"It's like the blind leading the blond."
—Mel Gibson messiness witness and close personal friend to the new Britney Spears BFF
And this was before the dead dude was found on Gibson's property. Just hearing about that? You did know Gibson has a habit of helping not just Brit but others who suffer from less-than-stellar mental states, didn't you? Including some folks very close to the star. More in tomorrow's column, but first, the wackiest charity case of them all:
Would B.S. star in Mel's next extinct-language film, spoken completely in gibberish? Or maybe Brit-Brit said buh-bye to Adnan once and for all, and finally found a fella whose star wattage at least matched her level of insanity? Would they arm wrestle over who had the bigger meltdown? All of the above?!
Turns out, it's nowhere near as interesting, sorry folks. Gibson, along with his wife and von Trapp truckload of kids, feasted with Spears to show their domestically deceiving support to the clearly catastrophic trainwreck.
I say deceiving for a number of reasons. First off, anybody who believes Father Mel has been anything but a most model hubby at all times during his bunny-rabbit Catholic existence is a fool. Wife-unit Robyn would be hard-pressed to say she's never felt the pain of partner unpredictability, similar to what far-lower-on-the-spouse-chain K-Fed's had to endure at any given moment.
M.G., ya see, has had more than his fair share of ups 'n' downs over the years with alcoholism and depression and assorted boozy debauchery. Not to mention (my opinion) homophobia and anti-Semitism. I mean, Brit-babe, you have a lot of fruit-fans, this one included, sure ya want to start taking counsel with this joker?
"I think she's just desperate for attention, still," unkindly remarked the Gibson amiga, referring to why her biz and personal friend would be breaking beachy bread with Spears. "After all, it never worked with Dr. Phil, right? Why should it work with Mel?"
Ouch-a-friggin'-rooney! With friends like these, who needs Ann Coulter in the world?
Now I suppose Gibson thinks experience alone gives him enough street cred to become an authority figure on how to recover. Britney would learn more about life by joining a sorority and gaining a big sis than by listening to this alcoholic Aussie, my opinion.
B.S. sure knows how to pick out some seasoned personal advisers, huh? She let Sam Lutfi, an alleged "producer" who's shadier than a pair of Ray-Bans, woefully mismanage her life. Now she's listening to a drinker who's still suffering the effects of several personal demons and a ass-load of bad PR. Need I say more than "Sugar Tits" right now?
Then again, who did B look up to growing up? Lynne Spears, a mama who gives the A-OK for her underage daughter to practically live with her boyfriend and doesn't do anything to stop the paycheck when it's time for the baby to pop on out on the cover of OK!.
Whatever happened to Madonna holding Brit's hand through the wild territory of T-town? She's the perfect pal to advise a how-to for balancing controversy and performance like a pro. Plus, Madge seemed more than willing to play mentor to a pop star who simmered with potential—why else would Lady M have made a coveted cameo on "Me Against the Music" and locked lips with Spears on live television? Publicity? We know how much the Material Girl hates that.
This separate-lives biz has been going on for ages. M told me backstage she had the wrong response to my query, regarding how she keeps that fab hard butt. When Madonna answered, "Pilates," I wondered, out loud, "Why didn't you say sex with Guy?"
"That's what I should have said, Ted."
Doesn't look good right now for those who want Gadge to last. But remember: The only thing M is more eternally loyal to being, besides indestructible, is English. And nobody does the arranged union better than an ice-cold Brit.
T.C. met with an exec, hopefully brainstorming a better project for the grappling actor than the ones he's been messing around with at his own prod company. What makes this meeting of the minds muy interesante, to us anyway, is that this is the very same exec that Jake Gyllenhaal lunched with just last week.
Jakey-darling hasn't had a hit flick since Brokeback Mountain (it's still a blessed shock to think a gay-themed film was a blockbuster, huh?), but he's been churning out the critic-approved serious cinema with his one-word wonders Jarhead, Proof and Zodiac.
Sure, not even a rumored on-set romance with Reese got anybody riled up to see Rendition, but J.G.'s handsome mug is still seen in as many respectable films as gossip rags. Tommykins could stand to learn a few tricks from this subtle performing genius.
Since his couch-trapezing three years ago, Cruisey's been in just two flicks, the limp M:I threequel and the nap-inducing Lions for Lambs. The remainder of his overexposed mayhem's been saved for offscreen shenanigans, be it getting hitched in Italian castles, fathering the most mysterious baby since Rosemary's and touring Posh 'n' Becks around Bev Hills.
And though I doubt Tom-C ever intended his turtlenecked, Tickle Me Elmo laughing Scientology promo vid to hit the 'Net, it just helped cement his newfound place as America's Punchline, as opposed to the movie star he once was.
How about instead of rewiring your career with desperate comedies like Hardy Men or controversial (and potentially catastrophic) Valkyrie, why not tackle something you've never tried before. A vacation? Pack up li'l Suri, recharge Katie's batteries, and flee for awhile. We can't diss ya if we miss ya, Tom.
M.F. & Co. walked fast, trying to escape a crowd of Losties forming around 'em. No word on whether his wife was with him in Sin City. But somethin' was amiss. Again.
That wedding ring. Could Foxy be cavorting? Matty?
Dear Ted:
Why is Nicole Kidman allowed to get away with her trainer and her bodyguard attacking the paps? Certainly she/they need to be brought up on charges. She's not under the protection of the Cruise Control anymore. Why is she allowed to get away with misconduct?
Ulanda
Kissimmee, Fla.
Dear Revenge Gal:
What makes you think Nicole's anywhere near getting off with this crap? Story ain't over, babe. Another hushed-up Halle Berry hit-and-run type sitch, this ain't going to be, I assure you. P.S.: Love your lovin' hometown!