Freeway 9

The stunt cast

2010-02-04T03:12:00.001+11:00

Why? Why would they? There's no surer sign that a TV show is about to hurl its ass Fonzie-style across shark-infested waters than the stunt-cast. It's never good. It never works. The pop cultural graveyard is littered with the corpses of TV hacks who in their last gasps were heard to utter, "You know what Ugly Betty's been missing all these years? Post Spice!" Whether it's Nancy Reagan warning Arnold and Willis to say no to drugs or Brad Pitt's wooden banter and woeful in-jokes on Friends (hahaha he hates Rachel ...) or Color Me Bad and Jeremy Jordan thrashing out early-90s white boy R&B in the Peach Pit, stunt casting is just awkward and embarrassing for all concerned. Suddenly the characters in this neat little self-contained universe are turning to the cameras and giving us the big wink and nudge and asking us to revel in the hilarity of oh look, it's Mrs. Cunningham on Drew Carey! It's not clever, meta, postmodern, self-reflexive or any other dumb things you spouted in cinema studies tutes. It's just dumb. It's lame. And Jessica Alba and Jack Black belong nowhere near Dunder Mifflin. That is all.

Linkalicious

2010-02-04T03:10:00.000+11:00

Sean Penn, palling around with the anti-gays. Also doesn't much like journalists. Who knew?

Milk snubbed for Best Picture at the Golden Globes. San Francisco critics are mad for it.

Tom O'Neill, the Helen Thomas of film journalism, bravely goes where no hack has gone before, asking Marisa Tomei about that Oscar rumour. Tomei grits teeth and overlaughs.

Ha ha ha Tom Cruise mocks self by delivering woefully unfunny Letterman Top Ten.

Germaine Greer dislikes Australia. Australian media collectively loses its shit.

Oprah signs an HBO deal, which means we'll soon see Tony Soprano doodling in his gratitude journal and Ari Gold delivering free cars to South African fat farms or something.

Hugh Jackman to host Oscars

2008-12-12T02:40:00.000+11:00

You've come a long way from Corelli, baby.

Got milk?

2008-10-12T02:39:00.001+11:00

Here at Freeway 9 we're shining our shoes, picking out our best Bob Massey headwear and rustling up our Oscars bingo cards ("honor just to be nominated," "girl from a trailer park," "Harvey Weinstein," BINGO!) because IT'S AWARD SEASON, Y'ALL!

POSSIBLY ILL-ADVISED EARLY PREDICTION #1: Milk will win Best Picture.

While everyone else has been putting their money on Slumdog Millionaire, Daily Rushes has had 30 maths nerds working day and night, each paid with thirty peanuts, a Troop Beverly Hills DVD and the promise of Oscarblog glory, who've poured through the research data and all of Three 6 Mafia's back catalogue to arrive at this foolproof algorithm:

M = B-C/b+p(2)+J(z)k/W

Where:

M = Milk wins

B = Number of Best Picture trophies Milk has taken out (One: New York Film Critics)

C = Number of Best Picture trophies Slumdog has taken out (Two: National Board of Review, British Independent Film Awards)

b = Prop 8 topicality and liberal Hollywood guilt arising from Brokeback snub, (hereafter known as The Incident,) with said snub attributable to homophobic octogenarian Oscar voters who have since moved on to the great Dorothy Chandler Pavillion in the sky.

p = Stellar cast with establishment heavies (Penn), rising middleweights (Brolin), indie darlings (Luna, Hirsch), and one surprise heartthrob breakout (Franco).

J = Producers Guild of America's Stanley Kramer Award (which honors pictures for taking on 'provocative social issues'; see "b",) with Producers Guild a reliable indicator of Oscar glory, notwithstanding the Little Miss Sunshine misfire of 2004.

z = Desire to reward Gus Van Sant for returning to semi-commercial Hollywood fare with conventional plot, character and continuity (cf Good Will Hunting) with nary a big-thumbed cowgirl or snow-walkin' Gerry to be seen.

k = Homeground advantage for Real American Van Sant vs British interloper Danny Boyle.

W = Ten bonus Billy Crystal points for biopic.

Liveblogging Australia

2008-08-12T02:38:00.000+10:00

00:05 Nicole Kidman appears. Her name is Laura Ashley, or something.

00:07: Woah boy, does she hate that Drover.

11:00 Already one kangaroo, one Crikey and one Bill Hunter.

13:00 Laura Ashley is British and so uptight and repressed. She says things like "quite" when she means "yes".

20:30 The narrator child Nullah's mother dies, and he's upset for about five minutes.

25:30 But then he falls in love with a new mother. Hurrah!

33:00 Hey, it's Diver Dan!

38:15 Diver Dan's the bad guy. ie He has a pencil-thin moustache.

39:30 Also, when he needs to say something mean he walks up and says it right into Laura Ashley's ear even though there's no one else in the room.

48:00 Laura Ashley sings Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Something beneath that bodice there's a heart of gold and a fiery lust for some brawny Aussie beefcake.

1:10:30 The Drover hangs out with two Aboriginal people. They don't say much except to occasionally speak wise truths to him about his commitment issues.

1:17:00 Also, the Drover is friends with a Chinese man. We don't know his name. He cooks food and plays a ukelele. He says something about Beijing.

1:17:30 Hey look, it's Ben Mendelsohn! He has a plummy accent but we all know he's gonna end up back on the junk.

1:30:00 A stampede of cattle and a roaring orchestra. It's the live action Lion King.

1:35:00 The Drover pours water over his rock hard, glistening abs.

1:39:00 Also, he cracks whips. HE IS ALL MAN.

1:46:00 Everyone calls the drover Drover. That's cos he's embarrassed by his real name. Hector.

1:54:00 "Listen lady, I mix with dingoes, not Duchesses." AWESOME.

2:10:00 Now there's a ball and it's just like college with sweaty boys wearing tuxes and drinking straight out of longnecks.

2:17:00 Hahaha the Drover has come to the ball to show up all those stuffy suits.

2:20:00 Then it rains and he and Laura Ashley kiss in an embarrassing, old-couple kind of way.

2:25:00 Aaaargh they're bombing Darwin. Plot twist!

2:27:00 The Japanese land on the beaches of Darwin. Followed by Gwen Stefani.

2:37:00 OMG The Drover is saving the whole stolen generation. This is such a history lesson.

2:45:00 The Drover and Laura Ashley live happily ever after. Australia goes on to earn ten billion at the box office and Baz gets 43 Oscars, plus Australian of the Year, plus first president of the new republic, plus Ricky May Day gets renamed Baz Lurhmann Day.

On Nicole

2008-04-12T02:37:00.000+10:00

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who dislike Nicole Kidman, and those who loathe her. Something about this woman – with her frozen forehead and her white-rooted hair and her penchant for freaky men – just pisses people off, and they’ve all have been having a merry time as the festive season of Kidman-bashing gets underway. If you haven't been following, here's the latest:

• She sucks on Letterman.
• She sucks on Facebook.
• She sucks as a mother.
• She sucks at opening a movie.
• She sucks in Australia.
• She sucks in The Reader, which she wasn’t in, but if she had been, she would have sucked.

So what is it about Kidman that provokes this kind of ball-tearing? Maybe it’s just that she always seems to be trying too hard. She’s trying too hard to be breezy on Letterman; she’s trying too hard to emote on Oprah; she’s trying too hard to paint herself as a serious art actress, blockbuster queen, comic foil, indie darling, fashion muse and global humanitarian; and on screen, where she’s painfully self-conscious, she’s trying too hard to act.

Maybe it’s also that sense she gives off that as a frizz-haired, freckled adolescent living at the bottom of the world she set her sights on global stardom and then mustered every last drop of ambition to achieve it. If that meant a lightning-speed marriage to a top-billed nut, a radical regime of peeling and dyeing and straightening and slimming, a much-hyped breakdown and press tour and subsequent sympathy Oscar, and a string of all-too-carefully chosen movie vehicles and well-timed charity appearances, then so be it. Maybe it's a Faustian pact that she wrestles with every time that turbo-charged needle inches towards her embattled brow.

Synecdoche, New York

2008-02-12T02:34:00.000+11:00

Sure, I had high expectations. This was the director who crawled inside the mind of Malkovich, who created the first fictional Oscar nominee, and who was the brains behind the great Clementine Kruczynski.

And the reviews! Ebert called it a “film with the richness of great fiction” whose “surface will daunt you and depths will enfold you.” The Washington Post called it one of the best films of the year, the decade even. The Times' critic said that to call it one of the best films of the year was "such a pathetic response to its soaring ambition that I might as well pack it in right now."

So hey, I was a little disappointed to find that watching Synecdoche, New York, was like getting stuck at a party with a guy who bangs on about his philosophy thesis and Nietzsche and how we’re-all-just-extras-in-someone-else's-dream even as you stifle yawns and nod politely and inch closer to the cheese table.

It’s not that I hated it. The best of Kauffman is all there: the quirky humour, the grandiose ambition, and the refusal to be cowed by conventional notions of narrative, character or the whole, you know, time/space continuum. Hoffman and Keener are, as always, brilliant. He's all pug-faced and mournful and she's all wan and withering and it's a beautiful thing to see them on screen together again.

But it’s way too long and it needs stronger direction and it gets to a point where you’re shifting in your seat and furtively checking your watch and tiring of the audience members snickering at the four-hundredth reference to what small, self-absorbed creatures we all are.

And the burning house was just dumb. Sorry.

Lopping the Poppies

2007-05-31T13:43:00.001+10:00

No nation has perfected the art of the backlash quite like Australia. Sure, Russia had the gulags, France the guillotine and Britain the stocks, but falling out of public favour in Australia lands you the antipodean equivalent: the merciless floggings on talkback radio, the forced labour of tabloid appearances and the gruelling interrogations by glossy mags where you beg absolution for your illicit text messages/turkey-slapping/Best Western fling with David Oldfield. Then, once your spirit is broken and your mind reduced to mush and you’ve apologised for all four series of ‘Tonight Live’, you’ll be exiled to the E-list reality TV circuit of celebrity fat camp and karaoke specials.

John So seems to be the latest victim of the ever-turning worm of public opinion. Turns out he’s not our ‘bro’ but more the disgraced cousin who hocks Grandma’s antique wedding ring to pay off Fat Tony. The Age paints So as an out-of-control meglomaniac whose profligate spending is sending Melbourne broke. But what of the rapping, smiling, clapping, not-at-all-patronising image of the ‘diminutive China man’ the media’s been so mad on? And if So goes, what becomes of a thousand subeditors’ dreams of coming up with all the more creative ways to pun on his surname?

A Jet backlash? Please. The Jet backlash has been on ever since those boys set their pointy cowboy boots inside a recording studio. Their paint-by-numbers rock riffs and carefully-coiffed facial hair made them a target for scorn on sticky carpets the country over. Wearing thongs to the Arias? ‘Tex did it years ago,’ someone jeered. So what will become of Jet, once the supermodels leave and the coke dries up and the lights rise for the last time? Future, thy name is Roxus.

