest and the sleepiest sets of blue eyes in all of Young Hollywood, Jake Gyllenhaal and Tobey Maguire are in negotiations to join Brothers, director Jim Sheridan's remake of a Danish-language war drama. Our prediction: after their first shared scene, Maguire locks himself in his trailer, ashamed that his orbs will never sparkle like Gyllenhaal's. [Variety]
· Star Trek's JJ Abrams chooses Zoe Saldana as the new Uhura. [THR]
· Huzzah! The Fall TV season is here! And while we didn't watch the solidly rated premiere of Fox's K-ville last night, it's nice to know that we have finally something to neglect besides shows about remembering karaoke lyrics. [Variety]
We have to admit that we're disappointed in Griffin's admission—we'd secretly hoped that we were witnessing a genuine conversion experience as the comedian publicly prostrated herself before that graven Creative Arts idol and flipped off the Messiah as a pledge of allegiance to her gilded new God, and not just a cynical attempt at seeing how many Tennesseean theater groups she could induce to bankrupt themselves by buying full-page USA Today ads decrying her blasphemy.
Out from the ranks of Britney Spears' security detail—a platoon of handsome, tight-lipped mannies who obligingly intervene whenever they stumble upon their boss inadvertently tossing an infant son into the dryer with a basket of wet bikini components—rises a lone voice: Tony Barretto, a gargantuan, 28-year-old father of two, was assigned to protect the fallen pop star from the time she left Promises in March until May 17 of this year. In that time, he claims he witnessed Spears engaged in all manner of illicit and naked-making activities not befitting a mother, which he was prepared to describe for a judge at yesterday's custody hearing:
It's been a couple of weeks since we've been forced to contemplate the looming labor Armageddon that will soon bring about the end of the entertainment industry as we know it, preferring to distract ourselves with the contemplation of more pleasant matters, like daydreaming about the depilation techniques that Britney Spears uses to keep her ladyparts adequately prepped for its biweekly, post-meltdown paparazzi close-ups. Today's Variety hits our company town with an unwanted reality check (lede: "Strike fever's about to hit Hollywood hard!" [exclamation point ours]), reminding us that it's time once again for sabers to be rattled and expensive pants soiled as contract negotiations between the WGA and Alliance of Motion Picture & Television Producers resume tomorrow.
After teasing the world yesterday with a preview of the audio tape of the Vegas hotel room raid that has landed O.J. Simpson in jail, sports memorabilia repossession mediator TMZ.com has now posted the entire confrontation (in both censored and uncensored flavors!), a clip consisting of nearly five thrilling minutes of surreptitiously recorded accusations of shit-stealing, mother-fucking, and other sundry violations of the vigilante running back's trust. Just for fun, close the door to your office, turn up your computer speakers, and play the audio, seeing if you can trick your still-groggy co-workers into believing that a possibly armed O.J. is threatening you with bodily harm if you don't immediately hand over the stapler you've obtained from a shady Swingline dealer.
You were likely unable to focus on anything since we alerted you to the fact that Kevin Federline's life may be in danger: a distressing scenario that conjured the image of a coldblooded assassin silently stalking the lovable pimp as he lay unsuspecting on his couch, improving his already ridiculous Major League Baseball 2K7 game. And then there was the question of method: Would it be 45 caliber hollow point bullet, choke wire, Escalade bomb, or Gay Vito-brand pool cue? Thankfully, none at all, as Us magazine reports that the threat was deemed not credible by the FBI:
As we briefly mentioned on our way out the door on Friday afternoon, the Oscar-winning Jamie Foxx, star of such big-screen entertainments as Bait, Stealth, and critically acclaimed prophylactic-acquisition farce Booty Call, received his very own slab of Hollywood Walk of Fame immortality. Confident that Foxx's star-laying ceremony would generate more local excitement than that of previous honoree Vin "America's Funniest Testes-Traumatizing Home Videos" Di Bona, Defamer videographer Molly McAleer once again decided to thrust her camera lens where it probably didn't belong, basking in the eardrum-bursting love provided by the enthusiastic throng of Fox fans who turned out for the event.
We enjoy nothing more on the day after the Emmys than to check in with Bravo executive Andy Cohen, on whom we can invariably rely for an uncensored, eyewitness take on the proceedings. Sadly, there is none of the ebullient, "Wowza!!!!!!" -chanting Andy of nomination day in today's post, as much of the air appears to have been taken out of his sails by the roughly 80 people who accepted last night in his category for The Amazing Race. It was a bitter defeat that brought out an ugly side to the blogging bon vivant, who manages in a matter of just a few sentences to disparage such universally beloved figures as America Ferrera, Helen Mirren, and the show's sexually ambiguous, label-divining host:
· Music round-up: Peter Bjorn & John at the Wiltern; Matt & Kim at the Troubadour; Gram Rabbit at Spaceland.
· At Largo, have your funny places molested by comedy-predators Greg Fitzsimmons and Laura Kightlinger, knowing that there is no heroic Dateline crew ready to burst in from the kitchen and apprehend the fiends in mid-diddle.
· Mark Schapiro celebrates the release of his new book, Exposed: The Toxic Chemistry of Everyday Products and What's At Stake for American Power, at Duttons Brentwood, a reading that will leave you forever suspicious about every foreign substance that touches your body each day.
In his weekly column in Variety, trade paper potentate Peter Bart dashes off a memo to Matt Damon, hoping to assist the privacy-cherishing megastar in cultivating a public persona somewhere between the "boring and elusive" one he's established by keeping a deliberately low media profile and the tabloid-torment-attracting model developed by the more outgoing characters occupying the genitalia-flashing, DUI-collecting end of the celebrity spectrum. Bart, striving for answers, engages in some deskchair psychoanalysis: Is Damon afraid of a Affleckian career flameout if fans gain US Weekly-supplied information about his daily Starbucks runs? [Ed.note—Please, Jesus, let Matt be a caramel macchiato man!] Does he fear that no one will believe he can kill ten double-agents with nothing more than a soggy phonebook if they know too much about his fancy-boy Harvard education? Probes Bart:
While being a "perfect storm" of a television executive certainly sounds glamorous, the demands placed on an individual possessed of a heretofore unseen combination of populist taste, dealmaking experience, and the ability to look at a hit foreign series and say, "Yeah, that would probably work in America. Buy ten episodes!" can sometimes slow a party-train to a crawl. Consider the plight of NBC's Ben Silverman, who on Saturday night had a difficult decision to make about his Emmys seating arrangement, a choice that carried significant political ramifications. Reports TV Week's blog:
As A-list TV Gays like T.R. Knight and Neil Patrick Harris experienced the Emmy awards en ronde inside the industry-embracing walls of the Shrine Auditorium, their lesser-known counterparts piled into West Hollywood drinking establishment East West for an "OUT at The Emmys" viewing party. Defamer videologist Molly McAleer was on hand to capture the red carpet arrivals, which she edited together into a touching tribute to emerging talent she calls Gay D-Listers Spelling Their Names for the Cameras. Alas, it's but one on the minor job hazards on their way up Hollywood's slippery velvet ladder, one Logo-reality-series step at a time.
