Despite early hopes that the Anthony Pellicano Wiretapping Trial of the Century would take down the whole fucking system from the inside!, so little good dirt has been unearthed that a bored Hollywood seems ready to put the whole project in turnaround. [Variety]
James Bond franchise producers Michael Wilson and Barbara Broccoli announce they've invited back Daniel Craig for a 007 film to be released in May 2008, giving the British tabloids another two years to concoct stories about Blonde Bond's desire to incorporate strappy heels into the superspy's staid, tuxdeo-based look. [THR]
NBC is resurrecting the Bill Lawrence pilot Nobody's Watching, which was not picked up by The WB but became a hit on YouTube, by ordering six scripts of the series. Tube-smitten network president Kevin Reilly is also expected to announce the greenlighting of a series consisting of nothing but re-edits of movie trailers in which the leads are presented as gay lovers by the Brokeback Mountain theme playing in the background. [Variety]
· Studio execs are hopeful that the movies they're releasing in the summer "stretch drive" (Talledega Nights, Snakes on a Plane, The Any Bully, etc) will perform well enough not to cost them their jobs. [THR]
· Hollywood is relieved that the government will distinguish between it and the hardcore porn industry in matters of keeping records on the ages of performers who appear in sex scenes, allowing CBS's special episode of CSI, "Preschool Orgy Massacre Autopsy," to proceed unencumbered by annoying bureaucratic red tape. [Variety]

The canned, corny tedium of The Tonight Show was interrupted last night when a female audience member walked on stage and approached Colin Farrell, who was there to promote Miami Vice. While the confrontation never made it to air, a witness recalled, "She said something to Colin Farrell that no one heard, then he took her by the elbow, led her off stage, asked the cameramen to turn off their cameras and asked for security." Access Hollywood.com is now reporting that the woman in question is Dessarae Bradford, author of the classic of the celebrity-stalking-fruitcake canon, My S/M Romp With Alec Baldwin, and singer of "Colin Farrell is My Bitch (I Fucked Alec Baldwin in His Ass)," streaming as we speak on her MySpace page.

Today's LAT reports on yesterday's brief writer walk-out over at the offices of American's Next Top Model, a protest over the show's refusal to allow the people who coax coherent storylines out of Tyra Banks' sassy eye-rolls and Janice Dickinson's batshit ramblings to join the Writers Guild:

In today's column, Fox 411's Roger Friedman points out that the members of Steely Dan are very, very cross with Owen "The Butterscotch Stallion" Wilson for starring in You, Me, and Dupree, but not because the movie, by nearly all accounts, profoundly sucks. The band believes that the film's premise was stolen from their song "Cousin Dupree," which, like the movie, features a ne'er-do-well named Randy Dupree who freeloads on someone's couch. In a wildly amusing and unhinged open letter on their site, the band declares their beef to Luke Wilson, asking him to talk some sense into his brother, whom they offer the option of apologizing for Hollywood's perceived idea-filching sins onstage at one of their concerts or risk a career-hampering skullfucking (not in so many words, of course) by a rather unpleasant sounding Russian associate of theirs. Guilty or not, we really hope the Stallion opts for the apology—it'd be a shame if Dupree became the last entry on his IMDb profile because of a tragically violent credit arbitration.

In Photoshopping some formerly innocent photos of a recent Matthew McConaughey beach workout into an impressive display of clone-enabled auto-erotcism, the Velvet Hot Tub revisits a truly inspired idea clumsily explored in last year's flop The Island. But instead of cloning oneself merely for spare parts to be used in a medical emergency, why shouldn't a celebrity have an exact replica of himself for the purpose of sexual gratification? Mark our words: This is going to be the cutting edge in Hollywood narcissism sooner than any of us would think possible. Somewhere in a sub-basement of Cedars Sinai, geneticists are hunched over Petri dishes containing McConaughey and Pitt DNA, nearly ready to usher in the future.

At the very real risk that you've seen this before, we are happy to pass along the Fucking Short Version of perhaps our favorite movie of all time. [via Screenhead/Waxy]
The glossies really can't win. Call Reese Witherspoon fat enough to be pregnant, get sued. Call Kate Hudson skinny enough to scare her mom, get sued.
· But at least Kate Hudson never got skinny enough to faint dead away in Kitson.

While it's safe to say Charlie Sheen is not having the greatest of years, his career seems to be the one area of his life that's carrying on nicely. Apparently, audiences of Two and a Half Men feel that the off-screen domestic foibles and cheerleader-chasing antics of its star do little to dilute its sitcomy hilarity. The LAT reports that Sheen is demanding to be compensated in an amount befitting his singular talents, elevating him to the rare, $1 million-an-episode circle previously occupied by such primetime royalty as David Schwimmer:

We're starting to think that this isn't really Daniel Baldwin's week. Even with a profile-elevating, 80 mph crash into some parked cars (a truly impressive speed for an impact with stationary vehicles), he still finds himself living in his more favored brothers' shadows, unable to pass even Billy on the BaldwinMeter. Perhaps he can take some comfort in knowing that six out of ten respondents to CBS2.com's poll opted out of this tough choice entirely.

Tired of being recognized merely as an opportunistic barnacle fused to his more famous wife's leg, Kevin Federline is busily putting the finishing touches on his debut album, "Playing With Fire," the project that coaxed him out of the background dancing shadows and is set to establish him as a major non-talent in his own right. Somehow, Federline has convinced the Fox network to let him close the Teen Choice 2006 awards with a performance of his debut single, "Lose Control." From USA Today:

A little earlier this afternoon, a representative from Imagine Entertainment was in touch to offer us an officially sanctioned photo to use in lieu of the one we'd be featuring alongside nearly every Brian Grazer-related item since September. We understand that this is town in which a premium is placed on individuals always looking their best, and so we're more than happy to share this more artfully lit and flattering photograph (suitable, of course, for framing and puckishly leaving behind in the homes of acquaintances) with our readers. We suggest that you take a moment to print it out to keep handy at your desk; we're the forgetful sort, and should Grazer's less favored, overly taut image somehow reappear on this site, you can easily retrieve the more aesthetically pleasing headshot from a desk draw and hold it over the offending section of your computer monitor.