The Number 112

2007-05-23T12:01:00.001+10:00

Hey there, big fella. Come, have a seat. My clenched forehead, tightly folded arms and determined stare out the tram window shouldn’t be taken as signs I want to be left alone. They’re in fact an open invitation to collapse next to me and let out a low groan in my ear. No, I don’t need much space, do take more. Speak, please. Roar at the top of your gravelly voice. I want nothing more than to hear about your latest ailment/run-in/conspiracy theory. Your hot, gin-soaked breath on my neck is a delight to me; your encrusted body odour a treat to the nasal passages. I love the way your spittle lands on my cheek as you lean ever closer. I love the way you throw your head back, slap your knees and launch into a tune - evidently self-composed and with such an unusual approach to pitch. Hey, I’ve as much middle-class guilt as the next frightened commuter. Now go on, scratch your balls and pass out on my shoulder.

Greed: like, so over

2007-05-18T14:18:00.000+10:00

They’re making another Wall Street: the film that defined its era with pin-stripe-suits and cigars and lunch being for wimps and Darryl Hannah looking slightly confused throughout, like she wandered off the set of Splash and swapped her fin for Armani.

And yeah, it was all 'zeitgeist' and epoch-making and whatever but really, Wall Street was just one of a bunch of 80s films of the “dude gets filthy rich but it ain’t all that” variety. Except usually they were screwball comedies with a bawdy Bette Midler and a souped-up Richard Pryor and maybe a Tom Cruise flash of teeth. Course there were variations on the same theme. There was the “poor dude becomes rich dude” (Risky Business, Big, Brewster’s Millions); “poor dude moves in with rich dude” (The Toy, Outrageous Fortune, Down and Out in Beverly Hills) and my favourite, the always salutary “poor dude and rich dude swap lives” (Trading Places, Big Business).

And if the 80s were saturated with “dude gets corrupted by the system” films, so too has Hollywood always bent and swayed to the neuroses of each era. So the 70s had your “dude tries to beat the system” (The Graduate, Bonny and Clyde, Dog Day Afternoon, All the President’s Men) and the 90s your “dude says fuck the system” (Slacker, Suburbia, Reservoir Dogs) and lately, as war rages and the world warms, we’ve had a whole slay of totally-right-on “system, what system?” flicks, where snaggy Clooney-types stroke their beards and furrow their brows and curse at the inhumanity of it all (Syriana, Babel, etc).

So if Wall Street II has Michael Douglas’ Gordon Gecko getting out of jail twenty years later, his jowls mysteriously tighter and his eyelids pinned to his brows, having been deprived of life and liberty but not, evidently, the services of an expensive Beverly Hills surgeon, maybe we’ll see him forsake the corporate thievery of years gone by and ask not whether greed is good but whether it’s ecologically sustainable, non-GM and carbon-neutral.

Mr T Says:

2006-08-02T21:57:00.000+10:00

Treat Your Mother Right.

Flick Tease

2006-07-31T22:59:00.000+10:00

The Melbourne International Film Festival is on. It’s a big event. “World class”. Last year Willem Dafoe was here. That’s right, WILLEM DAFOE. The guy who shagged Madonna in Body of Evidence! The bad dude from Speed 2! What’s more, he like, totally loved our city. He dined in Flinders Lane. He entered through unmarked doors. He like, totally got it. And he’s from New York! And he loves us! WILLEM DAFOE!

Anyway.

It’s winter, it’s cold, and there are a heap of good films on in Melbourne.

Sarah Silverman: Jesus is Magic.

Part upper east side debutante, part acid-tongued wench, Sarah Silverman is hilarious. She delivers savage one-liners with all the ditz of a sorority girl. Think Sandra Bernhard meets Cher Horowitz. Those who call her racist prove that Americans don’t understand satire, irony or the value of a good Guatemalan midget joke. Or as the lady herself says, “I don’t care if you think I’m racist, as long as you think I’m thin.”

Sympathy for the Devil.

Jean-Luc Godard. The Rolling Stones. Counter culture. Black power. Women’s Lib. Fascism. Peace in Vietnam. Marianne Faithful and Anita Pallenberg chiming in with high-pitched ‘hoo hoos’. Bill Wyman in kick-arse cherry red boots.

A Scanner Darkly.

Richard Linklater takes his animation from Waking Life and cranks the geektastic factor up to eleven. Adapting a 70s sci-fi story with anti-drug themes, Linklater casts Keanu Reeves, Robert Downey Jr, Winona Ryder and Woody Harrelson. So you can bet they had a good stash on set.

An Inconvenient Truth.

Yeah, climate change is bad. But did you know Al Gore is an all-round great guy? With a big heart and a giving mind? Not to mention a helluva way with a dry quip? Did he remind you, in a poignant moment accompanied by lush violins and slo-mo footage, how the presidency was STOLEN from him? Did you know that family tragedies have spurred him on to be a better man? Is he running in 2008? Do ya reckon?

MoHawk Down

2006-06-09T14:12:00.000+10:00

[Via Low Culture]

New Research Shows ...

2006-05-28T15:59:00.000+10:00

Due to lack of activity round these here parts, Housemate Geng has kindly stumped up this guest post:

Antioxidants, 2 glasses of red wine, 8 glasses of water, low GI carbs, and now this. Much like spasms of gastronomical reinvention encourage us to accept wasabi and chili ice cream as legitimate foodstuffs, we are now told by 'scientists' that dark chocolate may prevent strokes and heart attacks. ( I realise that the use of 'we' has come to mean nauseating blind consent, but bear with me here Dear Reader).

The greatest health risk from this discovery is probably not the potential for over-consumption (easy given that the RDI is 25 grams), but the resultant dinner party conversation. "...Was it 50 grams or 100 grams?" "I do believe it was 165 grams John, and the recommended brand was Toblerone."

Keira the Humanitarian

2006-05-03T10:01:00.000+10:00

Keira Knightley has auctioned her Oscars dress for $10,000, with proceeds going to Oxfam.

"It's brilliant that this dress has raised this much," Knightley said in a statement. "I know it will go a long way to help the people facing this food crisis in East Africa."

Ten thousand bucks? Yes, Keira, you've fed the starving millions.*

* Yeah, yeah, it's a lot more than I've ever given to Oxfam, but do you see me issuing a press statement every time I do Walk Against Want?**

** Okay, fine, so maybe I've never done Walk Against Want, but why does she act like Mother Fucking Teresa cos her people made a phone call to undo our creepy memories of Tom Ford, his tongue and her ear ***

*** Oh, and look! She just happened to be named FHM's Sexiest Woman on the very same day she opened her heart to the people of Africa! She's a woman of substance, NOT JUST A SEXPOT.

**** Right, so everyone's a cynic, but this woman earns $25 million a year, so excuse me if I'm not giving her the Nobel Peace Prize.

**** Oh, just fuck off, Keira lover. Yes, I hate her cos she's pretty.

Hey There Pregnant Lady!

2006-05-01T18:42:00.000+10:00

So now that you’ve mastered the Official List of Things You’re Not Allowed To Do For Risk of Harming Your Baby, Screwing its Life and Bringing Down Civilisation One Bloody Mary at a Time …

(short version: don’t smoke, drink, eat sushi, sweeteners or soft cheese, put on weight, lose weight, sleep on your back, overexercise, under exercise, forget to play Bach, speak French or read Proust to your womb)

… here’s another: You can’t work more than 24 hours a week or your kid will be short and stumpy with cross eyes and an overbite and a love of Wa Wa Nee.

Lucky they pay you the big bucks.

Also On the Playlist: Like A (72nd Heavenly) Virgin

2006-04-06T08:28:00.000+10:00

Hey, if you're going to play your devil music to alert-and-alarmed taxi drivers, the British police are going to haul your terrorist ass off that plane. ESPECIALLY IF YOU HAVE BROWN SKIN AND A FUNNY NAME. Just be glad they didn't shoot you, punk.

And then Lenny and Carl's Eyes Met Across the Rugged Mountain Range ...

2006-04-05T09:08:00.000+10:00

Let the geek countdown begin.

Where's Your Eastern Hippie Mysticism Now?

2006-04-04T09:35:00.000+10:00

To the person who piffed Ben Lee with a bottle: We're all in this together.

I Tu-Tu-Tube You

2006-03-31T10:54:00.000+11:00

Top five hits of the moment on my You Tube playlist:

You know, you think you've seen it enough. Then you see it in Spanish. With farts.

"Who cares if he's single, TAKE YOUR SHIRT OFF". Jake and Ellen, a love story.

Okay, so it's bit old, but 'noted vaginist' Sharon Stone's meltdown via Jon Stewart will make you laugh, cry and know that peace in the Middle East can't come soon enough.

Courtney on Letterman. Watch her tell the Kidman story. 'YOU'RE A PUDDLE!' Awesome.

The thing is, you can't tell which one's jumping the shark: Britney on Will & Grace (Fun Fact! The Gays like shopping and Gucci! Hi-larious!)

At Least He Didn't Offer to Write You a Poem

2006-03-30T08:22:00.000+11:00

Please applaud the ingenuity of this man:

[Via Gawker]

FCC Says No to Girl-Girl Action; David E Kelley to Appeal

2006-03-29T01:28:00.000+11:00

When a flagging TV show can’t throw in a little stunt lesbianism to boost ratings, you know free speech is in danger. Fight for the horny little guy. Protect the OC Amendment.

While Kev and Brits continue their connoisseurship of the vertically challenged, sit back and remember more innocent times.

George Clooney announces he’s making Oceans 13. Coincidentally, that’s the number of people who vaguely care. Julia and Catherine Zeta aren't coming back: “We didn't have a place to really use talent like theirs, two big stars like that.” Translation: Dang! Those bitches couldn’t stand each other! *

As Katie Holmes prepares to pop out the world’s most anticipated nut job, Scientologists are on their way to Cruise’s lair to hold up placards saying, "Be silent and make all physical movements slow and understandable.” FOR REAL. Can you imagine, there you are spread-eagled on the floor, huffing and puffing and wondering if the blood-pact you signed is really worth it and suddenly Isaac Hayes is thrusting a sign in your face with the same goddamn orders they gave you during the conception?! Save Katie.

* Okay, it’s my first ‘dang’. I thought I’d try it on, see how it fits, and now here we are. Let’s never speak of it again.

Then Kev Went Home With the Bearded Lady

2006-03-28T10:33:00.000+11:00

Brits and Kev, still laughing at midgets together after all these years ...

First, Tourism Australia show they ain't the wacky, swear-happy bureaucrats they pretended to be by ordering the removal of an ad parody from YouTube. Called 'Where the Fucking Hell Are You?', it was spliced with recent 'negative images of Australia', which, at a pinch, we can only guess included John Howard in a leisure suit, Nikki Webster at puberty, Jeremy Sim's buttcheeks and Maria Venuti's breasts. Then, scared of offending the pious Japanese, they change the ad's hi-larious tag-line to "So? Why Don't You Come?". Which is, you'll agree, much less likely to offend.

