Joe Eszterhas—who at the peak of his powers in the 1990s single-handedly overturned the image of the meek Hollywood scribe by earning millions for his uncompromising tales of beaver-flashing, psychosexual intrigue—has finally addressed the film that many finger as his undoing. Showgirls was meant to be a titillating, sensational look at the cutthroat world of Las Vegas entertainment; instead, it ended up being one of the most unintentionally hilarious movies of all time, thanks in no small part to Eszterhas' powerful dramatic choices, such as the scene in which Nomi and Cristal discover they are united by their Doggy Chow-eating pasts. According to New York magazine, however, Eszterhas claims to have been in on the joke all along:

· Second-wave grunge legends Candlebox (yes, Candlebox) at the House of Blues; The Faraway Places at Spaceland; American Idol also-ran superstar Constantine Maroulis at the Viper Room, entertaining all the 15-year-olds with fake IDs they can cram into the venue; Dead Ponies, The Hectors, and Karabal Nightlife at the Silverlake Lounge.
· The Skirball once again does that thing where it allows actors to pick and screen movies, and tonight Dennis Hopper chooses Luis Bu uel's Viridiana, a "controversial work about a virtuous young nun and the uncle determined to corrupt her."
· The Egyptian hosts "An In-Person Tribute To Sybil Jason: Warner Brothers' First Child Star" with a screening of her Little Big Shot and a Q&A with the now somewhat older actress after the film.

In one of those British tabloid stories that we're not necessarily inclined to believe but are still contractually bound to repeat regardless of their dubious veracity, it's been reported that now that Paramount has pushed longtime partner Tom Cruise into a new career as a high-priced amusement park greeter and football mascot, they're trying to get current favorite son Brad Pitt (who, not so coincidentally, has a development deal at the studio) to take over Cruise's once-signature franchise. According to an appropriately shadowy source, speaking on the condition that her identity as Pitt's publicist wouldn't be revealed:

The makers of deceptively named new energy drink Cocaine insist that their product has been made 350 percent stronger than now-pussified jitter-beverage Red Bull by 280 milligrams of street-legal caffeine, not, as you might hope, by a secret, powdery ingredient imported by tied-off condom in the digestive tract of Colombian mules. Still, we assume that the company will do everything they can to fully leverage the power of their adorably controversial brand, from handing out free cans from crowded stalls of Hollywood clubs to paying millions of dollars to officially sponsor the next five years of Lindsay Lohan's life. Really, the marketing campaign writes itself.

We've made no secret of our fascination with Bravo executive Andy Cohen's blog: Unlike his stuffy-shirted peers, with their dreary preoccupations with developing programming and ratings, Cohen is always at the ready with a starfuckery anecdote and a smile. Today, Andy reviews a Super Important People's screening of Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette:

Radar offers a detailed description and photo tour of the legendary home of Don Simpson, former Jerry Bruckheimer producing partner and patron saint of fatal Hollywood excess, which they report is on the market for just over $3 million. Duly noted are the mansion's many unique, prostitute-related amenities: a master bathroom equipped with six hooker-dousing showerheads; a $40k bed featuring "heavy-duty metal hooks" to which he could lash spooked escorts who might flee a particularly vigorous paddling; and a secret hot tub in which Simpson and a handful of his favorite paid companions could relax in between coke-fueled orgies. And while all of these customizations certainly sound like good, clean, eventually-kill-you-on-the-crapper fun, the producer's onetime residence also reflects the dark side of his lifestyle:

Our right-coasted, left-brained sibling Gawker share an intimidating algorithm they found in the NYT that attempts to predict the percentage of likelihood of celebrity marriage success. (It's in their subscription-only TimesSelect section, once again demonstrating how higher learning is really the exclusive realm of those who can afford it.) The Sundem/Tierney Unified Celebrity Theory then spits out some deeply discouraging math, putting Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's chances of making a marriage work at a mere 10%. Based on Pitt's recent comments, however, we doubt such formulation will ever apply, at least until a Sundem/Tierney Celebrity Philanthropic Civil Partnership Theory is devised. Even bleaker are Britney Spears and Kevin Federline's prospects—0% chance of lasting to their wood-and-silverware, fifth anniversary—though due to the equations exclusion of procreative data, we can't say that number is completely accurate. Surely success rates are higher when you figure in such matrimonial bond-strengthening data as the B/d* factor.

