This awards season is Caca’d out. Lady CaCa won a Golden Globe, she’s going to perform that song she barely helped write at the Oscars and now the Grammy hos announced this morning that she will do a David Bowie tribute on the show. Everything’s coming up CaCa this awards season.
Lady Gaga was already booked to perform on the Grammys on February 15th before David Bowie’s death. After David Bowie beamed up into the universe and became the potential 9th planet in the solar system, the Grammy producers asked her to do a tribute to him. Grammys producer Ken Ehrlich told The New York Times that several artists asked if they could do or be a part of a Bowie tribute, but he said no to all of them. He wants Gaga to do it. I guess since most of Gaga’s career has been one-long Bowie and Madonna tribute act, this Ken dude feels like she’s the obvious choice.
A few months after saying, “Errr, maybe that mess wasn’t the best idea,” about playing a whitewashed Tiger Lily in that turd of a Peter Pan movie, Rooney Mara is in talks to play Mary Magdelene in a biopic. I guess now we know for sure that Emma Stone and Rooney Mara have the same role advisor.
Deadline says that director Garth Davis has offered Rooney the role of the apostle to the apostles and one of history’s most legendary hookers in what is described as an “authentic and humanistic portrait of one of the most enigmatic and misunderstood spiritual figures in history.” Garth directed Rooney in a movie called Lion which comes out later this year. If Rooney signs on to play Mary Magdalene, it’ll start filming this summer and come out next year. Garth said this about Rooney playing Mary Magdelene:
“Rooney’s raw, brave approach to performances, coupled with her deeply magnetic inner life, holds all the dimensions needed to bring to life one of history’s most misunderstood woman — Mary Magdalene. Having worked with Rooney on Lion, I know she is a once in a lifetime talent.”
If the use of the word “authentic” is making you squint while saying, “Bitch, PLEASE,” under your breath, then you obviously haven’t read the Bible. In the Bible, Mary M is described as a “goth waif ferret who is like the living version of Morrissey’s most boring song .” So Rooney is perfect! And in other movie news, Joseph Fiennes has dropped out of playing Michael Jackson in that road trip fuckery movie and has been replaced by Rooney Mara!
Somewhere in the afterlife, the ghost of David Bowie just called a meeting with the ghost of Jim Henson to discuss the best way to haunt the shit out of whoever thought a Labyrinth reboot was a good idea.
According to The Hollywood Reporter, the latest nugget of nostalgia from your childhood to get the unnecessary remake treatment will be Jim Henson’s 1986 film Labyrinth. In case you’re not familiar with the life-changing magnificence that is Labyrinth, it’s a musical puppet fantasy movie starring David Bowie as Jareth the Goblin King, a sexy baby-stealer who looks like what you’d get if Elvira Mistress of the Dark and a pound of coke had a baby, and a young Jennifer Connelly as Sarah, the sister of the baby he steals. Also, tons of fucked-up puppets. It’s basically the most perfect movie from the 80s. And now Hollywood is going to give it the Jem and the Hollograms treatment! All together now:
And if you’re still standing after that “NOOOOO!“, feel free to follow it up with a “WHY, GOD, WHYYYYYYY????” while falling to the floor and curling up into the fetal position like I did.
Here are the details on Hollywood’s latest example of shameful disrespect for feathered hair and puppets. TriStar (the company responsible for the first Labyrinth) worked out a deal with The Jim Henson Co. to produce a new Labyrinth. They’ve hired one of the co-writers of Guardians of the Galaxy to write it, and it will be produced by Jim Henson’s daughter Lisa Henson. No word on who will be cast in this mess, but one thing is for sure: no matter who they get to play Jareth, there’s no way they’ll be able to work a goblin king crotch bulge like David Bowie could.
I don’t blame The Jim Henson Company for throwing a giant ugly watermark over Bowie’s dick; if I was responsible for one of the most important and stunning pieces of visual art of all time, I’d want my name all over it too.
Pics: TriStar, The Jim Henson Co.
Who Cares About Their Oscars? Julianne Moore And Eddie Redmayne Were Finally Nominated For A Real Award
Both Julianne Moore and Eddie Redmayne are probably putting their Oscar in a boot box and storing that who cares award under a guest bed, because they need to make room on their mantel for an award they can really be proud of: A Razzie!
As they do every year, the Razzies butt squirted out their nominations the day before the Oscar nominations, which will be announced at the hour of the ungodly tomorrow morning. Adam Sandler is continuing his reign as the King of the Razzies. His movie Pixels got the most Razzie nominations along with Jupiter Ascending, Fifty Shades of Shit and Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2. They each got 6 nominations. Julianne Moore and Eddie Redmayne both won their first Oscar last year and this year they’re both nominated for their first Razzie. Julianne got nominated for the Seventh Son and Eddie Redmayne was nominated for Jupiter Ascending. I’m sure Julianne and Eddie both got calls from their past acting teachers who said, “And now I can finally say that I’m really proud of you!”
