Isaiah culpa: Washington apologizes for fag-bashing T.R. Knight out of the closet. But is it too late to save his job? And why do we keep hearing about ABC meeting with other black actors, as though America wouldn’t notice if he were suddenly replaced by Eriq LaSalle? [People]
Megan Mullally apparently isn’t lesbian enough to hack it in the daytime talk/variety show market. And yet America is lapping up that EVOO-swilling cunt Rachael Ray. [Jossip]
NBC gets its balls out of its purse and moves Tina Fey’s surprisingly terrific 30 Rock to Thursday nights. Audiences prepare to start confusing John Krasinski and Jane Krakowski. Hint: Members of the PEN15 Club are unlikely to express a desire to drink Jane Krakowski’s piss. [Hollywood Reporter]
Alleged-bian Amanda Peet, currently banished back to TV in the wake of The Whole Ten Yards and A Lot Like Love, has taken a page out of the Marcia Cross Handbook by announcing her pregnancy. The earlier rumors that Peet was desperately trying to hide her knocked-upness from the producers of her new NBC series, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, may constitute an elaborate merkin-ing scheme, especially considering the years-old rumors of Peet’s affair with Sarah Paulson - who happens to co-star on Studio 60. [IMDb]
The smash hit of the Toronto Film Festival - with a serious Best Actor push for Sacha Baron Cohen in the offing - Borat is apparently so funny that our Commander-in-Chimp is paying attention to its potential offensiveness. Oh the irony! [Daily Mail]
Katie Couric’s blog entry makes my eyes bleed a little bit. Use of multiple exclamation points does not a serious newsperson make. [Couric & Co.]
The analysis of Matthew McConaughey’s shirtless PR exploits we wish we’d written. Bravo! [Fametracker]
Usually when we talk about a British pop singer with “George” in his name picking up garbage in public, we’re talking about George Michael having anonymous sex in Hampstead Heath. But no, this time it’s Boy George, having it out with the paparazzi as he picks up trash in an orange vest. Poor Boy. When drugs and obscurity have aged you this much, the last thing you want is to be caught wearing orange in public. And those sandals! He’s a muumuu away from being late-era Marlon Brando. [Ottawa Citizen]
We were beginning to think Kate Hudson’s taste in men was as bad as her taste in film scripts, but alas…she has come to her senses (at least as far as men are concerned). Unless - do you think? - he dumped her. That would be more ghastly than the entire Luke Wilson oeuvre. [E! Online]
There hasn’t been a new episode of The Office in nearly three months, but this PEN15-er is still weak-kneed over carbfaced cutie John Krasinski. [Just Jared]
Where do you think Pete Doherty and Kate Moss are registered? We’re guessing Kappy’s Liquors and the methadone clinic. Because nothing screams “class” like getting married in Ibiza. [The Daily Telegraph]
Mrs. Reichen continues to disappoint as our Great Gay Hope (as if). Does anyone else think he looks like Emilio Estevez swallowed Jake Gyllenhaal? [Livejournal]
Yeah, that’s right, Time Inc. We’re posting a thumbnail of the Infangelina cover photo. And linking to the Gawker story about what a bunch of dicks you are - you know, the one in which you misspell the relatively common proper name “Brad.” Whaddya gonna do? Huh? Huh?! [Gawker]
Ewww, Ryan Phillippe drinks Corona! [Just Jared]
Uwe Boll - commonly referred to as “the worst filmmaker of all time” - has the nerve to sue the company that was nice enough to distribute his train wreck of a movie. And Billy Zane. [Hollywood Reporter]
Heather of GFY has some harsh words for Dina Lohan and, frankly, seems to feel more genuine concern for Lindsay than anyone the poor girl actually knows. [Go Fug Yourself]
And “What is she doing in a cocktail dress at 7 a.m.?” becomes the Ann Coulter joke to end all Ann Coulter jokes. Thanks, Kathy Griffin! [Good as You]
Anderson Cooper somehow managed to write an entire memoir without directly referring to his own sexuality. Highlights include “How I lost my virginity to…somebody” and “I felt really alienated and different during my adolescence…for some reason that I can’t really discuss. Wait - it was my father’s death. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Dead Dad.” Vanity Scare re-packages the obfuscation into an even vaguer excerpted cover story. Apparently he spent a large portion of his childhood hanging out with Truman Capote and Andy Warhol. You don’t say. [Vanity Fair]
Geena Davis’ career remains smothered in loser dust, as Commander in Chief (aka The President Used Tampons) gets the long kiss goodnight to cutthroat island. But what will become of First Hottie Matt Lanter?! [Zap2It]
The new full-length trailer for Superman Returns will leave you as stiff as Brandon “Rhymes With Mouth” Routh’s delivery. It’s official: Kevin Spacey and Frank Langella have morphed into the same bald, queeny, middle-aged character actor. [Apple Movie Trailers]
Jan Maxwell, co-star of Entertaining Mr. Sloane Off Broadway, decides that acting opposite a shirtless Chris Carmack every night isn’t worth putting up with Alec Baldwin’s tantrums, and quits the play. Baldwin, ever the gentleman, responds by joking that she’s on the payroll of Kim Basinger’s divorce lawyer. [NY Post]
DUI-ified Michelle Rodriguez chooses Lady Jail over community service, surprising no one who’s ever seen a Linda Blair movie from the ’80s. [AP via Yahoo!]
