We know that Nordic cultures have a fairly liberal attitude towards sex, but this morning, John Stamos's lawyer is feverishly searching for information about the statute of limitations on Finnish sexual assault laws, or at the very least, some kind of legal precedent allowing for the old "swap and fuck" maneuver. From Page Six:
Let the post-Oscar agent-dumpings begin! We've heard a rumor that Jude Law is depriving CAA of the rainbows that spring forth from a mere flutter of his eyelashes, and has shifted the balance of pretty-boy star power in Endeavor's direction, signing with Patrick Whitesell. (Look at official Agent Dance mascot Ari Emanuel smiling! He's positively tickled!) If the changeover indeed goes down, how did Whitesell land Law? Did he promise to key Chris Rock's car for calling Law a "second choice" actor at the Oscars? Did he close the deal at his Oscar party at 4 a.m. with a soak in a hot tub full of hookers and a bag full of kind bud? Was Law promised that fellow Whitesell client Ben Affleck will be by to clean his pool twice a week? We're willing to go out on a limb and say the Affleck thing was the deal-breaker.
· "The place reeks of pot. It's like a free for all. There are people in the Jacuzzi, and it's just wild." Fox's Roger Friedman gets a call from a guest "in the shit" at Patrick Whitesell's post-Oscar orgy. We've always heard that Endeavor gets the best weed—it helps them stop stressing about Ben Affleck's career.
· The Independent Spirit Awards swag bag: nary a tropical vacation to be found. It's amazing anyone shows up to that thing.
· Prehistoric Julia Roberts found, identified by enormous mouth.
· No one ever said that Oscar is fair.
· The Fug Girls get drafted by MSNBC to lend their fashion expertise.
· Whatever happened to time-tested methods of getting stars interested in your work, like writing your script on your penis and dipping it in their soup at the Ivy?
· The Res screening returns to the Egyptian, with Jared "Napoleon Dynamite " Hess and Michel "Eternal Sunshine" Gondry sticking around for a post-screening Q & A. Party, DJs, drinks and other fun to follow, per usual.
· Franz Wisner reads from his memoir Honeymoon With My Brother (in which he responds to getting dumped just before his wedding by selling everything he owns and traveling the world for two years) at the Barnes and Noble in Santa Monica. Yes, someone bought the movie rights.
· Best show for your buck: Burning Brides and 400 Blows perform at Spaceland for free.
When our PrivacyWatchers employ more than one of their senses in their celebrity encounters, an Overheard is born, and the lil'est angel in Heaven gets a coupon for a free Botox injection:
To help prolong his career in the face of a failing marriage, Newlywed Nick Lachey took his publicist's advice to replicate wife Jessica Simpson from the DNA in a loose strand of hair and bring the resulting clone to the Vanity Fair post-Oscar party at Morton's. Unfortunately for Lachey, a raccoon and a basted turkey crawled into the incubator vat while he was growing his tabloid-baiting party date, and the results from the hybrid DNA were somewhat less than convincing.
The Defamer Special Pre-Oscar Agent-Hosted Party Correspondent infiltrated CAA bigshot Bryan Lourd's A-list awards orgy and promptly filed this report, which we are now not as promptly sharing with you now. Inside: Robin Williams! Julia Roberts! A fat Tobey Maguire! Jen and Brad talking! To each other! Also in attendance: just about everyone else in Hollywood that an agency would need present for an obligatory salad-tossing as the Oscars approached. We'll get out of the way now and let Correspondent X do her thing:
· The usually hilarious Chris Rock boosts Oscar ratings to a five-year high by toning down his act enough not to induce heart attacks in frail Academy members (while boring most everyone else). [Variety]
· The Little Euthanasia Engine That Could: The inspiring tale of how Oscar darling Million Dollar Baby made it to the screen. [Variety]
· For about $250,000 per episode, TBS gets the rights to air According to Jim re-runs. We sincerely hope that the network doesn't denude the groundbreaking sitcom of its trademark edgy humor as it commutes to basic cable. [THR]
· Everbody works during pilot season, part the tenth: Christopher Lloyd, Tom Berenger, and Luke Perry pick up temporary paychecks. [THR]
· Losers drive Beemers: Variety's website is covered in BMW ads featuring Best Supporting Actor also-ran Clive Owen. [Variety]
Here's the latest incremental report from the Disney/Miramax divorce talks, courtesy of the LAT: After weeks of Harvey and Bob Weinstein leaving scrawled, lovelorn notes underneath Disney CEO Michael Eisner's windshield wiper, pretending to have headaches and rolling over to go to sleep without any good-night nookie, and calling Eisner in the middle of the night and hanging up, the two sides have inched ever closer to finally splitting. The Weinsteins will reportedly get $100 million and will keep the Dimension Films banner, while Disney will retain Miramax, the studio famously named after the Weinsteins' parents. Some lament that the Weinsteins have to sacrifice their parents' namesake in the deal, but for a settlement that large, we imagine that the brothers would have presented their mother's severed head to Disney in a hatbox.
This is the actual caption for this photo: "Chantal Cousineau (L) and an unidientified guest arrive at the 2005 Vanity Fair Oscar Party at Mortons in West Hollywood February 27, 2005." Maybe we're just a wee bit cynical, but we get the feeling that Robert Evans slipped someone from Reuters a hundred dollar bill and an associate producer credit to leave his name off to "make the tomato feel special." We hope the young lady didn't mistakenly put her glasses in the denture jar on his nightstand.
While Million Dollar Baby was busy winning the Heathen/Gay/Jew Awards (we call them "The Oscars," it's less of a mouthful), Jesus was busy collecting a Golden Crucifix from the Movieguide Faith & Values Awards for The Passion of the Christ. Predictably, JC peppered his acceptance speech with shout-outs to his father, mother, and his agent (the Holy Spirit always gets ten percent), then thanked Mel Gibson for "really making it look like I was getting my ass kicked for two hours." The Messiah then added, "It was pretty hilarious to show up at craft services covered in stage blood, flaps of flayed skin dangling, and overturn the breakfast buffet table in righteous anger because they were out of glazed doughnuts." Unfortunately, the Son of Man's riff on director Mel Gibson's penchant for practical jokes was drowned out by the orchestra.
Hey, the movie theaters were open this weekend! We were sure they'd all shutter their doors, but exhibitors defied all logic and continued to hawk their wares for all the non-gays that weren't watching the Oscars.
As promised, we've shelved all ambitions of crashing the Kodak Theatre or the Vanity Fair Morton's bash to sit here on the sofa, drink to the point of kidney failure, and liveblog Hollywood's Biggest Night. Who will be the first to allow Oscar's gilded phallus to tickle their tonsils, and who'll be assuming the "insincerely smiling for the winner" position, and accepting his golden shaft into their nether regions?
· Liquid Generation fills up Paris Hilton's Sidekick better than she could ever hope to. Peruse Hilton's address book, watch her bi-curious phonecam videos, and IM her celeb buddy list. If only this kind of ingenuity could be put to some more noble purpose, like inventing a Flash game that erases all memory of Fred Durst screwing.
· The prophetic Fred Durst, blogging back in November: "well people, hackers, gotta love them and gotta despise them. it's the territory where we are all put in a position to be victims. kind of fun and dangerous at the same time. so don't be so gullible." Gullible, like believing that the clear, huge sex video was somehow stored in a Sidekick, which, incidentally, has no video camera?
· David Cross is keeping busy while Arrested Development dangles by the thinnest of threads. [via goldenfiddle]
· CZJ's stalker: the "no contest" kind of crazy.
Friday
· Crash the 3rd Annual Indie Producer Awards Show at the WGA Theatre in Beverly Hills, hosted by Dave Foley. Use this as a warm-up; you don't want to cramp when you try to crash the main event on Sunday.
· Literary darling Lorrie Moore reads tonight at the UCLA Hammer Museum. She's pretty famous with the New Yorker set, but if you haven't heard of her, maybe you'd be better off sitting this one out—you wouldn't want short fiction snobs to stone you to death for confusing her work with Jhumpa Lahiri's.
· Hot Hot Heat plays the Roxy, but we refuse to indulge in any temperature related puns.
Saturday
· Normally, the rooftop parking lots at studios are strictly for suicide attempts and the procuring of illegal drugs, but Peddler on the Roof at Sunset Gower Studios seems to be some sort of legitimate flea market.
· White Out (with Thurston Moore, the indie rock world's arbiter of all things pure) plays Spaceland; Duran Duran continues their unironic comeback at Staples Center.
· Watch the Independent Spirit Awards on Bravo and catch a glimpse of Hollywood's rising talent before they direct a Jerry Bruckheimer movie.
Sunday
· Oscar Night finally arrives. Watch Jamie Foxx reach a state of ecstasy so pure that his body explodes and covers the A-list audience at the the Kodak Theatre in a hail of delicious Skittles. We don't even want to consider what might happen if he doesn't win.
· Shameless self-promotion: Did we mention that we're liveblogging the Oscars? Oh, we did? See you then!
Let us pause ever so briefly from all things Oscar and Hilton to recognize this week's sponsors, without whom we'd be forced to wander around Hollywood Blvd., performing a flipbook reenactment of Fred Durst's sexual technique. If you'd like to advertise on Defamer and reach the world's sexiest blog-readers, see this page.