Realizing that incumbent Governator Arnold Schwarzenegger's views on crucial issues like gay marriage, the environment, and having Los Angeles officially declared the capital of Earth pander to are in alignment with their own, Hollywood liberals find themselves supporting the—gasp!—Republican for reelection. [Variety]
In what could easily result in the most annoying entry in the history of the talent competition genre, ABC greenlights The Impostor, which will seek out the best celebrity impersonator in the country. We anticipate mass suicides during either the fourteenth Captain Kirk impression or the twentieth Travis Bickle-era De Niro. [THR]
A marketing study shows that about one-third of the moviegoing public researches a film on the web before seeing it, a promising finding reassuring studios that they still can exploit the other uniformed two-thirds of their potential audience without online interference. [Variety]
· THR refers to The CW as "television's first patchwork quilt network," a description that aptly captures the new network's salvaging of programming scraps and stitching them together into an aesthetically incoherent, unsightly whole. [THR]
The producers of the Janis Joplin biopic The Gospel According to Janis decide that it's better to have an actress who can sing rather than a pop star who can't sing play Joplin, replacing Pink with Zooey Deschanel. [Variety]

According to various, badly sourced online reports, onetime nightlife ubiquity and former globe-trotting serial inebriationist Tara Reid has finally decided that her oft-discussed, surgically overenhanced breasts were distracting from her acting talent, and recently underwent a reduction to restore the public's focus on her mastery of craft. Unfortunately, not even this radically misguided move could save her stalled career from the unprecedented indignity of an internet-enabled descent to a level below a straight-to-Blockbuster DVD release, the direct-to-download movie dump:

TMZ is reporting that Dr. Cyril Wecht, the private pathologist hired to perform a second autopsy on her son, has now allowed that "it could be a drug-related death of an accidental nature," while an unnamed source tells them that there were multiple prescription drugs in Daniel Smith's system, not just the single anti-depressant alluded to yesterday. Wecht later went on an expletive-filled tirade against Bahamian Coroner Linda Virgill, who stands firm that the "cause of death is known," yet for some reason still doesn't feel so secure in her "Mr. Green with the lead pipe in the library" theory as to share it with the world.

After months of hype declaring prodigal showrunner Aaron Sorkin as perpetually fourth-place network NBC's Nielsen Messiah, the (preliminary) ratings numbers for Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip's breathlessly anticipated premiere are finally in. And? While NBC seems to have edged out longtime tormentor CBS for first place in both overall viewers and the coveted™ 18-49 demographic, the Peacock's savior was proven to be the bald-pated, OCD-riddled ringmaster of their lowbrow, people-shouting-at-briefcases circus, not their troubled, celebrated dialogue-stylist. Reports Zap2it.com:

While driving around the east side of our fine city, we'd often find ourselves musing that the sleepy, upper-middle-class environs would make an excellent stand-in for suburban Utah. The Citizen Robot blog notes that this fake billboard has gone up in Glassell Park, indicating that location scouts for Big Love obviously agree with our amateur hunch. And while it's great to see a TV production staying in town (even if it's because Utah probably isn't that welcoming of a show that wants to harp on the whole polygamy thing), we fear that some local day laborers visiting the neighborhood might not subscribe to the premium channel and could become confused by the prop, circling the neighborhood endlessly looking to stake out a good spot in the parking lot of the nonexistent home superstore in an attempt to pick up some work.