Over-privileged Harvard sophomore/instantly overrated chick-lit author Kaavya Viswanathan’s plagiarism allegations lead Gawker to dig up her Facebook profile, to humilarious effect. That’s what the bitch gets for being 19 and successful. [Gawker]
Teri Hatcher is such a fucking victim. [People]
We’re totally into JustJared’s post-Blogger format, almost as much as we’d love to get into Daniel Craig’s tight black swimsuit. [JustJared]
Anne Hathaway gets the award for Official First Great Post-Brokeback Career Move, signing to star in 40-Year-Old Virgin auteur Judd Apatow’s forthcoming comedy Knocked Up. It’s about exactly what you think it is. [Hollywood Reporter]
I totally know where you can get laid in Malden, like, right now. Except it’ll probably be really crowded for awhile, thank you very much, Herald. [Boston Herald]
Colin Farrell is the new Tom Cruise. No, he’s not mobilizing an entourage of yes-men to kidnap teenage hustlers so that he can have sex with said hustlers, and then paying said entourage to murder said hustlers and dispose of their corpses in the LaBrea tar pits (allegedly). He’s just started suing people. [I Don’t Like You in That Way]
Cinema is Dead, Example 499: For the second time in less than a month, a major motion picture opens in which a man dresses up as an obese, Southern black granny. [Rotten Tomatoes]
There are only two weeks left until the Gay Super Bowl (to be live-blogged right here at The PEN15 Club), so we figured we’d contribute to the blogosphere’s sustained echo chamber of Academy handjobbing:
- Jake begins to crawl out of Heath’s somber, Australian acting shadow, taking the Best Supporting Actor prize at the BAFTAs (aka the Limey Oscars - it’s the same statue, but with worse teeth), while Heath loses Best Actor (again) to Philip Seymour Hoffman. Meanwhile, Brokeback continues its Sherman’s March-like pillaging of the precursors by winning Picture, Director and Screenplay. [Sky News]
- Another reason why Rachel Weisz is now a virtual Supporting Actress lock: She was born in 1971, and the last three winners in that category - Cate Blanchett, Renee Zellweger and Catherine Zeta-Jones - were all born in ‘69 (I know what you’re thinking, but we’ll give CZJ the benefit of the doubt). If the trend continues, Weisz is a much stronger candidate to take the prize than young ‘uns Michelle Williams (b. 1980) and Amy Adams (’75), or mature quails Catherine Keener (’60) and Frances McDormand (’57).
- Another reason why Reese Witherspoon continues to be a mortal Best Actress lock: no actress over 40 has won the award since Susan Sarandon 10 years ago. Sorry, Felicity.
- Onetime Best Actress Halle Berry shows monster balls, acting like kind of a bitch while in Boston to accept her Hasty Pudding award. Although, to be fair, the Harvard queers forced her to spend the evening at 33, drinking $7 domestic beer and making small talk with the Eurotrash. [Boston Herald]