More Tutus Than An Episode of The Footy Show

2006-03-27T08:32:00.000+11:00

And so ends a magical twelve days, when the eyes of the world were upon Melbourne. Well, maybe not the world. But all the big players. The Isle of Man. Lesotho. Tuvalu. Don’t think they’re not convinced we’re a ‘world class’ city now.

The Closing Ceremony ranged from the mawkish (a boy soprano singing Age of Reason … guess who’s getting beaten up on Monday?) to the surprisingly good (the tribute to ancestors during Ben Lee’s bit) to the slightly embarrassing (Melbourne, you may love John So, but when you carry on like this … it kind of looks like you don’t take him seriously …)

Best part of the Ceremony? Finding out the name of the Indian Chief Minister is Shiela Dikshit.

V Day

2006-02-08T10:40:00.000+11:00

Gut-wrenching scenes broke out around the country today with news that Eddie McGuire had been banished from Australian TV screens.

As news spread, crowds spontaneously gathered to topple the Channel Ten sportsvan, historic scene of McGuire's first broadcast and potent symbol of his reign of terror.

Other revellers smashed Rove Live mugs through the windscreen, a forewarning of the next target in the people's ongoing struggles.

Paul 'Fatty' Vaughtan is believed to have gone underground.

UPDATE: "I'm giving up my TV career on air. Those are the hardest words I've had to say today. I keep thinking of Fonzie on Happy Days trying to say the word 'l-l-love' and it's been like that for me today."

Good to see that when Eddie wants to summon the words to capture the heartache, the fear and the emotional turmoil that goes with any major life change, his first reference point is The Fonz.

Big Day Out

2006-01-29T14:01:00.000+11:00

What's worse?

Fuckwits with 'Cronulla Pride' written across their checks?

The sweaty, beer-drenched bogans who beat my friend to a pulp?

Or the fact that the police were too busy keeping the crowds safe from random acts of affection?

K-Fed Gets Jiggy and Shit

2006-01-25T17:13:00.000+11:00

Jessculture warned of the awfulness of the new Kevin Federline song, but nothing could have prepared me for this. The closed eyes! The furrowed brow! The 'I am so down with that' head bob! The air-keyboard! The inexplicable cry of 'FIRE!' halfway through! The rocking open palm / fist combo! The effortless seque from 'I am slapping your arse while doing you doggy-style' to 'and now I am conducting the crescendo in my make-believe orchestra'! Genius.

[Via The Superficial]

That Gay Cowboy Looks Just Like my Uncle Oscar!

2006-01-23T14:50:00.000+11:00

Will 2006 be Year of The Brokeback? Will Jon Stewart be brilliantly funny? Will Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick do a hammy song-and-dance routine? Will Robert Altman show em where they can shove their Lifetime Achievement Oscar? Will Best Actress be won by the gal who played the best grief-stricken, serial-killing prosthetic-nosed paraplegic prostitute? Will Chad Lowe watch from his couch? Nominations are out next week - until then, here's a completely unreliable formguide:

Best actress

Reese Witherspoon – Walk the Line
Pros: Box office draw turns in credible work.
Cons: Follows it up with Just Like Heaven.

Felicity Huffman – Transamerica
Pros: A woman playing a man playing a woman. Think Julie Andrews in Victor Victoria.
Cons: Think Nia Vardalos in Connie & Carla.

Charlize Theron – North Country
Pros: Oscar likes to legitimate previous winners with repeat nominations.
Cons: Seventeen people believed to have seen the film.

Judi Dench – Mrs Henderson Presents
Pros: Nomination means that Jon Stewart to make hilarious innuendo suggesting she slept with younger male co-stars.
Cons: Best Actress tends to go to the young and hot. See Annette Bening.

Ziyi Zhang - Memoirs of a Geisha
Pros: Excellent in otherwise so-so film. Also young and hot.
Cons: Backlash is on for casting Chinese actress rather than Japanese actress. Although this being Hollywood, just be grateful it wasn't Jennifer Love Hewitt in a cheongsam.

Best actor

Heath Ledger – Brokeback Mountain
Pros: Reward for 'risky' career choice and 'Brandoesque' performance. Cos apparently you can play a serial killing cannibal but it's a risk to play A Gay.
Cons: Widely thought to be a tosser.

David Straithain – Good Night and Good Luck
Pros: Star-making turn in ‘message’ film.
Cons: Yeah, who?

Philip Seymour Hoffman - Capote
Pros: Brilliant actor, great track record, steals scenes in every movie he does.
Cons: May forever be the ‘fat guy from Boogie Nights’.

Russell Crowe – Cinderella Man
Pros: Academy favourite, stellar performance.
Cons: Please. Do we even need to say it?

Joaquin Pheonix – Walk the Line
Pros: Oscar loves a Biopic star.
Cons: Frog-talk in interviews may not be so endearing to voters.

It Has Begun

2006-01-12T13:05:00.000+11:00

And score! Team Jolie aims, kicks and ferries the ball right through the goal posts with the announcement of a real-live uterus-embracing pregnancy, while Team Aniston limps along at the sidelines, wondering how its former A-Grade sporting prowess has been reduced to Kevin Costner B-movies and staged make-out sessions with a poor man’s Owen Wilson.

Now sit back and wait for the tabloid’s breathless coverage of every moment of the Jolie-Pitt tot’s life: the zen-like delivery by Domenican aid-workers in a waterhole in the caves of Pakistan, the troubled teenage years of drug use, knives and poor marriage choices presided by Elvis impersonators, and the inevitable, image-rehabilitating discovery of Bona Fide Good Causes ™ to distract from the offspring’s notorious role in the L.Ron Holmes-Cruise sex tape.

RIP Richard Pryor, aka 'The Toy'

2005-12-11T14:21:00.000+11:00

As the tributes pour in for Richard Pryor and the usual plaudits are thrown around – 'refined the art of stand-up comedy', 'acerbic, irreverent, groundbreaking', 'the only good thing in Superman III’ etc – perhaps its time to revisit Pryor's most underrated - and in the opinion of my grade three class, at least - best ever film.

Sometimes the greatest works of art aren't appreciated in their time, and for some reason, this early 80s masterpiece is also Pryor's most maligned. Perhaps it's dark, gritty subtexts are too subtly woven for some critics. Take this plot summary from Amazon:

'On one of his bratty son Eric's annual visits, the plutocrat U.S. Bates (Jackie Gleason) takes him to his department store and offers him anything in it as a gift. Eric chooses a black janitor (Richard Pryor) who has made him laugh with his antics. At first the man suffers many indignities as Eric's "toy", but gradually teaches the lonely boy what it is like to have and to be a friend.'

Ha! WRONG!! Sure, on the surface, this is just a paint-by-numbers preteen flick with your requisite fart gags, three-second PG-13 tit flash and a piss-funny scene of Pryor wrestling with an inflatable ‘Wonder Wheel’. Not to mention a busty blonde whose every screen appearance is signalled by a saxaphone riff. Awesome.

But look closer, kids. The Toy is actually a sweetly-served slice of lefty propaganda designed to brainwash you against Reagan's America! It's a story about how Jack and Eric start an underground newspaper, expose US Bates' crooked dealings, union busting and general bad-assery, and ultimately bring down the KKK! For real! From Jack, Eric learns what life is like on 'tha street' and from Eric, Jack learns that having money ain't all that when your Dad's a fat, sexist, racist, motherfo! A motherfo whose name is 'US'! Geddit? Pryor sticks it to Uncle Sam! Yeah!

While Pryor's performance is a standout, full credit should also go to Scott Shwartz as Eric, who in the fine tradition of child actors went on to pursue his craft in 'Scotty’s X-rated Adventure', 'The Wrong Snatch', 'New Wave Hookers 5' and, when he hit rock bottom, an episode of 21 Jump Street.

As Pryor films go, The Toy may not have the sophistication of, say, a Brewster's Millions. But it's deep and it's dark and it closes with Pryor running down the street in fast-motion with a rubber dart stuck to his forehead. Now that's comedy.

The Power of Love

2005-12-07T23:34:00.000+11:00

THE former MP who married Saddam Hussein bodyguard Oday Adnan Al Tekriti said yesterday she did it because she loved him.

Oh yeah, everyone's a cynic, aren't they? A strapping 37-year-old hunk of Middle Eastern beefcake falls passionately in love with a 67-year-old woman, and the howls of disbelief ring out across the country. It's like Demi and Ashton meant nothing to you people.

And if you think this is a tragic love story, think about the scenes as Oday boarded his plane from Iraq. There was Saddam on the tarmac, silk scarf tied around his head, a lone tear slipping down his cheek as he belted out "...but above all this, I wish you lu-uh-uh-uve' before steeling himself for the keychange.

Meanwhile, Al Tekriti has defended his position as Saddam's personal manguard, pointing out that "like all males born in Saddam's home village of Tikrit he was required to work on the personal staff." Further proof of Saddam's brutal regime: a town where every boy must grow up to work for the Party. Course here we just call it 'Toorak'.

Baby Got Back

2005-12-05T01:59:00.000+11:00

Y'all ain't ready! Freeway 9 is back, baby! Shamoan!

Freeway 9 Temporarily Closed

2005-10-12T13:23:00.000+10:00

Like a frightened Katie Holmes being muzzled by LeeAnne DeVette as she pumps out the sacred Cruise-spawn, silence is being forced upon me for a while. Once my frenzied publicity schedule and distrust of modern psychiatric medicine is resolved, expect blogging to resume in a month or so.

Kate Moss Denies Drug Habit Affecting Her Looks

2005-10-05T22:22:00.000+10:00

A Thug, a Fatty and a Junkie Walk Into a Bar

2005-10-03T19:48:00.000+10:00

TV Producers reflexively hit their 7-second delay switch with the news that Russell Crowe will be hosting next year's AFI's. Expect the opening monologue to be a killer. We just hope he doesn't get all Billy Crystal and belt out any musical tributes to the year's top films. Put down the guitar and step away from the amp, Rusty.

The Herald Sun is so concerned about Casey Donovan's weight gain that it seeks out a dietician to deliver this chilling prognosis: apparently, porking up like this 'can impact on her self-esteem and can eventually lead to depression.'. Whereas splashing her 'fat' photos across the nation's papers is going to leave her feeling like she's flying high from a late-night prozac binge.

Pete Doherty has had an implant in his abdomenon that stops him feeling good after taking heroin. Now if only they could make an implant that stops that sickly sweet feeling as we savour every juicy detail about Kate Moss' descent into tabloid cokewhore hell.

Oh Rosie, Wherefore Art Thou? You know you've really made it when you've got your own drag queen impersonator. Check out those man-hands.

Premiere of The Simple Life 45: Incontinence Ward

2005-09-30T14:14:00.000+10:00

Via Worth 1000

UPDATE: And here we really thought those kids would last the distance. Paris and Paris call off engagement, but disturbingly, still have 'movies together in the works'. Available for download soon.

