As we watch in surreal replay-horror at the unbefuckinglievable events currently unfolding, we here at Defamer aim to bring you the essential news you need, when you need it:
Somewhere in cine-Musketeer heaven, Jack Valenti is quietly weeping. He's still alive? Oh. Well then, to paraphrase the President, he must be doubly weeping from the ground. Dan Glickman, his 'meh' successor as head of the MPAA, has admitted the unthinkable: he needs help. From today's Variety:
Mark has gone on a trip. I'm not sure where to; he was rushed and breathless and I could only catch bits and pieces. Something about "Stockholm," "getting rid of the stranger between his legs once and for all," and "Juicy sweatsuits here he comes." Strangest of all, he left his itinerary behind and his return flight appears to have been ticketed to a "Maria Lisanti." Must have been a typo.
· Finally, a hurricane benefit concert that the cool kids can get behind! Dave Grohl, Fiona Apple, David Cross, Tenacious D, and Sarah Silverman get together for the Concert for Katrina Relief tonight at the Wiltern. Tix range from $65-100 bucks.
· Perhaps the only thing better than a secret show is a "secret" show, because once things become "secret," you actually have a chance of going. Anyway, feel semi-in-the-know about Buckcherry's gig under the name All Lit Up (none too imaginative, but effective) tonight at the Viper Room.
· You've heard the disembodied voices, now prove to yourself that at least one of the people on KCRW is real: Terry Gross, host of NPR’s Fresh Air, appears as part of UCLA Live’s Spoken Word Series at Royce Hall.
It's that magical time when spleens are vented, mysteries unraveled, and your blind item guesses revealed. Sit through another uncomfortable silence with One Girlie Blind Vice before moving on:
An e-mail listing today's new WireImage video clip offerings distills the bland sound-bites you'll later hear on Access Hollywood or the local news into something far more interesting. For example, take the list of Jessica Alba's Into the Blue clips, which become an almost stream-of-consciousness representation of her thoughts on the direction of her career:
Wanting to ensure that his boss would look his best for Monday night's Flightplan premiere, producer Brian Grazer's Special Skin-Tightening Assistant cranked the winch on the back of Grazer's neck one too many times, rendering him unable to blink or close his mouth. Luckily, Grazer's Director of Emergency Facial Lubrication also attended the event, and periodically misted the power-players's face to prevent his gums or eyeballs from succumbing to any uncomfortable dryness.
· "Just 10 days away from taking the baton at the Mouse House, a composed and articulate Bob Iger put the emphasis on single-mindedly growing the company's brands." Composed and articulate? What was Variety expecting, that Iger speak in tongues while crapping his pants? Maybe he's saving that for his first day on the job. [Variety]
· The premiere of Lost does "astounding" and "stellar" numbers, while its 8 pm recap/lead-in special causes Martha Stewart's Apprentice to bite the doily. [THR]
· The newly split-up Viacom explains its strategies to Wall Street, with Les Moonves bristling at the idea his division is "slow growth," and calling counterpart Tom Freston "laid back," which will make him "easy to kill, when the time is right." [Variety]
· Hollywood Out of Ideas, Vigilante Judges Edition: Hyde Park Entertainment to redo 1983's The Star Chamber for Fox. Well, at least it isn't for Paramount, home of all things remake. [THR]
· Batman Forever reunion! Jim Carrey is in talks to be homoeroticized by director Joel Schumacher in New Line's "quirky" thriller The Number 23. Should talks progress as expected, Carrey will begin his rubber-nipple fittings immediately. [Variety]
Wherein we invite our readers to stroll the lot and kick the tires of humpy E! gossip used car salesman Ted Casablanca's weekly blind item and guess the identity of its hopelessly obscured celebrity victim. This week, Ted stalks the Emmy red carpet in search of yet another 'mo in breeder's clothing. And guess what? He found one! Sit down in the sauna next to One Girlie Blind Vice:
We sampled the debut of Martha Stewart's version of The Apprentice last night, and it seems like she's a little bit unclear on the concept. After she dismissed the first hopeful with that terribly ineffectual catchphrase, "You just don't fit in," she's heard in voice-over—and then pictured—writing the unwanted candidate a letter on beautiful stationery. It's all way too toothless and civilized. On the new season of Trump's show, the castoffs are dipped in barbecue sauce and locked in the back of the limo with a dozen rabid weasels while the cameras roll. The trying-too-hard-to-be-nice Martha Stewart stops just short of naming a shade of paint after each week's loser. It's like she had all the icy bitch poncho'd out of her in prison.
"For Matthew Ash, a 24-year-old Gardena resident on a church trip to New York's Catskill Mountains, the first sign of trouble came from an icon of a JetBlue plane. The plane — on the animated map at his seat — 'wasn't going anywhere,' he said, 'just hanging around in Los Angeles.' The landing gear had not retracted, the pilot said."... But as the plane drew closer to the ground, emotions intensified, he said. People remained quiet. Many held hands. A few cried. Parents tried to calm their children, and a baby cried. In front of Ash, a woman began sobbing loudly. As the plane approached the runway, the pilot told passengers to brace themselves.
· Britney Spears is taking great pains, like hiring decoy lookalikes to trick greedy shutterbugs, to make sure that she cashes in on her little peanut before the paparazzi do.
· We've never seen Veronica Mars (please, hold your appalled e-mails), but apparently it's just like The OC, right down to the soundtrack.
· We thought that the city smelled kind of funky yesterday, but attributed it to the fact that we put off taking a shower a little bit too long. (Hey, that's blogging.) LA Observed's StenchWatch seems to let us off the hook.
· Fametracker was way ahead of the curve, predicting an Everybody Loves Raymond sequel in which Brad Garrett's character moves out of the house about two years ago. Someone give these guys a development deal.
· Dolce's Emmy night makeover wasn't quite as popular with the neighbors as it was with the drunk folks with the spray paint cans.
· Wednesday night music round-up: Stellastar* at the El Rey; Aqualung at the Henry Fonda; the Eagles at Staples Center, for those who are into that sort of thing.
· Five bucks buys the chance to crowd into the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater to experience McSweeney's Presents: The World, Explained a night of comedy and readings with the likes of Paul Feig, Joshuah Bearman, and Rodney Rothman, as well as the musical stylings of movie-star-in-training Zooey Deschanel.
· Sixty bucks buys the chance to breathe the same air as Viggo Mortensen at the Egyptian Theater, where some tickets to the premiere of A History of Violence have been made available to the public.
This week's NY Observer takes an in-depth look at how today's agents choose to outwardly represent the bloodlust tucked away in their hearts through fashion, from the suit-centric, sartorial anal retention of ICM's Casual Friday-eschewing Ed Limato, to William Morris's flannel-and-shitkicker-rocking president Dave Wirtschafter. Those working at the more uptight shops, however, must be missing out on the fun of pissing all over a co-worker's fashion sense on the days that the Armani stays in the closet:
It seems that Friday's official announcement that Tori Spelling's marriage is over has awakened an unwelcome exhibitionist streak in the bug-eyed sometime actress, as she and a new pal horrified two of our readers (dining separately) by doing everything but screwing on the hostess stand at Buddha's Belly last night. Our correspondents share their misfortune :
