Desperate Powers

Yet more rather unbelievable (believe it or not) dish on the whole Britney-ruins-her-life saga...plus, what Katherine Heigl and her newbie hubbie do in the dark—think quite sticky here—and why it most certainly does not look good for all you Desperate Housewives fans, fer sure.

You will not believe this one. Know all that public bickering between the family Spears and Dr. Phil over his little impromptu visit to Britney at Cedars a while back? Well, a lot of the battling and accusations over self-serving agendas are, actually, for real—just not all of them. Here’s what’s up:

According to those who have been brought in on the 12-stepping action, a major effort is under way by the Spears clan to get Brit-Brit cleaned up. This should come as a surprise only to those who believe, oh, I dunno, silly things such as the notion that Reese Witherspoon and Jake Gyllenhaal are actually boffing madly away each afternoon. But I digress, per usual.

Mama Satan Lynne has finally joined in—don’t rush it, or anything—on papa Jamie’s long-standing wishes—i.e., to get Britney thoroughly rehabilitated, and not just a little Starbucks stopover at some cushy Malibu detox joint. While Lynne has been busy finagling book deals and such—all bartered around her death-defying daughter’s very existence, natch—Brit’s dad has been most earnestly trying to save his eldest girl’s life. Not that said offspring has been the least bit interested (obviously), but that’s hardly the point. We never want to do what our ‘rents want.

Except, maybe, for Jennifer Love Hewitt. So, been wondering why Britney was so hell-bent on leaving the country? Ya know, when she and the SO (as in sleaze other) paparazzi guy surreptitiously exited to Mexico. That’s because crafty B.S. became acutely aware of the mucho, major intervention the parental units were planning. Must be involving the U.S. Army at this pathetic point to work.

More shocking short-hair types than grunting generals are involved in the massive plan to get Brit-babe into rehab. A guy of whom you may have heard is def in on the covert rehab op: His name is Dr. Phil! “He’s been in on it from the beginning,” dished my Deep Doc insider. “And he’s still part of the plan,” pooped the knowledgeable secret source—even after, unbelievably so, the Spears family and McGraw didn’t see eye to eye on Phil’s planned show around Britney. Great—whatever it’ll take to get that woman cleaned up. Anything. Please. Just get her out of our hair—and whatever she’s got left of her own. Quit the finger pointing, everybody, and just help save the broad’s life.

Dodgin' Dr. Phil has some social etiquette problems he needs to work on if this rude report on the doc’s recent office party is to be swallowed whole—and what’s not to believe when said tasty tidbit is about celebs acting atrociously? Now, if storming into private hospital rooms wasn’t considered uncouth enough, Doc P was caught (tho' you’re not really caught if you do it out in the open) swearing and sweating as he passed by all his invitees, say fellow soiree guests, so as to reach the parking valet first. Who gives a rat’s moustache if the gals in their purty frocks get trampled in the process, the boss man’s needs come first, right?

Maybe P.M. had a scoop on another psycho starlet to rush and ferret out? Whatev. Seems like this dubious doc’s bedside manner needs to extend to his own events, not to mention his show-guest wranglings.

“October.”            

—The above date is—and please sit down if you already aren’t, particularly if you’re a Desperate Housewives fan—when some key players involved in the Writers' Strike are saying they expect the damn thing to be resolved

How many more people need to lose their jobs for this hideousness to end, already? Though, more and more, we’re hearing at AT that some kind of deal is going to be brokered to arrange for the all-holy Oscars to go on—let a poor writer schmuck lose his house in Burbank, but heaven forbid the Industry should be denied the divine right to celebrate itself with what’s looking to be the most boring-ass Academy Awards lineup in history. I mean, we live for Marion Cotillard’s stunning Edith Piaf job in La Vie en Rose as much as the next drama-addicted dame, but she and (the well-deserving) Hal Holbrook, from the heart-wrenching Into the Wild, are most likely not going to make this the go-to Oscars to catch.

Also been told the dreadful news that some of the larger talent agencies in T-town are preparing to lose very sizeable percentages of their workforces, as the cash just ain’t comin’ in no more. It’s a crappy situation. Yes, the writers’ work desperately needs protection from the galvanizing corporations, no question, but at what cost? We’re about to find out.

As we were the first to bitch-ask, could the new Tom Cruise tell-all bio be the best smut author Andrew Morton can do? Procreation theories that belong in some kind of Anne Francis 1950s interplanetary black-and-white job? You’re kidding, right, Andy?

“He’s just trying to rattle the cage,” smirked/cracked a source deep inside TomKat’s inner planetary lineup of celestial-being insiders. “He wants attention.” 

Not to mention book sales. Will he get them? Would say, sure thing, but just don’t know about this sperm-from-Mars bizness Morton’s peddling, doesn’t look good. 

And where’s the tell-all on Morton himself, already? I mean, after all, isn’t A.M. screaming that he’s trembling as we cybergoss because of threats from Scientologists? Is that really true? Wouldn’t you all like to know? 

Plus, we hear Andy doesn’t exactly keep it zipped. Sort of like Tom’s mouth, whenever antidepressants are involved.

Oh, and remember when we mentioned that Reese Witherspoon and Vince Vaughn seemed to be gabby again—at least disagreeing less—at the Smart House here in Hell-Ay (Venice, exactly), when they were shooting scenes for their flick, Four Christmases? “Well, actually, he seemed more interested in the cars [on view at the house], more so than Reese,” admitted a firsthand witness to the two comics, between shots for the funny film about a young couple’s shuffling between their various in-laws. 

At least the two hons weren’t fighting, isn’t that the good news? And since when is something butch and shiny distracting V.V. from his female company anything new? I mean, really.