· KCRW "DnA: Design and Architecture" host Frances Anderton lectures at the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena tonight. Why not take a break from drinking yourself to death to try something different?
· The only thing better than yoga (we say, having never gone near a yoga studio) is a yoga class at a museum. We imagine the setting would give you interesting things to look at in between downward-facing dogs and whatnot. [via Cheapskatin' LA]
· Music round-up: Gnarls Barkley at the Pacific Amphitheatre in Costa Mesa; Anya Marina at the Hotel Cafe; Nine Black Alps at Spaceland; Jack White and Brendan Benson's little-side-project-that-could, The Raconteurs, at the Wiltern

Tom Cruise Celebrity Centre pal and freelance OTR III Infant Actuality Verificationist Leah Remini has once again acted as peacemaker between the Suri-embargoing Cruise camp and the glossy magazines desperate for any shred of proof of the possibly mythical offspring's existence, upgrading her claim to Us Weekly to have seen the child to an intimation that she's had physical contact with the tyke for People:

Nestled deeply in the "Surveillance" section of today's Rush & Molloy column in the NY Daily News comes this item regarding Seann William Scott, star of such upcoming entertainments as Coxblocker and Mr. Woodcock, tripping the gay light fantastic with none other than Carbon Beach land baron, David Geffen:

A reader submits this brief report of possibly intoxicated Saturn-overturner Haley Joel Osment's whereabouts several hours before last night's much-publicized, abruptly inverted thrill ride:

Disney employees whose heads are on the chopping block anxiously await their bloody fates, as mass executions are
reportedly scheduled to be conducted next week. [Variety]
The Senate may soon vote on legislation that would require Hollywood to keep track of the ages of actors who pretend to have sex scenes in movies and TV shows. It is unknown if Dakota Fanning can be grandfathered into future rape-related roles should the bill become law. [THR]
George Clooney parts ways with producing partner Steven Soderbergh at Section 8, but is forming new production company Smoke House with Good Night, And Good Luck collaborator/BFF Grant Heslov and sticking around at Warner Bros. The new venture is named for the famous Burbank restaurant, a choice made after an arduous branding process determined that calling the shingle Dimples would be far too cute. [Variety]
NBC's America's Got Talent and Fox's So You Think You Can Dance both trounce ABC's The One in the ratings on Wednesday, a programming block that will soon come to be known as Utterly Unwatchable American Idol Rip-off Night. [THR]
· Canadians do an adorable impression of an American-style studio executive ouster, as Motion Picture Distribution unexpectedly shitcans two of its bigshots. [Variety]

Frustrated that preternaturally gifted child actress Dakota Fanning has failed to take home Hollywood's biggest individual award after half a decade of stardom, Fanning's mother and agent are anxious to push the 12-year-old's career to the next level through the careful selection of the type of completely non-exploitative, child-rape-related roles that tend to get the Academy's attention. Reports NY Daily News JV gossip Lloyd Grove:

Celebrity/stalker disagreements are almost always precarious matters—usually he-said/ she-screamed-incoherently affairs, with the truth lying somewhere in the gray area in between. In the case of John Cusack's alleged obsessor, Jennifer Leatherman, the actor filed and won a restraining order against the homeless 31-year-old, claiming she threw "long letters of interest over my fence in bags with rocks and screwdrivers inside." In an interview with the AP, however, Leatherman denied having catapulted the care packages into Cusack's yard, and resents the implication:

When a movie studio serves notice that it's received a cost-cutting mandate from its corporate parent by publicly executing a prominent executive and placing her severed head atop a pike outside the Grill on the Alley, everyone in Hollywood, already the job insecurity capital of the world, reflexively reaches for their necks and wonders if they should get a waddle-tuck before their appointment with the guillotine. Today's LAT attempts to capture the wave of heightened paranoia touched off by Disney's announced 650-person Cast Member Massacre by soliciting quotes from producers entering the brave, new world of seemingly routine cost-cutting and layoffs:

There's no use trying to make heads or tails out the living arrangements of Hollywood's rich and famous, where on any given Beverly Hills estate, you may find an aging trophy wife kissing her ex-husband hello just before she strolls over to the new life she's built in the guest house with the poolboy. For example, Jon Peters' ex-wife, Christine Forsyth Peters, has been living rent-free in his Bel Air mansion since their 1987 separation, after only two months of marriage. (They divorced in 1993.) Presumably, the arrangement had its "3 a.m. knock on the door" benefits, but Peters has decided the time has come for Christine and her adopted daughters to hit the road:

As exciting as video footage of Paris Hilton driving away from cops or entering and exiting nightclubs might be, the acts of chasing the celebutard ubiquity down Hollywood Boulevard or sticking a camera in her face as she steps out of her Range Rover lack a sense of intimacy. Intuiting that the public might like to see a less guarded Hilton, head TMZ stalker Harvey Levin called off his paparazzi Delta Force long enough to spend a quiet moment with the heiress, which he used to read verbatim the nasty commentary readers of his website routinely append to the site's many Hiltoncentric items, hoping to elicit the kind of publicist-approved tears Matt Lauer recently coaxed from an embattled Britney Spears. To her credit, Hilton did not crack, not even in the face of the nonsensical—but nonetheless hilarious—accusation that she is "like a fart in a mitten":