The director of the Golden Globe-winning film Green Book, Peter Farrelly, admitted to flashing his penis in front of hundreds of people, including Cameron Diaz, and it honestly just sounds like a silly anecdote at this point. It’s the mushroom on the top of a shit sundae served up by the film’s screenwriter, Nick Vallelonga, who recently deleted his Twitter account after an anti-muslim, conspiracy theory tweet was discovered. Warning: the “sprinkles” on this sundae are actually mouse turds. Let’s not forget that the star of the film, Mahershla Ali, a Muslim, already had to defend his co-star, Viggo Mortensen for saying the N-word at a screening back in November.
In the first Fifty Shits of Boring movie, Dakota Johnson and pretty wooden post Jamie Dornan had the chemistry of two paper bowls full of overcooked Malt-O-Meal. I figured that the only way Christian Grey and Anastasia Steele could look less like they wanted to fuck each other is if the roles were recast with John Travolta and Kelly Preston. But it looks like the makers of the sequel Fifty Shits Darker somehow managed to make the second movie even less sexier than the first one. Congrats to them!
The trailer for Fifty Shits Darker was released today, and besides every single trick looking like their Ambien just kicked in, this mess looks like it’s part watered down remake of Eyes Wide Shut and part horror movie. There’s a helicopter crash! There’s Kim Basinger coming at Jamie Dornan while thinking to herself, “Fuck my career.” There’s an angry dude coming at Dakota. And there’s a spooky chick who keeps stalking Dakota. The producers should definitely try to re-market this as a horror movie. I mean, I have a feeling that Fifty Shits Darker is going to leave most of the audience screaming. They’ll be screaming at themselves for paying actual money for this crap, and they’ll be screaming at Kim Basinger and Hugh Dancy for needing a check that bad.
The halls of Buckingham Palace will be filled with a high-pitched cackle and for once it won’t be Prince Charles loudly giggling as Camilla pegs him. The cackle will be coming from THE QUEEN who will be celebrating Britain’s latest victory over the US! Fox has killed the reality turd show that tricked a bunch of American girls (who were obviously raised in trees in the middle of a desolate forest) into thinking that they were competing to marry the real Prince Hot Ginge and become the newest Princess of England.
Deadline says that Americans wanted to divorce “I Wanna Marry Harry,” so Fox pulled it from its schedule and are replacing it with reruns of shows that people actually watched. “I Wanna Marry Harry” (alternate title: “I Need A Lobotomy“) only lasted 4 episodes and under a million pairs of eyeballs watched Tuesday night’s episode. Tomorrow, Fox will throw up all unaired episodes on their website and OnDemand.
The truth is, I’m not exactly putting on a black veil and throwing my body onto the coffin of “I Wanna Marry Harry” while screaming at God to take me too. Unlike 99.999999999% of this country, I watched every episode that aired and it was a painful experience (and this is coming from a piece of trash who thinks Flavor of Love is one of the best things to ever happen to my TV). On Tuesday night’s episode, Prince Mildly Attractive Blonde With A Bad Dye Job got rid of the one girl who has a brain cell and realized that the dude who’s supposed to be Prince Harry was probably not Prince Harry. I don’t know how many more episodes I could take and I don’t know how much more my dog could take of me screaming, “You dumb bitch, get it together,” at the screen.
Instead of traumatizing what’s left of my brain by binge watching all the episodes at once, I’m just going to skip to the last episode. (Yeah right, I’m totally going to binge watch all of the episodes, because my brain is a dumpster.) I hope that my favorite Maggie takes it all:
And when Not Prince Hot Ginge tells her that he’s a fake ginge and a fake prince, I hope Drunk Maggie shrugs and says, “Err, okay, do you still wanna get drunk and fuck?“
You know, it’s really wrong of me to compare Nicole Kidman to the Snickers Grocery Store Lady, because the Snickers Grocery Store Lady looks more natural and human-like than the Ice Queen of Australia. Case in point:
Anyway, the temperatures in the French Riviera have dropped to Ice Cold Bitch celsius and the local news reports that children have been seen running for their lives out of Cannes while screaming for mercy and that could mean only one thing: Nicole Kidman’s in town! Nicole Kidman took her frozen marble cutting board face to Cannes to promote the big, shiny turd that is Grace of Monaco. Grace of Monaco was supposed to come out last fall, but it kept getting pushed back, because Harvey Weinstein and the director Olivier Dahan fought over the final cut. Harvey thought it was too dark. Harvey’s right. A movie about a princess who has a stroke and dies after a car crash should be happy and feel-goody. Lighten it up!