Sean Preston Federline Pleads: 'Let Me Be My Own Man'

2005-09-28T09:42:00.000+10:00

Newborn Sean Preston Spears Federline has made a heartfelt plea to be allowed to step out of the shadows of his famous parents.

'All my life, I've only ever been known as Britney and Kevin's son', he complained. 'People need to realise there's a lot more to me than just that.'

An astute businessman, Sean Preston has already raked in $8 million from publicity surrounding his birth.

'Sure, the critics say I've been riding on the coattails of my famous parents. But once my new single comes out, it's gonna blow their minds.

'The day's coming when Britney's gonna be known as 'Sean's Federline's mother' rather than 'that washed-up white-trash bottle-blonde.'

Sean acknowledges that life is not always easy growing up in the Spears-Federline house.

'I've always been careful not to get too attached to Dad. Frankly, no one expects the lousy gold-digger to be around come the new year.'

Despite being reared on a diet of fried chicken and Orios, Sean is quick to point out that he's better off than some celebrity offspring: 'Apple Martin's being raised a vegan, for God's sake. Give me a nip of dry bourbon over a carton of soy milk any day.'

Sean is one of a long line of celebrity babies to carve out their own identities. The Garner-Affleck fetus is already lunching with CAA reps, while Zahara Jolie-Pitt's much-anticipated memoir, 'Are You My Mother?', is due out next week.

Claims that Lila Grace Moss-Hack has recently entered rehab are said to be exaggerated, as are reports of raunchy three-in-a-bunkbed romps with Cruz Beckham and Junior Andre.

Image via Defamer.

Call 1902 5555 62 or SMS 'Laura' to 191010

2005-09-26T11:21:00.000+10:00

This woman is the greatest comic creation to star in a reality TV series since Anita in Big Brother 1.

Watching her thumb her nose at her critics by defiantly inflicting her own unique brand of tunelessness upon a horrified public week after week, it really warms the cockles. May she live to massacre a once-loved anthem for another day.

The Dance Off

2005-09-23T00:16:00.000+10:00

One person required stitches and a mother and son were arrested after a brawl between two dance teams that began during an impromptu "dance off", police said.

It was a quiet night in the suburbs of Wichita. The ten-strong Dynamic Steppers had gathered for their regular drill sessions at the basketball court behind Mike’s Diner. The Regional Allstar Discoamerica Dance Championships were less than a month away. The Dynamics' shock defeat to the White Tigers at last year’s Regionals still gnawed away at their insides. This year, victory would be theirs.

Mikey Z, the young, charismatic leader of the Dynamics, threw his spangle-gloved fist in the air and coolly clicked his fingers four times, punctuating each click with a sensuous body roll. All eyes fell upon him, the crowd respectfully silent. Mikey kicked off with a slammin handglide before swiftly moving into a double backspin. Raucous cheers burst out from his teammates. Z-man was a hero to all of them. Nobody could do a two-legged applejack like Mikey. He caught his proud mama's eye from the sidelines. He was just about to hurl himself into the cannonball, when a cry rang out from across the court.

‘YO MIKEY, IF YOU THINK THOSE PANSY-ASS MOVES ARE GONNA FLY, YOU TRIPPIN, DOUCHEBAG.’

With that, Jazzy ‘Jazz-hands’ Jack jumped out of the shadows and propelled himself forward with a mid-air somersault, landing on his knees and thrusting his palms out with his fingers fluttering. It was his signature move, the very one that packed such an emotional punch in last year’s routine that the judges forgot all about Mikey’s ferocious running man and foisted the trophy upon the Tigers instead.

Seeing those lithe, supple wrists taunting him with their effortless quiver filled Mikey with a cold, murderous rage ...

Girl, You'll be a Woman Soon

2005-09-21T19:34:00.000+10:00

Australia has a new woman high court judge, and she got the gig strictly on merit. Ruddock says her appointment has nothing to do with the fact that she's a conservative, and everything to do with the fact that she's got killer legs.

Madonna: 'I'm the person who stands at the door when my husband comes home from work, waiting to rub his feet. And I'm the person who helps my kids with their homework and puts them to bed.' Words that shocked the world. Guy Ritchie has a job? (Well yeah, but not for much longer.)

Blogging is officially over. Malcolm Turnbull's dogs, JoJo, Mellie and Rusty have started their own site. Now sit back and wait for the shit to fly when Latham's mutt posts about Mellie being a 'vicious arselicking ruling-breed bitch'.

The DJ turntable has been formally recognised as a musical instrument on the HSC syllabus. 'Grandmaster' Brent's report card: Brent has mastered mixing, scratching and jump starting. Occasionally misbehaves and gets sent to the chill-out room and forced to listen to Brian Eno. Careless errors when he misread the crowd with Farnham vs Little River Band mashup. Shows great initiative in sourcing red Mitsubishis. Easily distracted by the chick blowing him behind the decks.

Things To Look Forward To At Tonight's Emmys

2005-09-19T08:14:00.000+10:00

* Host Ellen DeGeneres striking just the right balance of solemnly acknowledging the devastation of Katrina and high-fiving an industry which just churned out killer seasons of Stacked and Wild on Tara;

* Celebs battling to out-do eachother with syrupy tributes to Katrina victims, followed by delirious shoutouts to their best friend and publicist;

* Teri Hatcher lustily waving her award above her head and shouting, 'WHO GOT THE RED SWIMSUIT NOW, HUH BITCHES?';

* The very straight Marcia Cross, each time the camera pans to her, jumping on top of her fiance, ripping his shirt off with her teeth and frantically dry humping him;

* The non-nominated Eva Longoria telling anyone who'll listen she's just 'really happy for her fellow cast-members, especially since they kinda need this boost at their age';

* Quentin Tarantino quietly reassuring himself that being nominated for Best Director for CSI is actually a career progression;

* The last time you'll have to see the old chick and the pro lifer from Everybody Loves Raymond ever have a chance of getting on stage again;

* Blythe Danner wearing a poorly-fitting dress and blubbering through her acceptance speech for an ill-deserved award;

* Michael Bolton being nominated for the theme song to Lifetime doco Terror at Home: Domestic Violence in America (swear to God, you couldn't make this shit up);

* NBC making a public apology to the people of America: 'Joey exposed serious problems in our response capability at all levels of comedy'; and

* Stirring tributes to the recently deceased, including Peter Jennings, Ossie Davis, Ray Romano's career and Mike Myers' spine.

Anthropology is the New Hermes Scarf

2005-09-14T18:19:00.000+10:00

Actors. They're such a bashful bunch. It's testament to their irrepressible talent that they've been ferried to the top of a blood-sucking industry without possessing a single shred of ambition. Hell, they couldn't care less about the whole charade, really. All that time they were thrusting their headshots under toilet cubicles at Spago, posing as Weinstein's pizza delivery guy in the Miramax backlot and getting their directorial kneepads on in the smoky recesses of the Viper Room, they were really thinking, 'You know, I should really take a punt and sign up for that CPA course I've always dreamed about.'

Take Kate Beckinsdale, for instance:

I'm thinking that, after this year, I might not act any more. I found the whole movie star thing very shocking and not really what I was after. I am quite interested in becoming a doctor. I'm a geeky academic, really. I am interested in writing as well. I am thinking I might go back to school. I am just going to see how it goes.

See, she's a thinker, not an actor. Lord knows if she hadn't been shaking her B-cups at Count Dracula in Van Helsing she probably would have cured adult onset diabetes and pumped out a critically-acclaimed tract on the Roman Empire by now. And she still might. She's that talented. She'll see what happens. Expect the emergency wards to be overwhelmed by a sudden onslaught of groin injuries whenever Dr Beckinsdale's on duty.

Then there's the Evil One. As she's so keen to point out, she couldn't care less about this ridiculous acting caper. There were many, many other things she wanted to be doing when she was banging down Uncle Stevie's door. Like, arty stuff and that:

I was very interested in art and art history, so I probably would have pursued that somehow - working in a gallery or an auction house or something like that. Or I would have loved to train to be a chef, which I still may do.

She still might. You know, whatever. Why sit at the corner table of Elaine's making eyes at the producer du jour when you could be home whipping up macrobiotic wheatgerm muffins? Apparently Mummy Blythe was horrified when Gwynnie shrugged her shoulders, mumbled 'what the hell' and dabbled in the whole acting thing: 'Oh, no, you're too smart for that! Be an anthropologist or something.'

Turns out Ashley Judd's Mum said exactly the same thing. Deirdre Chambers, what a coincidence! Lucky these two don't read eachother's press clippings or anything. Sure, Ashley admits she wanted to be an actor. But really, if it must be known, with her brain she could have achieved much more just hanging out and chewing the fat with the ancient Kayapo tribes in the rainforests of Brazil. 'When I told my mom I wanted to act, her immediate response was, "No, no, no, no." When I asked her why she said, "You love to read books. Become an anthropologist."' If only, Ashley, if only. Brazil's loss is Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood's gain.

Melbourne: If They Survived Stan Zemanek ...

2005-09-12T08:14:00.000+10:00

I love the 'most viewed articles' section of The Age and the SMH online. It's always refreshing in times of war, humanitarian crises or economic shockwaves to see that Australians are numbing the pain with details about Jordan's knockers or the catfish that seems to have swallowed Courtney Love's face.

Today's most viewed articles are a stark reminder of age-old rivalries. As at 9.56am, Age readers are consumed with 'Al Qaeda video threatens Melbourne as next bomb target', while Herald readers are far more het up about 'Wickets tumble as Australia crumble'. And then petrol prices. Running third on the list is, you know, that whole terrorist threat thing.

Now, don't worry Melbournians, it's not that these Sydneysiders don't care about what happens to you black-skivvied lot. On the contrary, they're still simmering with the blood-curtling rage that led them to hurl the paper off their waterfront balconies this morning, causing untold damage to the stray joggers and pocket-sized chiwawas below.

Melbourne? MELBOURNE?! Don't these two-bit terrorists know that Sydney is Australia's INTERNATIONAL city? And so many beloved icons that are ripe for the picking! The harbour! The Opera House! Even Centrepoint Tower, for God's sake! You can just hear the Bondi set as they snarl their collagen-enhanced lips and drawl, 'Melbourne, oh yes! Big stir it's gonna cause when Al Qaeda get around to bombing Captain Cook's Cottage!'

At this, Melbournians roll their eyes to the grey-tinged sky and shoot back something about Al Qaeda not having to bother with the Sydney train system now that Carr's done with it, and then leave off with a stinging reference to Melbourne having better bars. Not that Bin Laden's lot are likely to go after a lowlit metre-squared backroom with velour curtains and springworn couches, but the Melbournians wanted to drop it in anyway.

Meanwhile, Brisbane's just shitty that they're completely off the terrorist's radar. Does Australia's Dreamworld and Wet'n'Wild mean NOTHING to them?

