Texas soap opera massacre

Have we learnt nothing from the movie versions of The Avengers and Thunderbirds? TV into film doesn't go. Even the loose-limbed virility of Owen Wilson couldn't raise Starsky & Hutch above a piece of ironic but ultimately shoddy nostalgia.

These shows may have been essential viewing in the 1970s but, like fondue and Avocaat, their moment has passed. So I can only assume that the producers of Dallas: The Movie have been living under a rock in Madagascar for the last twenty years. Sue Ellen and Lucy rolling around the lawn of Southfork in a heated catfight might have cut the mustard in 1983 but who wants to watch a tepid rehash when you've got Desperate Housewives? Even one with Brad Pitt and Catherine Zeta Jones in it?

I'm just wondering who gets to play psychotic midget sexpot Lucy.

Maximum Deficit of Modesty

Russell Crowe is not a man to mince his words. Particularly when he wants to tell the world what a goddamn talented prince he is. Talking about the the release of his band's new album, Russell was typically drowning in a torrent of his own self-love. Here are just a few of his modest words about 30 Off Foot of Grunt's latest opus.

Talking about the single Raewyn, Russell said:

...it is the only song I've ever written that has made both men and women cry, think, and call their parents, usually in that order. I have e-mails from Sting and Billy Bragg, two of my song writing heroes that give testament to the quiet power of the song.

We will post those closer to the date of release, and when you read them I believe you will understand what a breathtaking validation they felt like to me.

This record is fresh, revelatory and graceful.

He continues to blown his own allegedly unwashed trumpet about the rest of the album:

...the album touches on varying subjects, my beautiful wife, past relationships, my son, people I know, family tragedy, immigrant cane cutters, vilification, a choral requiem for a dead friend, my contribution to the genre of drinking songs(the title track, My Hand, My Heart), optimism, and perspective. It is without doubt the most satisfying record I've ever made, and I know when you hear it you will be seduced by its beauty.

There's nothing I can add.

The long and short of it

Just how tall is Maggie Gyllenhaal? Or, just how short is Mena Suvari?


giant or midget?

Gael and Brad's excellent adventure

Good news for gays and girls everywhere, Gael Garcia Bernal and Brad Pitt are going to star in a new film called Babel. Amores Perros and 21 Grams director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu will be making the film, which follows four interweaving stories.

Oh and for the hets out there, Cate Blanchett will also be starring.


oh dear god, you just can't get enough gael. ever

Good Will Directing

Good news for film audiences everywhere. Ben Affleck will not be offending our screens with his questionable acting and long donkey face any more.

He's decided that he's less offensive behind the camera rather than in front of it, where he can't seem to survive without the presence of Matt Damon. While Matt has found himself a franchise with The Bourne Identity, Ben just can't stay away from trash. The words Gigli and Surviving Christmas should strike fear into any discerning filmgoer's heart.

So, now Ben is going to be directing Gone, Baby, Gone, an adaptation of the novel by Mystic River writer Dennis Lehane. It's set in Affleck's hometown of Boston, where Good Will Hunting was shot. Let's just hope that other talentless refugee from Good Will Hunting, lantern-jawed Minnie Driver, will have no part to play in this new project. And that Ben will stay away from the nylon leisure suits for this one.


In a bleak moment, Ben considers a future with no Jennifer

Wednesday and Thing

Christina finds it hard to shake off her Addams family past.


the addams hit the town

Eyes Wide Shut

Was Bing not bad enough for you, Nicole? I know you’re still on the rebound but how many dodgy men do you need to go out with? You’ve already had Lenny “I’m a slave to my GHD irons” Kravitz and Steve Bing, a man whose main attraction can only be his sizeable wallet. Let’s face it, his string of paternity suits and non-exclusive attitude to relationships don’t exactly scream husband material.

But, like your frazzled red mane, your taste in questionable suitors goes on and on. And this time you’ve really upped the stakes by dating Libyan leader Colonel Muammar Gaddafi's son. Al-Saadi Gaddafi ticks all the bad boy boxes and more. He’s got a touch of the Dodi Al Fayed playboy about him but he’s also captain of the Libyan football team. This can only mean he hangs around in glitzy nightclubs in the South of France and wears pink Lacoste t-shirts.

If this is the best you can do, who’s next? Charlie Sheen? Or maybe pyjama king Michael Jackson?



Al-Gaadi is not sure Libya's new hat will work on the pitch

Birthday boy

Happy birthday William Shatner. 74 today.

While most septuagenarians spend their days complaining at bus stops and buying tartan slippers, the Shat is producing some of his best work. His version of Pulp's Common People with Ben Folds is sheer genius. Even Jarvis Cocker didn't inject that much bitterness into his own lyrics.

Once I've heard Shat's version of Beck's Loser, I can die happy.

