Remorse and Recourse

Is Brad Pitt already foreshadowing the fate of his latest flick? Find out why Brad's playin' hard to get with the press...Plus, what's up with Dubya and Condi's recent chumminess, what's in Oprah's shopping cart and why does Jamie Foxx's ego need its own elevator? And our Blind Vice is back!

• You heard about Brad Pitt's semibarb about his new flick, The Assassination of Jesse James, in Details, right? Went something like this: 

“This isn't so much a western. It plays more like a psychological study of these guys. I probably just killed the ticket sales right there. I've never been a good salesman.”

Funny that Brad's already predicting bad box-office numbers, even if he seems to be quasi joking. 'Cause we're hearing his new shoot-'em-up flick is a dud and that Brad is doing his very best to distance himself from the disaster. No joke-a-roonie, trust. We here at the AT never joke about our Brad ('cept when he professes true love—Gywnnie Paltrow, anybody?—but whatev…).

Insiders claim B.P.'s doing as little press as possible for Jesse while doin' the toothy thang at the Toronto Film Festival this week and that Mr. Pee's been rather difficult to nail down for interviews. Aw, Brad, don't feel too bad. Now you and Angelina can have matching big-budget flops! Might make her a little happier to know she's not the only A-lister who doesn't have a hit on her hands every time she emotes in front of the cameras.

Or is that thought of uncomfortable comfort a tad too soon? After all, Jesse's got Casey Affleck in it, and he's one Affleck dude who can act.

• As we gabbed yesterday, George and Laura Bush are definitely drifting further apart. I mean, Dubya even recently referred to Condi Rice as his “date”—a delicious femme factoid my E! attorney, no less, informed me about. Now look, you idiot president who likes to send our soldiers off to be killed, quite unnecessarily, if one's legal advisers are beginning to be purveyors of your dumbass doings, boyfriend, you're up merde creek.

But you already knew that. So, too, obvs, does Laura. As I'm hearing from deep inside Camp Distance the Doofus, we'll all be hearing about more and more separate everything tween the First Couple (and not just the residences and vacations I've previously reported) in the future. But don't worry, the numero uno dame's excuses—I'm assured by her amigas—will always be first rate, top drawer, beyond reproach.

See, it will consistently, without fail, go something akin to the following: “She's just too busy helping Jenna plan for the wedding.” Wouldn't surprise me if that's the whole reason Jenna got talked into getting hitched, forget the, uh, other, reasons.

• OMG! OMG! My snoops in Montecito—that fancy-butt place Oprah & Co. like to hang, water excessive acreage, drive Rolls-Royces, that sorta totally ungreen thing—have great news! And believe me, after all those snitty items I've been running on how my cherished O is as cold to her talk-show guests as Mischa Barton without a hand-rolled cigarette, this baby's a lifesaver! See, Ms. O does her own shopping in that damn enclave! How cool is that one? Just adore it. Almost as much as what O-hon was just seen picking up: Lysol.

Gayle been eating too many beans again, baby?

• And gotta love those big-city Page Six sleuths at the New York Post. Just live for checking in with them, don't you? And you know what, they're not actually full of crap! Why, take that diva item they just ran on the Oscar-winning chemical compilation of testosterone, testiness and too much jewelry otherwise known as Jamie Foxx. Snippet was all about J.F. commandeering an elevator while participating in a press junket at the Four Seasons, here in Hell-Ay. Foxx's goons were, according to the item, being overly pushy with other hotel guests and not allowing anyone to ride with the queenlike star. 

A spokesperson for Foxx gave some lame-ass explanation about Foxx having pressing press obligations. Not true! I have personally, on more than one occasion, witnessed how this jerk works: Foxx has his team come into the lift first and inspect it, to confirm that no peasants are present. Then Foxx is escorted in, and anyone else wanting entrance to the elevator is pushed aside with a more than menacing glare from said goon guards.

Last time it happened to moi was at the snobbier than snot Beverly Wilshire, few months back. Take it from me, this grandmother-in-heaven humble-pie act Foxx lives to peddle so is just that: piss pastry.

• Lucy Liu's been busy back in New Yawk City shooting her new TV series, Cashmere Mafia, but took time out for some charity work. Isn't it nice that some tough asses take time to be kind? So damn unusual, I know. For World Literacy Day on Saturday, limited-edition pricey pens with Lucy's signature on them will be for sale in Montblanc stores across the country. With every inky sale, $149 goes to UNICEF to support education in Latin America, Africa and Asia. Well done, babe. What are you all going to do for WLD, I wonder? 

Taking a break from this often undecipherable column would probably be a good start. See ya Monday, smooch-sweets!