As last year's Oscars ceremony proved by gathering herds of nominees from the unsexy categories on stage to better catch their post-loss expressions of sorrow in a single, wide-angle shot, the show's producers aren't afraid to tinker with their formula. But this year, they may have gone too far, as we've heard that the Academy is planning on halting the event's open bar once the proceedings begin, hoping that charging for cocktails will keep people in their seats and stop them from congregating near the booze. Never having attended the Oscar ceremony, this information doesn't affect our lives in any appreciable way (the hooch will be free-flowing at Defamer HQ), but the operative bearing the news assures us that the choice to use a cash bar will result in nothing short of awards show apocalypse, and is still holding out hope that this disastrous policy will be reversed before a despondent Best Supporting Actress runner-up realizes that she's not carrying any money and stabs a bartender just following orders in the throat with a thousand-dollar stiletto heel.

We have absolutely no context* for the above photograph of the 15-year-old Emma Watson, better known to the world as overachieving Harry Potter sidekick Hermione Granger, gulping a Corona in a jarringly innocent-looking Snoopy shirt. For all we know, this could be a studio still from the set of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, which features a scene dealing with the unpleasant—but all too common—realities of underage drinking, in which the young wizards get shitfaced on butterbeer and draw genitals on Ron Weasley's face with their wands after he passes out. The Hermione experience won't be complete without visiting the site where the pictures live, which fittingly enhances their presentation with a soundtrack by Jimmy Buffet.

Anna Nicole Smith scurried up the steps of the U.S. Supreme Court today in order to observe arguments in her ongoing battle to win the half-billion dollars she insists are coming to her for her full year of wedded devotion to 89-year-old oil tycoon Howard Marshall before his extremely timely death. The issue the Supreme Court is considering specifically involves federal vs. state jurisdiction over bankruptcy law, and believe it or not, the White House is firmly on Smith's side. Says one legal analyst:

· David Cross will executive produce seven episodes of the animated Freak Show for Comedy Central. Though we have no idea whether or not this has any impact on those Arrested Development rumors, feel free to interpret in any fashion that makes you feel good. [Variety]
More pilot news than you can shake a midseason order at: Julia Ormond in CBS drama The Way, Bradley Whitford, Sarah Paulson and Timothy Busfield in NBC's Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, William Baldwin and Joe Pantoliano in CBS drama Waterfront, and CW picks up a second drama, the high school Sliding Doors-esque series Split Decision. [THR]
· Digital platforms are providing promising revenue streams for media companies, who are more than happy to find new and exciting ways to screw writers, directors, and actors out of residuals. [Variety]
Warner Bros. picks up the prison drama Kite for Leonardo DiCaprio's Appian Way, which may serve as a starring vehicle for the actor should he decide to play the prettiest fish in the whole penal system. [THR]
"Dear Investors, Viacom is very, very close to finally selling the DreamWorks library for a very, very large sum of money! No, for real this time! Love, Tom Freston." [Variety]

With only five party-planning days left 'til Hollywood Christmas, there is still so very much to be done to ensure the ensuing after-parties are sufficiently grossly overdone and insensitive to much of everything else going on in the world. To the rescue comes Oscar fete-giver non-pareil Elton John, who will be throwing out every stop short of a solid Godiva climbing-wall erupting in nougat on the half-hour to siphon A-list guests away from his arch Oscar party rival, the Vanity Fair shindig:

Today's Page Six chooses to torture mourning Arrested Development fans by tossing off a "We Hear" item reporting Showtime has resurrected the show for 26 (!) episodes. And yesterday, the Better Than Fudge blog updated an earlier item claiming that a cast member indicated that Showtime had picked up the show for 12 episodes. Says Fudge:

A mysterious organization known only as the Global Language Monitor has released its annual list of the year's most influential "Hollywood words and phrases." Using advanced and sophisticated tracking techniques available to anyone with access to Google, the group has decreed "Brokeback" that highly evocative cluster of geographical peaks and valleys on the map of the human heart that has quickly turned into yet another synonym for "faggy" as Hollywood's word of the year:

The British tabloids are doing their best to establish themselves as new 007 Daniel Craig's personal Blofelds, stroking their white cats as they conspire to singe off the actor's testicles with the laser of public humiliation. Cackles The Sun about the latest emasculating mishap to befall Blonde Bond:

"Rock-jawed, former teen hearthrob" Matt Dillon isn't going to squander his moment of Oscar-nominated glory by putting his head down, shyly considering the shine on his shoes, and mumbling some pullquote-ready nonsense soaked in false humility. No, now that his fine performance in the criminally overpraised Crash has been recognized by his peers, he's finally been afforded the opportunity to wax pretentious poetic about the glory of heavy-handed filmmaking:

· Guerlain signs up Hilary Swank as the muse for a new women's fragrance, which we really, really hope will be called "Swanked" and come packaged in a bottle shaped like Chad Lowe. We are prepared for disappointment, however.
You might be able to kill the show, but you'll never be able to kill the creepy, yet awesome, fan art.
You make the call: Global pandemic or popular mid-80s diet suppressant?
Sure, the Krazy-Glu tubes in John Mayer's contract rider are probably there for first aid, but isn't it more fun to imagine that he demands that three groupies are bonded together and then delivered to his dressing room after each show?

Ben Affleck's been a movie star long enough to fully understand movie premiere etiquette. For example, if he's somehow obligated to show his face at an opening because of unavoidable political reasons (i.e., his new Miramax boss's first film is screening), he knows that no one will even notice that he snuck out before the movie began if he leaves behind some photographic evidence of his presence:

The tiny Oscar set model unveiled last week is busily being constructed by a small army of craftsmen and crew to full scale on the stage of the Kodak Theater as we speak. There's just a few days left, after all, to get the towering glass Oscars adequately frosted, the giant silver conches swirling smoothly, and other such finishing touches on what promises to be one of the greatest sets in awards show history. Of course, there's also the ongoing debate over the life-sized theater box office sitting center stage, and what it's doing there:

· Listing Ship continue their free Monday residency at The Echo; Sinead O Connor (now with 80% less pope abuse...we think!) at the House of Blues on the Strip Oopsies! It's canceled!; The Adored at Spaceland.
· Wine tastings aren't usually intended for getting totally soused, but with the gloom and rain killing your already tenuous grasp on sobriety, Silverlake Wine's Blue Monday sounds like it's tailor-made for self-medication.
· Should you not be in the mood for getting blind drunk on wine, taking in some French film at the Redcat should be an appropriate rainy day substitute. [via flavorpill]

We fear that George Clooney, who last week so humbly admitted that had he had such wild success at an early age, he likely would've succumbed to the siren call of eyeball crack, may be the victim of an ugly, negative campaign intended to keep the charismatic, self-effacing triple-threat Oscar-free on Sunday night:

• ABC Censors Strike Lachey's Move for West Coast [LAist]

The Defamer Special Real Estate Correspondent returns not with a walkthrough of an open house offering a glimpse of how the other half lives before upgrading their living quarters, but with an exciting opportunity for those employed by (or perhaps merely dabbling in) the exiting celebrity-stalking industry. Less than $5,000 per month will get you within telephoto lens range of one of the tabloids' favorite photographic subjects:

The two of them sat mostly in silence. What conversation they did have was brief: So Good as she munched on her pancakes "yea" he replied, and then silence again. Paris can really put some food away. She ate almost everything on her plate. I guess she is just naturally skinny. I got to give it to her for chilling out at a little spot like The Griddle not exactly The Ivy. FYI, Stravos was wearing a hoodie with Fuck You monogrammed all over it. Classy!

Our operatives were apparently too busy to deliver Brad Grey's interoffice e-mail about the plucking of Stacey Snider from Universal's grasp to us in the wildly popular monkeygram format, but here it is in its original, plain-text, simian-free incarnation:

In another gripping chapter in the ongoing and addictive serial drama Gay British 80s Pop Stars Getting Arrested In Really Stupid, Embarrassing and Easily Avoidable Situations, George Michael was arrested for drug possession after he was found passed out and slumped over the wheel of his car in the early morning hours on a London street. Michael then released a statement taking responsibility for the arrest, if remaining a little vague about just what drug he was caught with:

The weekend saw the passing of two great figures from the American comedy pantheon: Don Knotts, known for brilliant caricatures of nebbish self-effacement, and Darren McGavin, a versatile actor best remembered for his cursing, authoritarian though equally ineffective turn as Ralphie's "Old Man" in A Christmas Story. The two would have made the perfect comic pairing, and sure enough, they did appear alongside one another in two lesser known Disney movies from the 1970s. Though Barney Fife is arguably Knott's best role, for us, it's the swinging and sniffing leisure-suited landlord Mr. Furley with which he will forever be associated. With John Ritter, Norman Fell, and now Knotts gone, we can only imagine Richard Kline, aka Larry, is feeling the uneasy combination of relief, melancholy and isolation that comes with being Three's Company's last surviving male.