But really, these Razzie nominations are completely invalid and I cannot take them seriously at all. How can you even respect the Razzie voters ability to dishonor the best in suck when they didn’t give one nomination to the cinematic crime of the century that was the Jem and the Holograms movie? Jem should be the only turd nominated and it should fill every single category, but it didn’t get one nomination. Something in the milk ain’t clean…
Maybe the Golden Raspberry people are in cahoots with the government and the Academy Awards people. Maybe Jem didn’t get a nomination, because it’s going to be nominated for a Best Picture Oscar tomorrow and only because the feds want the producers to show up to the ceremony so that they can arrest them on the spot and charge them with butchery. Yeah, I’m going with that.
All the nominations are after the cut.
A quick second after Warner Bros. made twat lips pucker and b-holes faint by releasing those pictures of Alexander Skarsgard looking all buff, wet, sensitive and dirty (Just how I like ’em!), they dropped the first trailer for The Legend of Tarzan and it doesn’t reach the Pan-levels of ridiculousness I thought it would reach. But there’s still something really, really, really, really wrong with it.
TARZAN IS STILL WEARING THOSE STUPID ASS KHAKI CAPRIS FROM CHICO’S!
Tarzan is supposed to be the hot King of the Jungle, he’s not supposed to be a sassy suburban mom named Beverly (her friends call her Bevy) who is going to swing by Target real quick to pick up some Barefoot pink moscato because her husband’s out of town and she wants to get her buzz on while watching the Fifty Shades of Grey movie for the 20th time. Tarzan shouldn’t be having a Chico’s kind of day. Yeah, yeah, I know that in this Tarzan movie, he’s supposed to be a modern day man or whatever, but that is no excuse. First of all, it’s a movie with CGI animals. It doesn’t have to make sense. Second of all, what’s the point of casting ASkars as Tarzan if you’re not going to put him in a banana hammock that’s made of actual banana peels?
Here’s hoping that early in the movie, Tarzan’s ape friends find a way to tell him that he looks a mess in those capris. So they take him shopping for loincloths and we get a Pretty Woman-style dressing room montage set to “Tarzan Boy” by Baltimora. I’m going to choose to believe that happens in the movie.
On a positive note, it’s nice to see that Christoph Waltz is showing off his range by playing the type of character he’s never played before. And here’s Christoph at The Hateful Eight premiere in Hollywood a couple of nights ago.
Justin Bieber, the tiny tampon that was pulled out of Canada’s cooch and thrown into America, made Kurt Cobain fans scream, “BLASPHEMY,” while clutching their flannel shirts yesterday when he wore a really ugly Nirvana t-shirt to the American Music Awards. Nirvana fans tweeted about how Kurt Cobain’s ashes must be spinning in the air over this because the Biebs stands for everything he was against! Or something like that. The American Music Awards go against everything hardcore Nirvana fans believe in, so I’m sure they didn’t watch, but if they did, they would’ve probably said a prayer for Kurt Cobain’s ghost to electrocute the Biebs by turning on his mic as he danced in the rain during his performance.
Some Nirvana fans think Justin Bieber should be jailed for tainting the image of Kurt Cobain, but Courtney Love is totally cool with it.
You're cool in my book @justinbieber xc
— Courtney Love Cobain (@Courtney) November 23, 2015
Of course Cracked Out Courtney is cool with it. She gets life from inhaling the fumes that waft off of the boiling assholes of mad Nirvana fans. It’s her newest drug of choice.
I don’t think the Biebs wearing a Nirvana shirt is a big deal, but what is a big deal is that his stylists were probably trying to make him look like Christian Slater in Gleaming The Cube. Now that is offensive. I would pull out my pitchfork of rage over that, but I’m too busy shaking my head at myself. On Friday night, I was drunk and vulnerable (like usual) and I found myself downloading Justin Bieber’s new album. My iTunes crashed the next day and probably because it couldn’t look at me anymore. I need to set up
parental controls drunk bitch controls on my computer so my wasted ass won’t make the mistake of downloading a Biebs album again.
Alternate headline: Damn, Rebel Wilson Really Does Hate Kendull And KYJelly!
Gossip Cop says that a Kardashian-hater wanted to turn Kendall and Kylie Jenner into fame whore omelets when they threw eggs and tomatoes at the stage during an appearance at a mall. The new generation of Pimp Mama Kris’ moneymakers were at the Westfield Parramatta mall in Western Sydney today to promote their clothing line or something when someone on the second floor wasted eggs and tomatoes by chucking them at the stage. Kylie and Kendall weren’t hit, but apparently some of the egg shit hit their followers. TMZ says that the police eventually caught and arrested the egg waster, a 30-year-old woman who is definitely Rebel Wilson’s spirit animal. The egg waster also spit at the cops when she was arrested, so that got her another charge.
The event went on while a bodyguard for the Kartrashian Koven scanned the top floors. I’m sure that while he looked up, he also said a little prayer to God, “Dear God, it’s me, big bodyguard, please get my agency to transfer me away from this vapid trash family. I’ll even take Bieber!”
