Blind Vice Friday has us guessing which Hollywood star's down in the personal—and romantic—dumps and who's actually missing his younger days of prostitution! Also, who's really behind what's going on between Madonna and A-Rod? You might be sultrily surprised.
Fab goss—more!—on the Big M (as in Madge), but first, just have to ask what the ef’s up with Meryl Streep, my heroine of all things tough and gutsy and female in Hollywood? Have you seen the new film based on the Abba-heavy musical Mamma Mia? Well, if you’re feeling suicidal lately, that’s probably a “yes.”
There’s this great opening number to Streep’s Robert Zemeckis comedy, Death Becomes Her, in which fading star Streep performs a painfully off-key, overdramatized musical number for an insipid little show called Songbird! Ms. S was brilliant in it because she so subtly laughed—along with us—at her character’s ego-saturated desperation. Well, now we’re just wincing at Streep, who’s about 20 years too old for the part of a young hippie mama who twirls her mane of blond hair oh-so-not seductively and offers us endless close-ups and overhead camera angles of her crow’s feet. Not to mention dancing that makes Whitney Houston look like Madonna.
All this and potbellied Pierce Brosnan, too! Oh, oh, oh! Don’t forget the badly wigged Christine Baranski, about whom who I had a nightmare last night in which I finger-diddled the normally brilliant comedian to orgasm (what the hell does that mean, doctor?). And unless you want similar cringe-inducing images clouding your noggin’, I say stay away from this dreadful film, which essentially looks like it was made by the residents of an '80s-obssessed retirement villa that decided to put on a musical to raise money for a better brand of creamed corn.
“It’s being denied.”
Above quote’s from those who are doing their best to help Madonna navigate the treacherous waters of Seven-Year-Itch Ocean, regarding rumors whether or not M had her way with baseball’s reigning slut, A-Rod. And I’m not talkin’ ‘bout M’s bitchy, marvelous rep, Liz Rosenberg, who really should be given a reality show long before brother dearest Christopher Ciccone as far as this bitch is concerned. Howev Liz and Madonna are busy with their oh-so convincing press-releasing that Ciccone did not have a “romantic relationship” with the baseballer. You mean like Clinton didn’t have “sex” with Monica Lewinsky? Just asking, you big half-century-old legend.
Also, I’m told by those who hang tight with the overly Pilates-powered broad that—quite contrary to what’s being peddled—A-Rod and Madonna were not introduced by their common manager, Guy Oseary. Nope, that little simpatico sitch came courtesy of one of Madge’s most notorious buds, Ingrid Casares. You know, the chick who made tough, nightclub androgyny sexy ages earlier than SamRo did. Not exactly the most promising of beginnings, really, since look what happened to Sean and Madonna once Ing-hon came on the scene with Sandra Bernhard. Sean and Madonna's marriage slid even further down into the Pacific.
Oh, and Ingrid, by the by, knows Stiff-Rod and his fam from Miami, where they all have mansions and sweaty cocktail parties by boats on docks that are mildewing away in the sweaty Florida air, never understood that celeb hang. At all. But Ingrid actually did the intros, I hear, with A ‘n’ M at Madonna’s Roseland concert in New Yawk. So, this all be young whatever you wanna call, babes.
Puissant P.S.: Not so fast, insists Liz, M's mouthpiece: "Madonna met Alex briefly at a screening of her husband's movie downtown," relayed L.R. exclusively. "They were introduced by Guy Oseary, who, as you know manages both of them. Ingrid Casares, I believe, brought Alex to the screening and after-party. I never saw him at the Roseland show. " So...according to Lady Rosenberg, Guy beat Ingrid to the delightful position of helping Madonna meet her next big tabloid episode...literally by seconds. Hmmm. Miami sources buzz (in overdrive, natch), otherwise.
This is so silly. We’ve got Rachael Ray’s reps, on the one Crisco-ed hand, saying she is not working on a book of memoirs—just a cookbook coming out this fall. Then, we’ve got top New York publishing sources insisting to yours truly that they’ve witnessed R2 having desultory edit meetings in N.Y. with publishers (deadlines seem to be a major prob for the broad), complete with manuscripts littered with little Post-its with the suggested title of EvOhNo!, all over them. This is a title that apparently sent publishers into ridiculing hysterics, but which R.R.’s publicist denies has ever been in consideration for any book by his client.
Oh who gives a merde about any of this nonsense, really? I’m pretty sure I can’t stand that woman’s overly butch perkiness, nor can a few folks who have worked for her stand her. Watch Truth Lies & Ted this week to find out more—it’s my newest three-minute meal of dish!
Lindsay Lohan ain’t the only one celebrating a birthday this month—it’s a baby bonanza, babes. This week, Nicole Kidman gave birth to baby girl Sunday Rose Kidman-Urban, and Matthew McConaughey welcomed bongo-bangin’ baby boy Levi Alves McConaughey. Both kids have a lot of common characteristics to chitchat about once they start talking—strange names, stranger parents.
Which kid do ya think will have a harder time being raised by these famous folks? Little Levi will prolly grow up to be an accountant or some other uptight, pencil-pushing nine-to-fiver, just to piss off his hippie dad. Kids love rules, so we hear, and we doubt daddy Matty’s got it in him to be a hard-nosed father figure who can discipline at will. Maybe he can call over uncle Jake Gyllenhaal to lay down the law when sonny boy destroys all of pop’s surfboards?
And what about Li'l Sunday, who's at least saved from Scientology until she’s old enough to visit her relatives in Hell-Ay? Our vote for the baby with the most headaches awaiting them is...neither. The winner’s obviously Maddie Briann Aldridge. If auntie Brit or grandma Lynn try to sign you up for dance and acting classes, run for the swamps and don’t look back.
Jeffrey Donovan, filming a scene for his series Burn Notice at the Florida International University campus. J.D. started the day off strutting in black pants and a white tank top exposing some taut biceps, then changed into a lavender button-down. It takes a man to wear a shade of light pink, but Jeffie pulled it off—tho we wish he'd kept the guns out on display. After taking what looked like an unfriendly phone call, he rehearsed with cutie costar Gabrielle Anwar, wearing head-to-toe white. They laughed between takes and filmed their scenes like pros. Boring, but good to know. Nice to see actors actually show up to do their jobs. Another set of televised heartthrobs heatin’ up were...
Dave Annable and Matthew Rhys, costars on Brothers & Sisters, stripping down to their Skivvies at the Oakley Suzuki Ride Day in Hell-Ay. The two TV hotties acted very brotherly at the desert event, a one-day basic-training course for celebs who wanna know what it feels like riding a hog. In other words, an excuse to get fine fellas like Dave ‘n' Matt in tight jumpsuits. Like there needs to be a reason, right? The pair stripped off their motorcycle suits to the delight of the crowd, exposing some toned bods. Less pumped up but no less popular in the same joint was...
Joel Madden, spinning away. The daddy DJ wore his own brand, DCMA, ‘natch, and a bandana around his neck. Baldness apparently skipped from grandpa Madden to Benji, since Joely’s hair was still there, though Nicole was nowhere to be found. But our Suzuki-spyin’ source did hear from J.M. that baby Harlow “makes me melt.” Such a proud papa. Why do we have a feeling that motherhood makes mama Richie wanna have a drink?
Miley Cyrus spent a lazy Tuesday having a ladies-only field trip to Universal Studios, frolicking in the theme park with her mom, younger sis and a pack of pals. Ya read that right—Is Hannah Montana hating on the studio that made her the No. 1-consumed kid actor she is today, after only just a couple of years under the Mouse House's rule? Shouldn’t she be minding her manners after that whole baby-got-too-much-back scandal?
Reminds us of another formally innocent ingenue who angered the higher-ups who made her a name. Way before cavorting with Timberlake or getting cast in high-concept flicks wearing barely next to nothing, Jessica Biel was daddy’s little Goody Two-shoes on 7th Heaven. That is, until she purposefully pissed off her show’s producers and the family-friendly network by posing for Gear, the equivalent to Playboy for males under 18. Jessie wanted out of her contract, so she got rid of her clothes, clever girl. Soon enough, Biel-babe was allowed to roam free, which luckily led her to Justin...and unfortunately also dragged her through I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry. Ya win some, ya lose some.
No wonder Rumer Willis can’t stop badmouthing ya behind your back, Miley. Every potential controversy that gets sprung up from your missteps is surefire insurance for this spoiled celeb spawn. She’s gotta be crossing her fingers that all the H’wood youngsters with actual talent abuse it in some way so she can sneak on in and take their place. Maybe next weekend, Miley, try making an impromptu trip to the Disney Store and pick up some of your own merch.
Sad ol' Pickled Fickle once made a living letting older dudes have his way with him—it's a common story in the rise of many Hollywood stars. But how weird is it, now that P.F.'s looks are waning, he's actually thinking of returning to his old profession? Uh, on crack much?