Drop the dead donkey

Just a few short months ago SJP was a happy woman. She was mulling over her next move and, most importantly, she was still in her 30s. Sex & The City was a fading memory but the whopping $38m Gap contract was helping to cushion the blow. A lot. With all that cash, SJP could, like her alterego Carrie Bradshaw, afford to slip on a handstitched Galliano ballgown to creosote the fence any time she liked. All she had to do was stick on a pair of cut-off jeans and a trilby from time to time and show the world that skinny white girls really can't dance.

But now Gap, maybe worried by SJP's rhythm deficit and advancing age, has traded her in for 17-year old singer Joss Stone. And if Joss can't dance then it really doesn't matter because she can certainly hold a tune. And do boho better than Sienna Miller.

In the week that she reaches that the big 40, SJP has finally realised that youth comes before couture.


SJP sees the future on her shoe

Celebrity catfight

As fantasy catfights go, this one has to be in the top five. After starring with David Beckham in the new Pepsi ad, Jennifer Lopez and Beyonce are both trying to bag the fit-but-dim football star for their next video.

The Bronx booty and Texan thunderthighs didn't realise just how popular Becks was before they went to Madrid to shoot the ad. Now they both want him and only one can have him as Becks has, finally, realised that overexposure can be a bad thing.

If Posh was worried about her husband's dalliance with a lowly PA, just imagine the panic Beyonce and J Lo will induce. Cue lots of publicity pictures of Victoria draped over her husband in little more than chiffon veil and a tight grin.

Mr & Mrs Smith

Feeling guilty anyone?

What would a body language expert make of these poses?


"if we stand far apart and don't look at each other then no-one will think we've slept together..."

Stick on you

nicole before and after the starvation diet

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t worry about you. You’ve got money and a low enough IQ to get by just fine in Hollywood. But Nicole, you are starting to look very scrawny, even emaciated. Paris can get away with looking like a flamingo – all 90 degree angles and a beak - but I like to think of you as a nice happy Tabby cat. If you want to know where you’re heading take a look at that other Nicole. Surely Kidman's stringy limbs and ghostly pallor tell you that eating is no bad thing.

And that plastic surgery can take you all the way in Hollywood. Consider these pictures of a once flame-haired cherub-faced lady taken in 1991.


the hair! the cheeks! the grimace!

Fantasy celebrity lovechild: no1

What would happen if Desperate Housewives' Eva Longoria and Sex Lies and Videotape's James Spader ever had a child? Well, just look at Javier Weyler,the new Stereophonics drummer.


Javier is on the left. We won't mention Kelly's bouffant hair

Coincidence that their new album is called Language Sex Violence Other? I think not.

Stupid celebrity names: continued

Sopranos star Edie Falco has adopted a little boy and called him Anderson. Clearly, she’d run out of first names and thought she’d use a surname instead.

Oops I did it again

Some people go for tattoos, multiple piercing and dodgy Mohicans. Others might resort to boozing and skipping school. But Goth haircuts and Thunderbird just didn’t do it for Britney Spears. To get attention from her parents, Britters thought that it was Vegas or bust. So she married a friend for 55 hours before calling it all off.

"I think that really kind of was a desperate cry to my family,” she said. “I kind of feel it brought my family together, and that was something that needed to happen."

As desperate cries for help go, it’s pretty lame. Call me old-fashioned, but whatever happened to hanging around Camden Tube station with some Tenants Special brew?

And if Britney’s trashy wedding in Vegas was a cry for help, just how desperate must she be now, six months after her second stagger down the aisle with soap-shy Kevin?

Sex and the Stable

Sarah Jessica Parker has angrily denied having had any plastic surgery. And so would I if I had her horseface. Why would anyone pay good money and get the full slash and burn treatment to look like that? I know some crazed people, like Joyce Wildenstein, model their faces on cats, but I’ve yet to hear of anyone modelling themselves on Mr Ed.


carrot anyone?

Older men everywhere must be rejoicing in their new found popularity. Now that Scarlett Johansson has come out of the closet and admitted to fancying the Hoff, Renee Zellwegger has revealed she has the hots for Paul McCartney. A man, who not unlike Renee, is partial to brown hair dye.

As caustic chatshow host Mrs Merton said to the wife of a short, balding magician: “What first attracted you to the multimillionaire Paul Daniels?”

Clear and Present Danger

Calista Flockhart beware. Indiana Jones 4 is in the offing and Steven Spielberg has earmarked voluptuous Lost in Translation star Scarlett Johansson for the love interest. So Calista, you may have trouble on your hands. Old Harrison Ford isn’t exactly known for his immunity to young, nubile women.

Like any rich ageing man, the trade-up is always an option. If he traded in his wife for a younger model, the chances are he’ll be trading you in quicker than you can book yourself in for a facelift and implants.