Long feverishly dedicated to the wholesale destruction of Christian values through the broadcast of such apocalypse-inviting programming like Temptation Island, Trading Spouses, and the short-lived, but surpassingly influential, Who Wants To Fellate the Thorny, Infernal Member of Beezlebub For A Crisp Five Dollar Bill?, Fox has now decided that Christians' money is just as green as that of Hollywood-worshipping heathens. The LAT reports that the company will today reveal its plans to exploit The Passion of the Christ's staggering success by producing up to 12 Jesus-flavored films a year, at least 6 of which will actually make their way into multiplexes through its new FoxFaith label. But before they could get the God Squad on board with their attempts to raid the collection plate, the FoxFaithful had to first acknowledge the sins of their corporate family:

· All our dreams about a Penn presidency have been dashed. Or an Oprah one, for that matter.
The Office producer Ben Silverman reminds us that in Hollywood, the only product you're ever really selling is yourself: "'We have the best pilot-to-series ratio in television history,' he said, adding, 'It's spin, I know, but I'm all about pushing Ben right now.'" [Reader beware: There's an Office spoiler near the part about how he enticed Cingular to partner with the show.]
While ABC allows the up-and-coming nipples on Grey's Anatomy their time in the spotlight, they're cruelly stifling the past-their-prime perkies of Desperate Housewives.
The Seductive Baboon line of underthings seems to be satisfying every overphotographed starlet's upskirt photo needs.
· Find out how Scarlett Johansson feels about having large breasts, right here!
· This really wasn't a good day for the parents of famous people.

Page Six got an advance peek at an interview with Alec Baldwin in the upcoming issue of GQ, in which the 30 Rock scene-stealer rattles off at the mouth in the way that grumpy, over-the-hill leading men so often tend to do. After sharing some choice words about ex-wife Kim Basinger and her lawyer, Judy Bogen (whom he describes as an unlikely "300-pound homunculus,"), he then offers some backhanded support for Tom Cruise:

It looks like HBO has decided that its bold attempt to add the ability to repeatedly use the word "cunt," show flaccid male genitalia, and depict a schlubby TV husband pumping away at his sexually frustrated wife to the traditional, multicamera sitcom genre has failed, as they've announced that they've canceled Lucky Louie after just one season. TV Week relates the network's heartfelt expression of admiration for the boundary-pushing comedian they just shitcanned:

· Monday night music round-up: Ray LaMontagne at the Troubadour; Sea Wolf at Spaceland; assorted Sarah Silverman body parts may or may not sing a duet at Largo.
· Writers Bloc presents Michael Tolkin, author of The Player and its recent follow-up, The Return of the Player, in conversation with obscure, struggling screenwriter Stephen Gaghan at the Fine Arts Theater.
· Critic Stephen Farber hosts a Reel Talk screening of Aurora Borealis at the Wadsworth Theater. Scheduled to attend are director James Burke and star Joshua Jackson, who will be happy to answer all of your questions about the parentage of ex-girlfriend Katie Holmes' newborn baby.

THR, Esq. reports that photographer Jodi Cobb is suing Geisha House, the Hollywood eatery owned by Big Brother All Stars winner/Jack Shack proprietor Mike "Boogie" Malin and B-list restaurateurs Ashton Kutcher and Wilmer Valderrama, for the establishment's alleged liberal, unpaid use of her geisha photography in their decor and marketing materials. Geisha House's management counters that they're not so much "stealing" her images as "knocking them off so they don't have to pay":

The celebrity gossip machine appears to have fully clued into the fact that they are a sitting on a potential goldmine with the death of Anna Nicole Smith's son—it's the kind of botched investigation story that just keeps on giving. First we had the official coroner hinting at third parties in the room, possible foul play and pending criminal charges, only to follow up with zilch on all three counts. Then came the independently ordered, second autopsy by "world class" pathologist Cyril Wecht, who so far sees nothing suspicious, but did reveal that Daniel was taking antidepressants at the time. (TMZ has video of him saying as much here, followed by some heartwarming photos of the covered body being transported.) People now has the latest incremental update in this not-developing story:

This week MTV launches Virtual Laguna Beach, its online community that will allow fans of the wildly popular "reality" series to meet up in an online paradise based on the confusingly semi-scripted world featured on the show. In a demonstration of what will surely become the site's most popular feature, MTV senior VP Matt Bostwick proudly showed the NY Times how easy it is for a middle-aged man to trade in his insufficiently alluring physical form for one more likely to attract the attention of bored, horny teenage boys: