Morning Piss: Can't We Pick on a New Pill Head?
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I'm asleep already. So the über-classy Weinsteins are getting in bed with the even classier Anne Hathaway to make a biopic of Judy Garland.
Of course, nobody resurrected the drug-addict singing genius (and all around loveable nut) better than Judy Davis in Me and My Shadows, but that was for television, which, of course, is so little people. This is going to be big! And grand! And equally harrowing and probably going to get Hathaway far closer to an Oscar than she came with Rachel Getting Married, primo as her performance may have been in the largely unsung flick.
But really, folks, this is all getting very Kennedys, at this point. I mean, do we really need another tragic tale of that damned performer's life? Do you think anybody will pay attention? What about Lindsay Lohan's or Courtney Love's or even Amy Winehouse's unblemished life on film—those are horrorfests that are not only screaming to be told, they also just might wake up a few young and aspiring drug addicts. Plus, it'd be something different.
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