And Harrison won’t fail to notice the difference between Scarlett’s fulsome curves and your close resemblance to a dessicated twig. And if Scarlett can have a crush on the fatally uncool David ‘The Hoff’ Hasselhoff, she may well be harbouring lustful thoughts about Indiana Jones.

So Calista, crack open Ben & Jerry’s before it’s too late and all you’re left with is the temple of doom.


proving you can be too thin

Toxic

Just when you thought Britney’s husband couldn’t crank up the skank factor any further, we get the inside track on Mr Federline’s personal hygiene.

Kevin, your vests might be white but that’s where the cleanliness ends. According to ex-girlfriend Amy, Kev is very, very relaxed about personal hygiene. Soap? Toothbrush? Who needs them, says Kev, one hand in his pants, the other on the remote control.

Now we could just think that Amy was bitter, having lost out on her daily wrangle with the humming Vest. But no. Even his most recent ex said Kev doesn’t shower for days at a time. I’m hoping, for the maid’s sake, that he wears black pants.


the power of the airbrush

Fur Scum

J Lo is guilty of a double crime. Not only does she bludgeon our senses with her singing (Jen loves you, Autotune) and her fashion sense, but she also pays for the bludgeoning of small animals. Over the years, Lo has sashayed around in a variety of animal fur, none of it from animals who died from old age on a lovely farm.

The woman is clearly so rich now that she feels lives can take lives at whim. How long before she starts eyeing Marc up, thinking "hmm, he'd make a lovely weekend bag?". Or maybe, she'll take a leaf out of Buffalo Bill's handbook and start fashioning a suit out of the skins of her husbands. You can see why Marc staying off the nachos: less flesh = less skin. If she has a moment between manicures and stomach crunches she should look at this: J Lo Down>

Angel Arse

Jennifer Lopez’s bottom has finally been overtaken by her stomach in the race for column inches. Frenzied media speculation over her voluptuous behind has been replaced by frenzied media speculation over whether she is pregnant.

But husband and Skeletor clone Marc Anthony has not forgotten her arse. And now he’s captured its full glory in one of his own paintings.

Like Rubens before him, Marc knew exactly what angle to capture. Arse forwards. Unlike Rubens, I’m hoping Marc was a little bit more forgiving. There’s only so much wobble anyone needs to see.


the days before cellulite cream

A Fanciful Mind

Sitting in his cave in the wilds of Afghanistan, Osama bin Laden was burning the midnight oil. He wanted to bring down American culture but just couldn’t think of a way to do it. A few hits of the bong and one toasted cheese sandwich later, Osama hatched a plan. If he could just get his hands on Russell Crowe, then he could rule the world. Mickey Mouse and his cartoon pal George Bush (same IQ, smaller ears) would finally get it in the neck.

Only a man living in a cave could pin all his hopes on Russell Crowe. First off, Russell is a New Zealander. So just how his disappearance would destabilise American culture is anyone’s guess.

And, secondly, everybody would be only too happy to offload him. Malodorous and megalomaniac, Russell is a royal pain in the arse who likes to settle an argument with his fists. Which would explain why he lives on a farm, far from human temptation.

If you wanted to stop the thundering juggernaut of American culture, then surely Brad Pitt, ageing lothario George Clooney and Julia Roberts, the world’s widest smile, are more obvious targets. In fact, you could just make off with the whole cast of Ocean’s Eleven and be done with it.

So why would Al Qaeda want Russell Crowe? Maybe, with his body odour and Grizzly Adams beard, he would just fit right in with.


Russell looking fragrant and clean

Reality bites: parts 1 & 2

Part One

Poor Britney. Apparently being married is tough. Without the room service on tap, being Mrs Federline is hard work. What with the stepkids and keeping Kevin’s vests nice and white, Britney is practically bucking under the strain. Still, at least she can go to work, strip off and forget all about it.

what she gave it all up for

Part two

As predicted here last month, Brad and Jen are having second thoughts about getting divorced. Brad has moved back home and they are seeing a counsellor. Collective sigh of disappointment from the female (and gay male) population.

But have they really changed their minds about divorce? Or has the reality of dating in your late 30s and 40s just hit them? While ordinary divorcees can go speed dating, scan the personal ads or search for love online, Hollywood stars just can’t do what the plebs do. It seems that their only options are hooking up with the ex’s best friend or having affairs with their costars.

Should Jen decide that Brad is just not the One, there is still some consolation. She’s got a crack at rounding off Ben Affleck’s trinity of Jens.

F**k you for the music

For those of you lucky enough to be in blissful ignorance, the Eurovision song contest is an annual celebration of Europe’s worst music and fashion. Failed popstars from Latvia, Greece and Bulgaria kit themselves out in glowing spandex and sing about love and global harmony. In Latvian, Greek and Bulgarian. You get the picture.

Despite Britain’s great contribution to music, the UK entry is usually no better than the tat that passes for pop in Estonia or Israel (just when did Israel become part of Europe?). But this year, we surpassed ourselves. Not content with singing shit, the UK wheeled out the big guns of crap this weekend in the battle to become Britain’s Eurovision entry.

Javine, a reject from Pop Stars, strutted out in a dress that could be prosecuted under the trades description act. The tit tape may have been in place but Javine’s breasts wanted their moment of fame. And, one of them got it.

Meanwhile, ‘glamour’ model Jordan took to the stage in a pink rubber catsuit, which graphically highlighted her balloon breasts and her pregnant bump.


Barbie goes S & M

So the nipple fought it out with the expectant dominatrix. And in the end, Javine’s wardrobe malfunction won the night. If this is the best Britain can muster, come Eurovision night, be afraid, be very afraid.

No longer a Cruz to bear?

A glimmer of hope for Cruz ("it's pronounced Cruuuth") Beckham. Apparently, Spanish law doesn't allow 'names which introduce ambiguity related to gender'.

Diamonds are a boy's best friend

David catches sight of himself in the mirror

Brooklyn Beckham is likely to be sulking today. Unlike most six-year olds celebrating their birthdays, Brooklyn won't be trying out his new bike or building a murderous rage with Grand Theft Auto. Instead poor Brooklyn will be admiring his new earrings. They may be worth £25,000 but they won’t keep him occupied for hours or win over the bullies at the school.

His new earrings – copies of his Dad’s more expensive jewellery – will be heavy on bling (and have a great resale value) but low on fun. And the poor boy has not one but two big diamonds in his lobes. Which makes me wonder about Victoria and David. First they give a little boy a girl’s name (Cruz) and now they give a little boy a pair of diamond earrings. Romeo, whose flowing locks already cause some gender confusion, must be dreading his next birthday.

Give it ten years and all the kids will want for their birthday is gender realignment.

The Odd Couple

steve at his peak

In the world of unlikely pairings Steve Martin and Kristin Davis are up there with Chris Rock and Olympia Dukakis. Or Jerry Seinfeld and Lindsay Lohan.

While his career as writer continues, Steve’s days as a film funnyman are over. It’s all been downhill since The Jerk and The Man with Two Brains, although Bowfinger gave you a brief glimmer of hope. He last took the lead in Cheaper By The Dozen and the film’s only big joke was the character’s name, Tom Baker. As a father of twelve kids, Tom had a Baker’s dozen. Ha ha. And Ashton Kutcher didn’t even want to be credited for his role so you can only imagine how good the film is.

All of which makes you wonder about Kristin. She’s clearly not going out with Steve to raise her celebrity stock. As the prim one in Sex & The City, she must have plenty of offers on the table. But her next movie is Houseboat – four divorced men living on a boat try to save a friend’s marriage – so maybe she needs all the leftfield celebrity help she can get.

The Miller's Tale

Stella sat down for a quiet beer to think of a name...

A celebrity and sense are soon parted when it comes to naming a baby. Stella McCartney proves the point today by calling her baby Miller. A homage to beer? Or the noble craft of flour production?

She must have taken her cue from her friend Gwyneth whose daughter is called Apple. How else to trump a fruit than by bringing in the big guns of grain and hops? “I’ll see your fruit and raise you a bottle of beer and a bread roll.”

Miller obviously won’t stand out in at his Steiner playgroup among the Apples, Irises and, god love Sharleen Spiteri’s daughter, Misty Kid. His name shouldn’t even raise an eyebrow in Hollywood, where kids are routinely called Piper Maru (Gillian Anderson) Sailor Lee (Christie Brinkley) and Aquinnah and Schuyler (Michael Fox). The rule seems to be that the more mundane your own name, the more outlandish the monikers you slap on your kids.

And just what was Parker Posey’s mother thinking? If you’re going to name your child after a pen at least aim for the Mont Blanc end of the market.

The three non-blondes

The ladies strike a pose at the Vanity Fair party

These ladies make a truly unholy trinity. Pammie is clearly aiming to up her celebrity stock by grabbing the limelight with Christina and Gwen. But it’s nice to see that she’s remembered what trousers are after her outing last week (Bayfug), even if she’s forgotten to wear a bra. Again.

For once Christina looks like she’s washed and finally emerged from that confused slutty cowboy phase (chaps and knickers anyone?). In fact, the style pendulum is swinging perilously close to the Bo Peep look. By next week she could be toting a crook and bonnet.

But confusion reigns for Gwen. The mad scientist hair is under control but she’s regressed to the late teen Goth look. Which makes you wonder what L.A.M.B, her fashion label, actually stands for. Any suggestions?

Oscar Fright

For full coverage of Oscar night crimes against couture go to:
Go Fug Yourself