Is Dennis Quaid still pissed at Meg Ryan? Oh darlings, I daresay so. Read on for the bitchy deets—not to mention fabulously glittery awards bits from the past few days...why, it's all so much, I forgot to add we've got yet more dog dish on that barking-mad Britney Spears! Woof-woof, g-fs!
Before we get to yet more saucy statuette gab, we must have our daily Brit-Brit, n’est-ce pas? Biên sur! Now, Ms. B seems to be almost behaving herself since Daddy’s laid down some ground rules. Sure, she’s flashed her femme parts a few times, but we’ll consider it spring cleaning. In case you’re oh so starving for some spastic Spears antics, we’ve got one for you from a bit ago.
A lovely gal source of ours jaunted out to a non-Petco pooch place in Bel Air to play with the Maltese puppies. See, she recently had a Maltese of her very own wander off to doggy heaven, and playing with the store’s pup had become a personal pastime of hers. So, our girl was contentedly canoodling with the canine when one of the store’s employees approached her and rudely forced her to give up the dog, because someone else wanted to purchase it, pronto. Some deep déjà vu of the Ellen-Iggy episode, right?
Well, the purchaser in question to whom our sad source had to hand the dog over was none other than Britney, with assistant Alli ('member her?) by her wacky side.
The woman, who loves animals more than she loves celebs, reluctantly handed the mini Maltese over, suggesting Britters watch out for the dog’s overly teary eyes. My guess is the pooch’s cage was lined with pages of Us Weekly, and he knew what he was in for. Alli hissed back, “She knows what she’s doing, lady!” while B.S. looked on, all the lightbulbs unscrewed upstairs.
Brit-Brit, who is still in possession of a Maltese named Lacy Loo, didn’t end up buying the pup, but she managed to ruin somebody’s day, just the same. All in an afternoon’s work, trust. On another note, anyone seen Maltese Lacy Loo on the side of a milk carton lately?
Before Sunday’s Oscar entrée, there was the Saturday afternoon appetizer assortment of the Independent Spirit Awards—smaller, more diverse and better for you. The Office funnyman Rainn Wilson donned a pair of cuffed jeans, a wrinkled sports jacket and a furry face as the Spirit’s inviting host, though how hostest-mostest can ya be when ya can’t even bother to shave or iron your clothes? Jon Stewart didn’t dare defy the laws of formal attire at the Big O’s. So, what was the biggest diff between Sunday’s double A’s and Saturday’s Spirits? Indie cinema regular Patricia Clarkson put it bluntly: “One has a lot of money and one doesn’t.”
Straight and to the point, sistah. But you’re forgetting, one had a so-preggers Angelina Jolie and one definitely didn’t. The Indie Spirits stole Oscar’s thunder, with Angie-babe showing up on the blue carpet with partner Pitt, passively promoting her pregnancy by finally throwing away the flowy frocks and trench coats in favor of a skintight black cocktail dress.
Ang didn’t pick up an award that eve, but she def picked up the most press by baring that bump to the world. Who needs the Oscars when the little awards show that could is making all the best headlines? I mean, Tilda Swinton and her swingers love life didn’t even come close to eclipsing Sunday’s show in the same breathtaking Brangie way. More awards-type bits 'n' blabs:
He's Not There: “He never left the set...He was really watching the process of filmmaking. He would offer suggestions that were so good, and I would use them all.”—I’m Not There director Todd Haynes, bittersweetly reminiscing about Heath Ledger at the Indie Spirit Awards. The rest of the film’s Dylans were lined up behind him in a rain-soaked Santa Monica tent, all tight-lipped and quiet, lest they tear up at any Ledger uncomfortable—i.e., drag-laden—memory. But one of those D-dolls had the most presh thing to add, not in regard to Heath, though. (Ironically, the quote you’re about to read is from the gal who, like, totally ruled at Heath’s Australian memorial service.)
“He whispered into my ear...It was so noisy, I had no idea what he said. I hope he liked it. I hope he’s seen it.”
Cate Blanchett, on Bob Dylan’s take on I’m Not There. Sure, Cate blames the noise, but we bet nobody ever understand anything Bobby D mumbles, regardless of outside influences.
Juno What I Mean? “I’m gonna go all classy to the Oscars. I’m gonna wash under my arms.”
—Diablo Cody, backstage at the Indie Awards after picking up Best First Screenplay. We just checked our English-to-Diabolese dictionary, and apparently “classy” means “cheetah-print cavewoman gown.” Guess she should have chose those million-dollar heels, huh?
Just like our query to the sexy scriber at the Oscars, we asked the flick’s director, Jason Reitman, why a reel-life teen role model like Juno is sweeping up accolades while, in real life, li'l miss Jamie Lynn Spears is in the same sitch and is being tsk-tsk’d as a terrible tween. “I think all teenage girls should become pregnant, they should toss the condoms,” he snickered. J.R. got all serious and fully explained, “Juno is a character in a movie, and we don’t know the end of the Jamie Lynn story yet. With Juno, she chooses innocence at the end of the day...It should inspire young people to stay young as long as possible. And I hope that for Jamie Lynn.” I think it’s a lost cause, Jase. Save all your hope for J.L.’s kid, the little tyke’s gonna need it.
Change the Cheater, Quick! Celebs don’t show up to awards shows just to pick up some publicity or accolades. They also attend for all the freebies. Even the Indies are in on the gifting game, though I bet the contents of one gifting suite could fund at least three low-budget art flicks. Spotted in the Spirit’s secluded gifting lounge was Dennis Quaid, trying on all sorts of shades—didn’t Jack Nicholson tell ya that wearing sunglasses indoors was his thing, Quaidy? D.Q. seemed to be enjoying himself, prolly 'cause he no longer has to fret about his twins’ fates, lucky li'l dears. But when D's ex Meg Ryan appeared on the live-feed TVs to present an award, Den took one look at his former wife-unit and defiantly declared, “I don’t wanna see that, sorry!”
The still very doable daddy then busied himself back with his sunnies, but he couldn’t help himself and curiously turned his attention back to a magnificent-looking Meg on the screen. Good thing she wasn’t presenting an award to her ex-b-f Russell Crowe, there coulda been sunglasses flying at people’s heads, fer sure.
Another One Bites the Dust: While everyone (including moi) was moaning 'n' groaning over Brad Renfro’s missed memorial at the Big O’s, there’s a not so little person that was also slighted from entering the Death Montage Applause-O-Meter competition...
Yes, we’re throwing out Anna Nicole Smith for your consideration for biggest Oscar snub, alongside nominees Renfro and jilted former host Whoopi. Sure, Smith was hardly a movie stah, and had she survived any longer, the only Oscar she’d ever get would be some bald accountant who would gladly give it up for a sugar mama. But the sometimes actress and sometimes model was a full-time personality and born entertainer, and her surprise demise is still being talked about a full year later. Ain’t that enough for some respectful golf claps? What’s with the judgment calls on how people passed on, Academy? Had Heath’s toxicology reports slanted toward a more notorious type of drug overdose, would he have been crossed off the list, too? (He sure wouldn’t have been last, that’s fer sure.)
All right, so last week’s premiere Margo Awards here at AT had merde to do with the Oscars, which is what anybody really gives two hoots about this week. Kinda makes us feel like the Golden Globs. Last year gave us a good enough hodgepodge of marvels and muck, and we think there’s no reason to halt the head-patting for particular feats of cinematic achievement. So, throw on your fanciest wrap and take a gander at the Margo Awards: Part Deux, which honors the best (and the rest) of films and pop-culture foibles that '07 had to offer.
Worst Movie to Be Included in a Category Beginning with Best: Norbit
Runner-Up: Norbit. It’s just that bad
Paul Fenton/ZUMA Press
Best Affleck of the Year: Casey—he was everywhere, and he was good
Runner-Up: Violet—she’s gotten more rave reviews this year than Daddy did for directing Gone Baby Gone
David James/New Line Cinema/ZUMA Press
Best Fat Suit: John Travolta in Hairspray
Runner-Up: John Travolta in general
Warner Bros. Entertainment
Best Confusing Title No One Can Say Correctly: The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
Runner-Up: Saoirse Ronan in Atonement—your guess is as good as ours how to say that one aloud
Richard Foreman/Courtesy of Miramax Films
Best Villain: Javier Bardem in No Country for Old Men
Runner-Up: The wicked studios during the writers' strike
Best Two Good Things That When Combined Turn Awful: Across the Universe. The Beatles songbook, when added to Julie Taymor’s ambitious imagination, became uneven, although colorful, utter chaos
Runner-Up: Rumer Willis
Disney Enterprises, Inc & Pixar Animation Studios
Best Reason to Enjoy Eating Out: All that fine dining in Ratatouille
Runner-Up: Pink's liberation!
Best Supporting Star: Cate Blanchett in I’m Not There
Runner-Up: Heidi Montag’s bra