Liz Cops a Feel

2005-08-31T18:11:00.000+10:00

Fendi bag, gold jewellery, white pants: $40,000

Cheeks, lips, boobs, arse: $60,000

Two years elocution lessons to achieve toffy British accent: $80,000

Look on model's face when you slyly go the grope: Priceless

There are some times when money can't buy class.

For everything else, there's Steve Bing's trust fund.

Regime Change

2005-08-24T17:44:00.000+10:00

Iraq constitution vote put off again.

Electoral officials investigate claims Saddam's brother took out bank loan to SMS votes.

Paula Abdul denies sleeping with Sunni minority; stays on judging panel.

Micks Rock Out for Jesus

2005-08-23T22:11:00.000+10:00

[Sydney, Australia, 2008] Promoters have 'hailed' today's World Catholic Youth Festival a huge success.

Headline act Pope Benedict XVI had the virginal crowd in raptures with a spectacular stage show that included costume changes, a rotating stage, video projections and incense.

Brigid Delaney, 16, from St Michael's, was impressed, 'I didn't think he'd be as good as the previous frontman, but he really showed his influences. His rendition of the Last Supper kicked arse.'

Local acts were also popular with George Pell wowing the masses with his now-famous 'family values' sermon.

'When he got to the part about single mothers bringing on the apocalypse, the crowd just went mental,' enthused Paddy McBride, 19.

However, punters were disappointed when the hotly-rumoured guest appearance of the Virgin Mary during Ratzinger's set failed to materialise. While her publicist blamed 'exhaustion' and 'scheduling clashes in Lourdes', the crowd clearly felt let down.

'She's lost touch with her true fans,' complained one angry ticketholder who asked not to be named for fear of eternal damnation.

Still, Michael Marsden, 22, thought the Festival was good value. 'It's cool cos you get to see all the big names on the one day. Otherwise I'd have to go to ten different masses, and it really adds up each time the collection plate's handed around.'

Promoters acknowledged that a shadow still hangs over the Festival from the controversial incidents of previous years. Police praised the crowd's behaviour, saying that the construction of a 'D' barrier had safely kept priests separated from anyone under 14 years.

A few revellers were treated by St John's Ambulance after taking communion which police claimed was 'made by shonky nuns in backyard labs.'

The merch tent also did a roaring trade selling official tour bibles, rosary beads and t-shirts emblazoned with 'My friend went to Mass and all I got was this lousy guilt complex.'

Thought for the Day

2005-08-22T17:39:00.000+10:00

Whatever happened to Delilah from Campbell's Cash & Carry? The laboured hysterics of Ken Bruce and the contrived sexual chemistry of Chris and Marie are no match for the dry wit and ribald charms which Delilah brought to her craft. Her saucy exhortations to purchase twenty tubs of Meadow Lea were a credit to the bulk foods industry. Godspeed, Delilah. Godspeed.

Le Revolution De Slack

2005-08-17T16:57:00.000+10:00

Office workers of Australia! Scared about the new IR changes? Wanting to revolt but can't be arsed leaving your seat? Stage your own go-slow. Read blogs! Read blogs from 9 - 5! Throw away those financial reports and log onto Defamer, now! There's nothing so satisfying as smashing the state while watching Tara Reid get smashed! The revolution won't be led by the cries of 'We're Unions, We're Proud', it'll be set to the strains of 'Really? Shar Jackson and Quentin Tarantino, really?!'

Here are two new blogs that are keeping us in a state of permanent revolution:

Scott, to be Certain

- Scott loves Marcia, hates Kyle and seems to be indifferent to Mark
- He pines for Vesna, Chanel and Mariah circa 1997
- He coins the term 'TomThom' for the Tom Cruise - Rob Thomas affair
- He comes up with headlines we love like 'Lohan Behold'
- He's got punbags! Come get your punbags!

UPDATE: Scottie's just been dissed by a self-googling Emelia Rusciano. Is this what it's like to be touched by the hand of Jesus?!

Glutbusters

- Pete drinks with bloggers and curses Mandy Vanstone
- He runs into ABBA's Benny Anderson from 1975-1979
- He marvels at the not-at-all-stagey thespian stylings of musical theatre
- He gets us all wistful with a list of blog posts that might have been
- He takes us back to the great Normie Rowe / Ron Casey biffo of 1991!

Say WHAT? NO WAY! You mean ... ARE YOU SURE? Nah, you trippin! Not even Rich Dad, Poor Dad?!

2005-08-15T12:09:00.000+10:00

Posh Spice proudly reveals she's never read a book in her life.

The Age calls it a 'shock admission'.

Jihad Johanna

2005-08-08T10:31:00.000+10:00

In its ongoing campaign to root out the militant Islamic fundamentalists who walk among us, the Sun-Herald proves yet again that it's always the ones you least suspect.

Tearing Up My Heart

2005-07-13T11:11:00.000+10:00

A concerned citizen has just sent this letter to the editor of the Daily Telegraph:

Dear Editor

I am writing to query a fact reported in this morning's Daily Telegraph. While I'm not normally one to question the reputable nature of your publication, I am driven to do so this morning by one article.

In your front page article titled "Gone: Nine Dumps Warne", it is reported that "CHANNEL 9 yesterday tore up Shane Warne's $300,000-a-year contract after the national network finally lost patience with his controversial off-field conduct."

Can you confirm that Shane's contract was in fact physically torn up? If so, who tore the contract? Who, or what is your source on this tearing incident?

Furthermore, if the contract was in fact physically torn up - is it the standard practice of Channel 9 to tear up the contracts of former employees? It seems a dangerous practice. What would happen should an employee of Channel 9 have a dispute over the earlier contract? Does Channel 9 keep its torn up contracts in a folder with a roll of emergency sticky tape in case of industrial disputes?

At a time when industrial reforms are on the political agenda, and many workers are concerned over their rights in the workplace, it seems a strange move on Channel 9's behalf to blatantly and publicly abuse the rights of its employee by tearing up the contract. Is this a sign of things to come? This, I feel is the real story here.

I would very much appreciate clarification on the tearing issue.

Yours sincerely,
Cameron Woods

Freeway 9 wholeheartedly endorses this intrepid citizen's demand for answers. Was the tearing carried out by the man at the very top? And was Shane there to witness the ceremonial tearing? Or was the moment of ripping merely broadcast over speaker phone? If Shane was there, did he leap across the room in slow motion, crying 'NOOOOOOO' as he tried to catch the scattered fragments of paper and broken dreams? We look forward to the Telegraph getting to the bottom of this most dramatic of moments in Australian sporting and media history.

It Was Twenty Years Ago Today

2005-07-04T18:21:00.000+10:00

Twenty years ago, a bunch of artists came together with a dream. They wanted to put on a decent show, raise a bit of money, tackle some social issues and maybe, just maybe, change the world in the process.

And so Neighbours was born.

Now, I adore the residents of Ramsey Street. But after following their ups and downs and their missing garden gnomes for almost twenty years, there's still one thing that leaves me puzzled. It's the strange circularity of the residents' lives, the way that they begin and end at Ramsey Street. Social anthropologists should chart this phenomenon. Prospectives residents should sure as hell be warned. Once you move to Ramsey Street, you cross a threshold between the old world and the new. Things are never the same again.

From now on, your friends, family, schoolmates, sports teams, employers, colleagues and love interests will all come from Ramsey Street. Old friends will never drop by your house, unless it's for a three-month period with the possibility of extension.

If you get married, your partner and your whole wedding party will all be people who live in Ramsey Street! When you finally pass on, who will attend your funeral? Treasured relatives? Old school friends? Lost loves? No! The only people shedding tears in the first five rows will be the people who live in Ramsey Street! (And don’t give me any of this, ‘Oh, what a shame Scott and Charlene had to dash off so soon!’ If they could find time in their extremely busy schedule to leave Queensland for the first time in fifteen years, you'd think they could at last take another hour of their precious time for the wake.)

If you're a teenage Ramseyite, and you finally break free from the shackles of the family home, where will you move? A run-down inner-city Edwardian with a bong on the table and a Leunig cartoon on the fridge? Hell no! Why, you'll head across the road to another house in Ramsey Street, of course! (And don't even think about having a party. They're usually attended only by the other residents of Ramsey Street and perhaps a few others swaying arrhythmically in the background.)

And forget about job prospects. Once you're in Ramsey Street, there are only a few places you'll end up: the local high school, surgery or hair salon, possibly Carpenters' Mechanics or Tim Collins & Assoc. (For nearly twenty years, every single business at Lassiters - including the legendary pub and coffee shop - was owned and operated solely by people from Ramsey Street! And speaking of Lassiters, could the police PLEASE investigate the highly suspicious number of explosions, fires, car wrecks, heart attacks and dog maulings that have befallen the residents of this street? Daphne's killer's probably out of jail by now. That's all I'm sayin'.)

No doubt your neighbours will grow to love you. No doubt you'll be a much-adored member of the community. But then one day you will be ripped from their lives and they will move on without so much as a grieving period. One tragic example. Marlene Kratz. Where in the world is this woman? She left for a three month cruise back in 1997 and has never been heard of again! Did her son-in-law Lou care? Did her dear old pal Helen raise a flicker of concern? Did her grandchildren try and find out where the hell she was? Was she ever mentioned by a single person again?! No. No, she was not.

So a word to the residents of Ramsey Street. This week, when you’re chinking your champagne glasses and raising a toast to the neighbours who've become good friends, just remember. Remember Marlene Kratz, stranded on the high seas, tears flowing from her bulbous eyes. Remember that beneath the friendly camaraderie of the residents of Ramsey Street lie cold, callous hearts. Remember that, folks, because once you set foot beyond Anson’s corner, they’re sure as hell likely to forget about you.

Despite All His Rage, Still a Wanker

2005-06-30T20:27:00.000+10:00

Billy Corgan has written a love letter to his home town, Chicago.

He's also threatening to get his band back together. Worse, he's writing his life story. Online. Year by miserable year. You can read it here. Or you can suck your eyeballs out with a vacuum cleaner. Either, or. A quick scan of Billy's 'Confessions' reveals all the qualities you've come to love in the Corg-Dog. His description of his childhood shows his trademark modesty ...

Back at school for second grade, I am excelling in my studies, and am told routinely that I am at the top of my class in reading, science, and math...teachers point to me as an example to my other classmates that I am what they are looking for in a student, particularly in leading class discussions and encouraging smart questioning of what is being taught.

... and his legendary non-creepiness ...

The first time I ever witness nakedness on a woman is with my step-mother.

Meanwhile, the mega-deep 'Message to Chicago from Billy Corgan' has been carried in full-page ads in the the city's newspapers:

Many have assumed that the decisions that I have made over the last few years have been to try to get away from something. But what I have been really trying to do is find that same kid again, the one who believed he could change the world with a song. There's an old saying that says, 'You can't go home again', but I believe that your home is wherever your heart lies.

I know this city gave me the gift of my music, and it is my honor to share this love that I have with you from the bottom of my heart.

Chicago has responded by screening its calls and changing the locks.

Other titles that were workshopped for this post:
Billy, Don't be a Hero
Melon Head and the Infinite Shitness
Wish I Had a Bullet (With Butterfly Wings)
The Killer in Me Is the Killer Of You
Evil to the Core-gan
Billy, Do Lose My Number
Iha Youha Weha All Hate Him So
Adore? More Like Abhor! (Thanks cdiddy)
Smashing Pumpkins Atop His Pasty, Bald Head

U2 to Sue Stylist

2005-06-29T16:43:00.000+10:00

So says today's Age.

Where do we start?

Ssssh! Nobody suspects a thing!

Orange is the new puce.

Military fatigues. SO Gulf War 1.

Allo stranger. Got any meth?

And here's a tip. Whoever let this photo be taken wouldn't know the first thing about image control:

I mean, really, John. How do you expect to have any credibility at all?

Seriously, Ten

2005-06-28T08:13:00.000+10:00

So the Douglas Woods interview died in the arse in the ratings. What did you expect, Ten? You had the best features of the Ten news department at your disposal and you failed to make use of them. You know what I'm talking about.

WHERE WERE THE BOOSIES, SANDRA? What, you're Mary Kostakidis now?

Beyond this hideous mistep, Ten desperately needs to find some way of getting its 400K's worth out of Woods. Remember when Channel Seven signed Stuart Diver and had him popping up all over the place? Winter Olympics guest commentator, star weatherman, Home & Away extra, Man O Man contestant - Diver's chill-blained mug was EVERYWHERE. If Ten wants to recover from this ratings debacle and hold on to its cashed-up 16-39 audience, we reckon it needs to get back to doing what it does best.

Big Brother Iraq
'It's time to go, Douglas'. Woods is smuggled out of the terrorist cell on a golf buddy and escorted through cheering crowds to take the hotseat with Gretel. He denies seeking fame and maintains he went to Iraq 'just for the experience'. Accuses other hostages of 'playing the game'. There’s also a fair bit of tit.

GMA with Bert
Bert: So Doug, were you scared? Douglas: Bert, you should have seen my face! Bert: I’ve seen Kerrie-Anne’s lately and that’s scary enough. *Pause for awkward laughter from stagehands* Douglas: And I just never got used to the noise. Bert: See now that’s why I always wear plugs. *Piano roll from John Foreman*

Rove Live
Join Rove as he asks Douglas the big questions and follows them up with a high-pitched giggle. You’ll cack yourself when, after each tale of woe, Rove turns to the camera with a quizzical face and asks, What the?! Emotional scenes at the end as Douglas says hi to his Mum.

Quentin Crashes Al Qaeda
Join the Q-man and Douglas as they wheel their way through wacky adventures in the caves of Pakistan. Bin Laden's got nothing on this special little guy!

Australian Idol
Controversy ensues when one of the judges suggests Douglas has to lose a few pounds. Bereft after failing to be signed by Sony, Woods thumbs his nose at the critics by releasing his own version of crowd favourite I Want to Break Free on Shock.

Douglas Woods presents The Simpsons
One show. All the time. Only interrupted by occasional screenings of Happy Gilmore.

And if all else fails, we suggest Ten just get a dirt-cheap American hostage and use him instead.

Check It

2005-06-24T17:03:00.000+10:00

According to her blog, Handcuffed Lightning aspires to be Muhammad Ali. And it shows. She floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee. She's smart as a cookie, sharp as a tack, and you can bet she has a mean upper cut. Check out her lowdown on the Schappelle soap opera here.

Got to be Certain

2005-06-19T19:15:00.000+10:00

'Eh Hamish. We got a wee problem with the 12-24s. They just don't think you're in touch! With it! Hip to the scene! Down with the street!'

'Aye laddy, tis true, tis true. But don't you worry, laddy, I got it all sorted. Just wait til you hear what I got planned after the news like. Just you wait.'

Audio via Holy Moly.

Faux Scottish accent via this lady.

As You Walk On By, Will You Call My Name?

2005-06-10T19:37:00.000+10:00

Kids, let us take you back to a time called the 80s.

Things were different then. Ra-ra skirts were in fashion, George Lucas was busting out Star Wars flicks, John Howard was hurling slurs at 'the ethnics' and a right-wing nutbag called George Bush was wreaking havoc in America.

Perhaps not such good examples.

Put it this way. Every girl you knew dreamed of dating Tom Cruise. And every boy you knew wanted to friends with Michael Jackson.

But what really sets the 80s apart was the quality of teen flicks. 80s teen flicks taught you everything you needed to know about the world. Popular girls are always miserable. Red haired girls are always virgins. Chinese exchange students say things funny and are hellishly horny. Nerds can use their scientific genius to to get laid. And the surest sign of a house having been trashed after a party is pizza spinning on the record player.

The greatest teen flick of all, hands down, was The Breakfast Club. It finally showed the world that no one's got it tougher than white middle class suburban teens. Teens who look like they're thirty, that is.

Judd Nelson as Bender
He was the tough guy and his name was Bender. AND NO ONE MADE FUN OF HIM FOR THAT.

Emilio Estevez as Andrew
A dumb jock who would forever live in his father's shadow. And he played a character called Andrew.

Ally Sheedy as Allison
She was a weirdo. Then she got a makeover. End of character development.

Molly Ringwald as Clare
The original Mean Girl. Did John Hughes just want to bone her or what?

Anthony Michael Hall as Brian
Apparently Stanley Kubrick was obsessed with AMH and wanted him to star in Full Metal Jacket. Instead he did Weird Science. Say no to drugs, kids.

The Breakfast Club showed us all that high school is just like life. You're either a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess or a criminal. Or a janitor. And no matter how different you think you are, eight hours in a confined space will reveal that underneath it all you have a lot in common. Like, you're all really, really bad dancers.

Yes. That scene. Possibly one of the greatest implausible dance sequences EVER put to film. It's got it all:

Air drums and muscle tops ...

... erotic gyrations on public art ...

... full-on spazzing out ...

... homoerotic subtexts ...

... and of course, one of the earliest known incarnations of the running man.

So why the sudden nostalgia? Turns out last weekend some of the cast appeared at the MTV Movie Awards to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the film. The iconic Brat Packers were serenaded with a rendition of Don't You Forget About Me. Bittersweet, no?

Then, just for old time’s sake, they downed a quart of vodka, snorted a truckload of coke, taped themselves having sex with minors and then faded into obscurity for the rest of the show.

Do They Know It's Peak Chart Season?

2005-06-01T16:56:00.000+10:00

How do you react to news of Live 8?

What do you do when you’re caught between, on the one hand, your usual contempt for bloated celebrity egos flaunting their right-on social consciences in a frenzied orgy of self-promotion; and on the other hand, your genuine sympathy for their important and - yes - noble cause?!

Cos really, do you think Elton John’s been keeping himself up at night, tossing and turning in his four-poster bed, wrestling with the economic logistics of multilateral debt relief?

Or do you think he just fancies the opportunity to get his portly ass on stage with the young ‘uns and pretend he still has relevance in a post-1979 world?

And if the G8 wouldn’t listen to John Paul II, are they really going to be swayed by Joss Stone?

But then it feels wrong to be so cynical. Cos if this gets one million people marching on the G8 summit and shouting, ‘Hey Hey Ho Ho, Third World Debt Has Got to Go’ or something equally worthy but naff – well then, is that really such a bad thing?

Even if most of them are wide-eyed thirteen-year-old Robbie Williams fans from Sheffield who’ve accidentally been caught up in the dreadlocked throng.

And remember, third world poverty is a human disaster of unimaginable scale. But it would be nothing compared to putting Posh Spice in front of a microphone again.

I Said, Muchos Gracias, Adios. Bye Bye.

2005-04-11T07:10:00.000+10:00

Freeway 9 is taking a brief sojourn.

Normal transmission will resume in six weeks.

I have fled the country at the prospect of this:

Sometimes you've just got to take a stand, y'know?

That'll learn em

2005-03-31T20:02:00.000+10:00

So many of the great minds of our time have taken on the evil overlords of the Fourth Estate. The Chomskys, the Pilgers and the Moores have been sticking it to The Man for years.

But now comes the warrior cry of one ferocious young intellect and her chilling expose of the machinations of the media.

Over to you, Brit Brit.

Dear False Tabloids,

As you read this letter, I bet you are asking yourself: Who? Who, me? Am I a false tabloid? Well, I don't know. But after this posting, I hope you are asking yourself a lot of questions. Your employees are a reflection of your magazine. Do you, Us Weekly, In Touch, Star and other desperate magazines want employees who are honest, or those who are liars? It seems to me that you'd prefer the latter. I'm really concerned about the people you hire to work at your companies. I'd like them to ask themselves the question, "What am I lying to myself about?" Is it that you are 50 pounds overweight? Is it that your children aren't making wise decisions? Or is it maybe that your husband or boyfriend is cheating on you? Until you face what is going on in your life, I guess you'll remain a false tabloid.

Britney

P.S. People Magazine is great in my book!

And all this time you thought that journalists were corrupt cos they were slaves to the depraved corporate interests of their scumbag proprietors. Now you know it’s just cos they’re fat, y'all!

All down Madison Avenue, magazine editors are wringing their hands and searching their souls: Am I a false tabloid? Could it be?! My God, has my life been such a tragic waste?

Except at People Magazine, where they’re popping the champagne corks and admiring the reflection of their size-8 butts.

Morons, Madge and Michael J

2005-03-31T18:11:00.000+10:00

A smattering of scandal from today's news:

An alleged incident at an alleged nightclub with an alleged footy player related to an alleged 'verbal exchange' with his alleged girlfriend. A verbal exchange? Please! You call that an incident? I remember the days when AFL players wrenched random womens' breasts before pissing from balconies onto dancefloors and then copping off with their best mate's wife in a broom closet. *Stares mournfully at 1994 Tunnel membership.*

Madonna and Guy Ritchie are poking fun at the Micks again. And why not? Why can't Madge and Guy enjoy a laugh at gullible fools who squander their dough on a corrupt, money-hungry church, douse themselves with 'mystic water' and drape their wrists with 'magic beads' in an attempt to bring meaning to their desperate, empty lives? Oh.

Rumour has it that two Australians will be called to give evidence in Michael Jackson's trial. My money's on the Little Fat Kid from Hey Dad and Piffy the Bell-Ringer from Pot Luck.

And you should have seen the mess he made with the semi-gloss sheen!

2005-03-18T14:06:00.000+11:00

Letterman: Don't stiff him on a bill

David Letterman's housepainter has been arrested on charges of plotting to kidnap Letterman's toddler son and nanny.

Using his key to the property, he planned to snatch the sleeping tot from his crib and hold him ransom until Letterman promised to pay $5 million and, presumably, ditch Paul Shaffer and tighten up the opening monologues.

Police have swooped on the would-be snatcher and charged him with a number of offences, including the felony charge of solicitation and obstruction for lying to police investigators.

Here's the clincher: He's also been charged with felony theft for allegedly overcharging Letterman for painting.

Kidnapping, extortion, obstruction of justice; hell, we've all been guilty of a little of that. But shonky business practices in the provision of domestic handyman services?

The man is scum.

Shazam!

2005-03-17T22:02:00.000+11:00

Spiderbait have received their fair share of accolades over the years. Beloved by sweaty punters, acclaimed by fickle critics and championed by a record industry not known for its commitment to acts who aren't discovered by Mark Holden, Spiderbait have always drawn support from the right quarters.

But today marks a watershed.

A turning point.

A shining moment where three knockabout kids from Finley can look at eachother with disbelief and know that they've really made it:

Today Spiderbait received a ringing endorsement from Sandra Bullock.

The Herald Sun has rightly recognised this landmark event by devoting lead coverage to the story. It tells of how Sandra personally selected Spiderbait's cover of Black Betty to feature on the soundtrack of the hotly-anticipated Miss Congeniality 2. As Sandra said at today's press conference:

The song just laid in perfectly and it was one of those moments where the gates of heaven open, thanks to Spiderbait, who rock.

There you have it. Sandra says they rock.

The article helpfully points out that guitarist Damien Whitty is commonly referred to as 'Whitt'.

It also seeks comment from Janet Spiderbait on how it feels to have been given the nod of approval from such a legendary rock aficionado.

Regrettably, Sandra's critical opinion on the merits of the alternate mono mix of the White Album or the enduring legacy of Patti Smith's Horses was not sought by the journalists.

Dispatches from the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion

2005-03-01T17:49:00.000+11:00

Memo to Richard Wilkins: You are a tool. It was a national embarrassment to watch the A-listers running away from you. You make Catriona Rowntree look like Parkinson by comparison. But at least you’re the only person on the red carpet who can truly be said to have ‘worn’ Collette Dinnigan.

Memo to Chris Rock: Edgy? Controversial?! Down with the 'urban hipsters'? Except ... not. We loved your anti-Bush stuff, but what was with the shout out to the ‘freedom fighters’? And here's a tip: white liberal Hollywood types are uncomfortable at laughing about how out of touch with black folk they are. Your best joke by far was when you referred to Catwoman Two as ‘eagerly awaited’. Second best was when you called Counting Crows ‘very popular’.

Memo to Jude Law: It was a joke, okay. Hang up the phone now. The Kareem Abdul Jabar biopic hasn’t even got the greenlight, and there’s no guarantee they’d want you anyway.

Memo to Johnny Depp: Sack your stylist. You look like Austin Powers.

Memo to Mike Myers: Sack your hairdresser. You look like Neve Campbell.

Memo to Neve Campbell: Sack your agent.The Company sucked arse. So do you. That’s why you’re not here tonight. Altman or no Altman.

Memo to Antonio Banderas: Great comedy routine. Your sensual writhing on the stool had us in stitches. We note that the songwriter chose to do his own rendition when he won the gong. Clearly a desperate bid to erase the audience's memory of your mangled version.

Memo to Prince: Good to see you've gone for a modest heel this year.

Memo to the Evil One: I couldn’t give an apple’s arse whether or not you wanted to present the awards in foreign languages. Unless you’re up there to hand back your Oscar to its rightful owner in a traditional ceremony, you can get your stuck-up mung-bean-eating ass off the stage.

Memo to Sean Penn: We expected a political statement. Last year it was Weapons of Mass Destruction. This year it's Jude Law?! Dude, you really have gone soft.

Memo to Horseteeth: So you reckon the wetsuit-meets-straightjacket look is hot right now. Fine. Just don't think having two Oscars puts you anywhere near the league of Jodie and Meryl, mkay? You got lucky. At least you thanked your husband this time, although you forgot to wish him luck in his next telemovie.

Memo to Jamie Foxxx: Enough! Enough with the Ehhh! Ohhh! Enough with the tears! Enough with the dead grandma who wupped yo ass! You'll get mo' than an ass-wupping if we ever have to sit through such pap again. 'Inside the earth, there was so much love, and then you cracked it open, and everybody’s drowning in this love.’ What the hell is that?! WHAT THE HELL?!!

Memo to Julia Roberts: Stop upstaging. That goes for your breasts as well.

Memo to Martin Scorsese: Marty, you don’t need them, sweetie. You’re totally punk rock right now. Anti-establishment. Right now, you get to remain in the league of legendary filmmakers who were denied their Best Director Oscar, like Orson Welles, Alfred Hitchcock and Rob Schneider. Give it up, Marty. Stop making sweeping historical Oscar-baiting epics and go back to making dark little blood and guts films. More Mean Streets. More Bringing Out the Dead, even. But please. No more Kundun.

And if nothing else, at least you got your daughter married off.

Well, Colour Me Nikki!

2005-02-25T14:57:00.000+11:00

Fop and Crystal, together at last! Oh, and Michael!

Yes, Fop and the Love Pavilion have finally joined forces to campaign with gusto for the victory of the much-mocked, oft-derided, never-imitated Nikki Webster in the current season of Dancing With The Stars.

To recap, some snivelling Z-listers in the competition, ably assisted by the sniping gutter-rag Sydney Confidential, have had the TEMERITY to cast doubt on the legitimacy of bonny-cheeked young Nikki’s participation in the competition.

This has caused a winsome, heart-broken Nikki to cry ‘It hurts, God damn you, oh how it hurts’ and to remark, in a tone of self-righteous anger, wounded pride and steely determination, "All I want to do is dance well for my charity."

Inspirational words. Nay, life-affirming. A rallying cry against the forces of darkness who besmirch innocent dreams.

And the Fop-Pavilion is rightly calling for every Australian to support the resilient little tacker and ensure that her career does not follow the assumed trajectory: lotto draws, telethons, rural RSLs, theatre restaurants, video-footage-of-footballer-three-way-in-casino-lift, ketamine-induced breakdown, and then at her lowest point, the motivational speaking circuit. NO ONE NEEDS TO SEE THAT.

On this occasion, it seems pertinent to compare young Nikki to another tragic naïf who went by the name of Webster. Already their careers seem to be on a perilously close path. Let’s compare.

Webster: Started off in TV commercials for pop culture icon Burger King's Whopper.
Nikki Webster: Started off in TV commercials for pop culture icon Campbell's Soup.

Webster: Stole our hearts as the irascible little scamp on Webster.
Nikki Webster: Stole our hearts as the irascible little scamp at Homebush.

Webster: Suffered the jealousy of older co-stars who feared being upstaged by a greater talent with a sassier delivery of a laugh-line.
Nikki Webster: Suffered the jealousy of older co-stars who feared being upstaged by a greater talent with a firmer foothold on the foxtrot.

Webster: Caught in peodophile scandal after longtime friendship with Michael Jackson. Told People magazine in 1984: He's gentle, not rough like other guys.
Nikki Webster: Caught in peodophile scandal after gratuitous navel-baring and salacious lyrics on Strawberry Kisses: Nothing's as sweet, the taste still drives me crazy. Oh vicar!

Webster: Started his own record label, Emmanuel Lewis Records.
Nikki Webster: Dropped by her record label (but should really start her own).

Webster: False rumours that he had died.
Nikki Webster: False rumours that she is really a forty-two year old Pakistani man.

Webster's nemesis: Gary Coleman.
Nikki Webster's nemesis: Tanya Blencoe.

Do your duty. Vote 0415 555 016 Nikki.

Queering the Fonz

2005-02-22T17:51:00.000+11:00

Dear Concerned Women for America,

Thank you for having the courage to speak out about the pernicious forces of queerdom that are taking over our television screens.

As if it's not enough to lose Tinky-Winky and SpongeBob, now Patty Bouvier too?

I couldn't agree more with your spokesperson Robert Knight when he said that: "Television is becoming obsessed with homosexuality. In fact, I wouldn't put it past people to dig up reruns of Happy Days and have the Fonz come out as gay."

Oh Robert, you could be onto something here! There are corrupting influences EVERYWHERE on the box! Looking back, Happy Days is littered with subtextual clues that prove that The Fonz was not the lady-killing Marlon Brando type but rather a Liberace-loving Rock Hudson! Oh sure, he talked often about his female conquests, but did anyone ever witness him gettin' it on?

Consider his profile:

He helped three dorks learn style, charm and wit a la Queer Eye.
He spent all his time hanging round the men’s room.
Hello? Leather!
Had a fondness for tight t-shirts and hair product.
He was the only guy there who knew how to dance.
He always had loads of chicks hanging off him.
Always quick to compliment Mrs C on her hair and outfits.
We never saw his bedroom, but you can bet it was high-modernist haute-fifties uber-chic.
With Mr C, he once invented a trash compactor, which shows his concern for household cleanliness.
A confirmed bachelor, he only ever came close to marrying a female demolition derby motorcyclist, which sounds like a sure-fire marriage of convenience to me!

Thank you Concerned Women for America for remaining ever-vigilant. Next campaign: Outing the Friends of Dorothy (the Dinosaur).

And I'm glad that, in these troubling times of feminazis-gone-feral, despite your organisation's ominous name, you have the good sense to have a man at the helm. Best to keep the ladies making the fruit cakes and fairy bread, I say ... but not in a gay way!

Dear Bec Cartwright

2005-02-11T17:55:00.000+11:00

I could deal with Home and Away.

I could deal with your tragic synth-pop novelty single.

I could deal with your hokey advice column to tween girls with disposable incomes.

I could deal with you prancing round a TV game show alongside a redneck, a sex addict and an eight-time Logie loser.

I could deal with your shotgun engagement to a racist bogan tennis player.

I could deal with your monkey face on the cover of every trash magazine in town.

I could deal with Channel 7 publicity slobbering over your every move.

I could deal with your sudden, if awfully well-timed, compassion for AIDS orphans in Cambodia.

I could even deal with your faux-slutty bikini spread in FHM.

But no more.

You’re appearing in the Vagina Monologues?

Are you freaking kidding me?!

You think the world wants to hear YOU yabbering on about your bott-bott?!!

I mean, really, could you BE any more of a GRUBBY FAMEWHORE?

You sicken me.

From the President of the Krista Vendy Memorial Association.

Scent of a Woman

2005-02-10T09:24:00.000+11:00

Sarah Jessica Parker has just announced plans to develop her own perfume.

I am VERY excited.

At last I can chuck out my bottles of Britney (cheap knockoff which reeks of stale cigarette smoke, acne cream and fried chicken), J.Lo (wear it once and you'll get too attached), Paris (spoils easily, doesn't work at all) and Mary-Kate and Ashley (crackingly addictive but soon fades away).

SJP described her relationship with perfume manufacturers Coty Inc as a 'true collaboration'.

This isn't just some tacky marketing stunt where a starlet lends her name to a perfume brand in return for big bucks and the chance to have her face splashed across bus stations.

SJP's not in this for publicity, as she told the world's cameras today at a specially convened press conference to announce the deal.

As CNN said:

Parker said she'd been hesitant about launching a perfume because she didn't want her fans to think she was just selling her name to a product. She went ahead, though, hoping people would remember her work ethic and integrity.

That's right, Sarah J will be kicking off her Manolos to get down and dirty in the chemistry lab, painstakingly mixing the vials of plant oils until she can cry 'By crikey, that's it! The perfect blend of jasmine, gardenia, and cedarwood and just a hint of ambergris and civet. A-HA!'

She already has very strong ideas which show her acute understanding of the perfume science.

"It'll be intentionally quiet, not a very aggressive scent," Parker told The Associated Press. "It's not a scent you'll smell before a person walks in a room. I don't want it to not have social skills!"

Nothing worse than when your perfume eats with its mouth open and farts at the table.

"This is a part of my life I want to share with others. ... I really, really thought about it. I've been invited into women's lives and I take that seriously."

Really, Sarah J?! You mean that? Oh, what fun we'll have! We'll be besties! Can't wait to paint each other's nails and talk about boys and periods and Atkins and the old 'brazilian or mohawk' dilemma.

I am, though, a little disturbed by this comment:

"Fragrance is a necessity on days you don't have time to shower."

Ew! Stinky-pits Parker!

Million Dollar Baby

2005-02-08T18:20:00.000+11:00

(Warning: the following post contains spoilers. It will tell you details of the plot of this movie. It will also save you fifteen bucks and two hours of your life.)

Consider this plot: A troubled young girl, played by Hilary Swank, meets an enigmatic and wise older man who teaches her how to fight. Even though she’s ‘just a girl’, Hilary soon proves she can kick ass. More importantly, she develops a bond with her mentor that restores her self-worth and finally helps her resolve the death of her father. Sound familiar? Yep, it’s this one:

How come everyone has conveniently ignored how Million Dollar Baby SHAMELESSLY RIPS OFF the fourth instalment of the classic Mr Miyagi chronicles?

How come Clint Eastwood gets to clear all this space in his trophy cabinet while Pat Morita languishes alongside lesser-talents like Alan Thicke and Dom DeLuise in made-for-TV specials called Lamb Chop's Special Chanukah?

Anyway. Million Dollar Boring seems to have been made by someone who's just read ‘Making Oscar Flicks for Dummies'. Let's see ...

- Is it directed by a veteran actor/star who Hollywood wets itself over? TICK!

- Does it tell the story of a kid from the wrong side of the tracks who rises to the top through sheer grit and determination? TICK!

- Does the kid’s plucky charm melt the steely defences and mend the inner demons of the gruff older man she befriends? TICK!

- Is there an older black man in a one-dimensional support role whose only purpose is to spout pearls of wisdom and lead the white characters to redemption? TICK!

- Does the lead actress get to do a Jake-LaMotta style weight gain, a deep Southern accent AND a drawn-out deathbed scene? TICK!

- Does it use sporting game as metaphor for life? TICK! TICK!

- Does it labour the metaphor with stinking lines like this:

But sometimes, no matter how much you try to stop the bleeding, some wounds are so deep they just cannot be healed ?

TICK! TICK! TICK!

Really. Rent Raging Bull or Rocky instead. Or The Next Karate Kid.

How to Win Friends and Influence People on the Road to Oscar Glory

2005-02-07T08:55:00.000+11:00

By Catherine Elise Blanchett
Former MLC Drama Captain and Heidelberg McDonald's Crew
Winner of Screen Actor's Guild Award for Best Supporting Actress

1. Show 'em yer acting chops

Display visible shock and awe when winning an award for which you were a shoo-in.

'What?! Little old ME?!!! Oh MY GOD! Was I even nominated?!!'

2. Throw in some endearing remarks showing humility, modesty and a commitment to couture

She put her hand on her chest and, still looking stunned, slowly made her way up to the Shrine's stage to received her award.

''I so didn't expect this,'' Blanchett said.

''I wore a really tight dress that's very ungracious walking up those stairs.''

3. Don't be afraid to get political on their asses, thus appealing to their liberal Hollywood sensibilities and sealing your reputation as a Woman of Substance

Blanchett also paid tribute to SAG, a union which vigorously protects the rights of actors in the US.

''I actually would like to say, as an actor coming from another country to this country, I am so astounded and amazed and grateful at the power of the SAG union and what it does for its members,'' she told the audience in her speech.

''And I hope that other countries, my own included, are inspired by that.''

4. Maintain a dignified distance while Uncle Harvey does your dirty work (showing you learnt every lesson from the Evil One when she robbed you in 1999)

Blanchett has been in publicity overdrive for the past few weeks, blitzing late-night talk shows, having question-and-answer sessions with an influential actors' group and her face has been plastered across major newspapers and industry publications ...

The source said: "There's also been rumours about dinner parties with Academy members but Cate Blanchett would not be doing that -- Harvey [Weinstein] would do that".

5. Be the most captivating actress of your generation whose fearless performances have well earned you your place amongst the greatest screen legends of all time

All hail the Elfin Queen.

The Oscar is yours.

She's Got Legs

2005-02-03T08:29:00.000+11:00

Oh Sandra, you did not listen to us!

Frankly, Sandra, we're finding this a little disturbing, now that male journalists are salivating over your 'silky-smooth looking, nicely tanned pins' and referring to you as 'Saucy Sandra'.

You're doing the sisterhood no favours, Sandra. Women newsreaders have spent eons fighting sexist stereotypes which valued them only for their hot bods and smouldering looks rather than their JOURNALISTIC INTEGRITY. Jo Pearson didn't dye her hair brown for nothing, girlfriend!

We're sure some fat balding producer has dreamed up this idea in a lecherous grab for ratings. But at what cost, Sandra, at what cost?!

PS. Oh but we can't stay mad at you! Let's never fight again.

Look at Me, I'm Sandra Dee

2005-02-02T17:34:00.000+11:00

Oh Sandra, please, PUT THEM AWAY!

Look at you, sitting there cross-legged on your stool, neckline plunging, your elbow planted oh-so-casually on the desk.

Apparently this is all part of Channel Ten's plan to present a 'relaxed' approach to news.

Next week: Sandra presents the latest headlines from Aceh, Baghdad and Davos clad in a lime-green bikini and reclining on a chaise lounge.

Holding on to What's Golden

2005-01-20T19:50:00.000+11:00

So the Golden Globes were on telly the other night. The Globes are somewhat prestigious, which is strange given that they're put on by an organisation which has only 83 voting members, most of whom are junket-fuelled hacks who write gossipy pieces for the likes of the New Delhi Times. Still, in the Grand Slam of award ceremonies, the Globes are right up there, along with the SAGs, the BAFTAs and the Oscars, the thespian's Wimbledon. And then there are the MTV Movie Awards, which is kind of like the Davis Cup.

Random thoughts on the Golden Gloves

The first award of the night went to man-of-the-moment Clive Owen for Best Supporting Actor. He thanked the HFPA for 'recognition and helping to get people to see this film'. Cos, you know, a Julia Roberts vehicle is really going to be struggling for exposure.

Next up Natalie Portman took out Best Supporting Actress over our Cate. Oh, the horror! THE HORROR!! Cate robbed again by a nubile young upstart who thinks 'range' means the distance between Elaine's and Spago. (Okay, okay, I have a soft spot for Natalie too, and maybe it's a little unfair to compare her to the Evil One whose Oscars victory over Cate in 1999 was a tragedy of epic proportions.)

(Incidentally, check out the Divine One talking to the odious Star Jones Reynolds from E!News here. Could our Cate look any more uncomfortable? It's a shame a woman of her calibre has to be subjected to such indignities. But then she did just whore herself off to a cosmetics range, so I guess she isn't averse to the odd bout of seedy self-promotion.)

But back to Natalie, who warbled on for some time. I reckon she only won the damn thing cos she played a stripper, and there's nothing Hollywood loves more than an apple-pie actress shedding her girl-next-door facade and slutting it up big time (think Mira Sorvino, Elisabeth Shue, etc etc). Young Natalie referred to director Mike Nichols as her 'wisest, sweetest friend ... Daddy ...' which surely raised eyebrows amongst the non-botoxed in the audience.

Then Jim Carrey came out. Golly, he's a lark, isn't he? Kudos to him for the only Weinstein joke of the night. Jim’s job was to introduce the most hotly-anticipated guest of the evening, the one who’s had the tabloids a-frenzy with speculation about what he’d wear, what he’d say and which lucky ‘it-girl’ he’d have on his arm. Yes, that’s right, it’s the President of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, Mr Lorenzo Soria, visibly shaken after his encounter with hordes of delirious autograph-hunters out the front.

But the appearance of Lorenzo (or 'Big L' as Tara Reid is rumoured to call him) marked a serious part of the night, a time to put the lid on the Vicodin bottles and listen attentively. He talked about the big fat donation the HFPA made to the Tsunami appeals, and was keen to point out that they were amongst the first to cough up (that is, before all these no-good fashionable types leapt aboard the charitable bandwagon). See, Hollywood has a heart. This Tsunami thing has got them all gut-wrenched inside. Even Bill Clinton was trotted out via satellite to feel their pain. The audience applauded dutifully. Consciences appeased, backs collectively slapped, and time for another hit of Dom Perignon.

Teri Hatcher won Best Actress for Desperate Housewives and betrayed rare insight by thanking 'a network that gave me a second chance at a career when I couldn't have been a bigger has-been'. I guess no one’s told her that the network really wanted Pamela Anderson.

Speaking of has-beens, who cleans up for Best Actor in a TV Comedy but Jason 'Hogan Family' Bateman! What is this, a Revival Meeting of the Church of Washed Up D-List Latter-Day Teen Idols? Dean Cain must have been sitting at home gnashing his teeth with jealousy.

Best Director was taken out by Clint Eastwood. Boo! Boring!! Give it to Marty, dammit! Some pearls from Clint: 'I'd like to thank the Hollywood Foreign Press Association in every thing that you do *awkward pause as Clint tries to summon the words to evoke the greatest natural disaster of our time* especially in the Tsunami thing'. Eloquent and heartfelt.

Then it was time for the Robin Williams tribute. Or as I call it, the coffee break.

Leonardo DiCaprio won for Best Actor and called upon folks to 'keep contributing to the Tsunami disaster'. Perhaps an unfortunate choice of words, Leo. But then, we have heard about your other contributions to the South-East Asian landscape.

In another upset, old Horseteeth got Best Actress.

The Aviator and Sideways took out the two Best Picture goings, shaping them up as main contenders for the other Golden Guy. The Oscars are little over a month away. Will Marty receive his long-overdue Best Director? Will the host make any gaffes of 'Oprah ... Uma' proportions? Will there be dummy spits? Clumsy political statements? Martha Stewart gags? Hah! Is Arnold Schwarzeneger a steroid-pumping, sexually-harassing, Kennedy-squiring fascist?!

PS. I'd like to thank the delightful Fop for helping me out with this whole blogging thing.

PPS. And Kevin Aucoin for doing make-up.

Got to be Starting Something

2005-01-19T17:50:00.000+11:00

Oh Gosh, here we are.
*Glances sideways, shifts uncomfortably, clears throat.*

So ... do you like ... stuff?