It sounds like the stage getting egged was a zillion times more exciting than meeting Kendall and Kylie. A mother and her children tell The Sydney Morning Herald that they camped out for 36 hours to meet those drips (ALERT THE AUSTRALIAN CPS!) and were disappointed that they had to put their phones away:
“We only had a split second with them. We would have loved a picture. It was disappointing. We camped out here virtually for nothing just to get a signed photo of them, which you can really get anywhere really. We might go to the airport now to meet them, we have a better chance to get a selfie there.”
Doesn’t that mother know that if Kendall and Kylie took a selfie with EVERYONE they wouldn’t have time to do real attention-getting stunts like touch tongues in a SnapChat video? I’m just going to choose to believe that this mother can’t be serious and was planted by Pimp Mama Kris, because I just… If she’s for real, then someone really needs to tell her that she should skip the airport and take a selfie with a Styrofoam peanut instead. That selfie will be way more interesting and will probably get more Instagram likes.
Because I don’t love myself (and also because I misplaced my memory stick containing all 8 episodes of Anchorwoman), I watched Presidential hopeful Donald Trump host Saturday Night Live last night. And I’m sure if you also made the mistake of watching, there’s a 100% chance you’re yelling “Oh my god, that goddamn laser harp sketch” at your screen right now. Because yeah, that goddamn laser harp sketch. I still can’t with that laser harp sketch. I swear to god, about 3 seconds into that laser harp sketch, I started praying that one of those lasers would magically shoot into my brain and wipe away the memory of watching Donald Trump try to act.
To be honest, I was expecting more of a shit-show than what we actually got. Sadly, what we actually got was 12 minutes of Donald Trump squinting at the cue-cards like a near-sighted rotten circus peanut that pretty much everyone hated. We also got Larry David (who came back to do Bernie Sanders better than the real Bernie Sanders does Bernie Sanders) calling Donald Trump a “racist“ from the audience, but because Lorne Michaels is trolling at an expert level (see: having Donald Trump host), there’s a 99.99999999% chance that was a staged bit. But other than that, my brain was hating me every moment I didn’t reach for the remote and search for a rerun of Pick A Puppy.
But in the event you’re not totally over Hotline Bling parodies, then I have some good news: they did parody Drake’s dad-dancing in the Hotline Bling video.
Yes, that was Martin Short as Ed Grimley making an appearance at the 1:13 mark, which honestly was just about the most infuriating part of the whole night. You mean to tell me they had life legend Martin Short there the whole time, and they went with Donald Trump??? If they were really that hard up for a smarmy dude with weird-looking fluffy white hair to host the show, I’m sure Martin Short would have gladly pulled his old Jackie Rogers Jr. wig out of storage and stuck around.
Here’s more of Donald Trump (you’re like “Yeah, nobody asked for more Donald Trump“) leaving the SNL afterparty last night, as well as musical guest Sia, Larry David, Bill O’Reilly, and Donald’s “third wife” (copyright: Ivana Trump) Melania.
Pics: NBC, Splash
During a recent interview with HuffPost Live, perfect human (put down your hands, it’s not up for discussion) Terry Crews admitted that he and his wife Rebecca King-Crews, who is sort of giving me later-in-life Amber Rose vibes above, went on a 90-day sex fast. Yes, by choice. They chose not to hump on each other. For a whole 90 days. I know, I don’t get it either. Terry says that they both put CLOSED signs over their crotches to get closer to each other without secretly wondering if “Hi honey, how was your day?” is code for “I’m ready to bone if you are.”
“90 days – no sex, all relationship, all talk, all cuddle. I found that at the end of that 90 days…I knew who she was, and it wasn’t about ‘Let’s go out because I know I’m gonna get some sex later.’ It was like, ‘Let’s go because I want to talk to you. I want to know you’.”
Awww, that’s actually sweet. One day I hope to get to the point where I’m on a date and the person I’m with says “I want to talk to you” instead of “For the love of god please shut up about Pumpkin Spice Peeps. I DON’T CARE.” And I don’t know if this is a thing that exists, but can we nominate Rebecca King-Crews for a Congressional Medal of Coochie Determination or something? Because I don’t know how she was able to last 90 days. That’s some next-level dedication. If I was married to Terry Crews, I’d be calling that shit off after 36 hours.
Speaking of, here’s Terry Crews looking fine as hell at a charity event last week, because why not. I’ve also included some pictures of him posing on the red carpet with his hero wife. I don’t know how you did it Rebecca! No really, how did you do it. Waitmates? Was it Waitmates?
And everyone gets an F! That’s not how you dress up as a pregnant Kim Kartrashian. What you have to do is buy 5 of the biggest plastic beach balls you can find, fill them with gallons upon gallons of soil jelly and strap 2 to your chest, 2 to your ass cheeks and 1 to your belly. Once you’ve done that, put on 6 pairs of Spanx and wrap your body in several layers of Saran Wrap before you get 4 of your strongest friends and a truck with a trailer hitch to squeeze you into a size 2 Spandex dress in either black or beige. If you’re able to breathe through your mouth while wearing that dress, it’s not tight enough. So get your friends to cut you out of it and put you in a smaller one. You will know if the dress is the right size if it’s so tight that you have to breathe out of your asshole. After you achieve that, slap a rubber trout mask over your face and get someone to spray you down with orange paint. There you go! Knocked Up Kim!