Grace of Monaco is finally coming out and it’s opening the Cannes Film Festival. The royal family of Monaco always attends the gala premiere of the Cannes Film Festival, but not this year, because they think Grace of Monaco is a farce and made of lies. They’re not the only ones who think Grace of Monaco is a cinematic shit nugget. Most of the critics who saw it at a press screening at Cannes feel the same way. The reviews are a thing of beauty and make me want to see this mess. Here’s some of them:
The resulting film about this fantastically boring crisis is like a 104-minute Chanel ad, only without the subtlety and depth. Princess Grace herself is played by Nicole Kidman, wafting around the Palace with dewy-eyed features and slightly parted lips which make her look like a grown-up Bambi after a couple of cocktails, suddenly remembering his mother’s violent death in the forest. – The Guardian
Prior to 2001 the opening-night film of the Cannes film festival wasn’t such a big deal, more of an aperitif – a dry one, made with cinematic creosote – before the dazzling main course of the first weekend. Baz Luhrmann’s Moulin Rouge!, however, changed all that, bringing fun, glamour, Hollywood stars and lots of colour to the Croisette in a way that 1999’s dour opener The Barber Of Siberia couldn’t hope to. This year’s curtain-raiser shares quite a few things in common with Moulin Rouge!. It’s an easy watch, lush, stylish, stars Nicole Kidman and is often side-splittingly funny. The trouble is, it’s not actually meant to be a comedy. – Empire Online
Grace of Monaco will have its world premiere at the opening night of the 67th Cannes Festival this evening, although earlier it played to an audience of international critics, who even by the end of the first scene had started curling up, like startled armadillos, into tight little balls of embarrassment. Later, as the house lights came up, I watched a team of the festival’s beige-suited stewards hurriedly roll them out of the auditorium, like the barrel-trundling villagers in Whisky Galore. – The Telegraph
The BBC says that there was laughter during the press screening this morning.
Well, now the producers of Hollywood know that if they really, really want to win as many Razzies as possible, all they have to do is cast an Australian actress to play a princess who tragically dies in a car accident. The formula works, apparently.
Here’s Nicole Kidman’s face looking like a hockey mask with make-up on it at the Cannes photo call for Grace of Monaco with Tim Roth today.
LeAnn Rimes and Eddie Cibrian started shopping around their own reality shit show a few months ago and somebody actually bought it and surprisingly that somebody wasn’t Animal Planet. No offense to the animals of Animal Planet. VH1 announced today that they picked up 6 episodes of Falkor And The Gold Digger (working title) and it will scoot against TV screens sometime during the Fall 2013/Winter 2014. The producers of Duck Dynasty are producing The Squints’ new show, so I can’t wait for the crossover episode when the Robertson hillbillies blow on the Duck Commander and LeAnn flies into their yard. LeAnn and Eddie said this about their newest assault on your nerves (via THR):
“We are really excited to be working together on a unique show that will give you a glimpse into who we really are or better yet who we’re really not. We’re thrilled to partner with VH1 and the Gurneys to put our spin on a project full of love, humor and music.”
This is what they MEANT to say: “We are really excited to be getting a check, because for some reason Eddie keeps spending all our money on hotel rooms, condoms, champagne and dick deodorizer. Our show won’t give you a glimpse into who we really are. It’s going to be fake as shit like our marriage! We’re thrilled that VH1 is actually giving us money and we hope the Gurneys perform a miracle and get America to actually watch our annoying asses.”
And in a TOTAL coincidence, E! said today that Brandi Glanville is getting her own spin-off show on Bravo. The spin-off will follow Brandi as she gets over the marriage that died…… in 2009. I really hope her tampon string is a regular.
We should all be thankful and grateful that Al Roker has zero filter and will shart up every single gross detail about his life, because if he had a filter he wouldn’t have given us the story of 2013. On Dateline last night, Al Roker said that a month after his gastric bypass surgery, he was working an event at the White House when he felt the urge to let out a little butt burp. Al figured he’d just let out the simple fart and wave the evidence away as he walked the other way. But Al’s fart bubble brought a wet friend along and the next thing he knew he had a poop party in his panties. Dateline, please come up to the stage and accept your Peabody Award (more like Poopbody Award), because you’ve topped yourself with this shit:
Al: “When you’ve had a bypass and your bowels have been reconstructed, you think you’re pretty safe and I probably went off and ate something I wasn’t supposed to. And as I’m walking to the press room, [I’m thinking] well, I gotta pass a little gas here. I’m walking by myself. Who’s gonna know? Only a little something extra came out.”
Dr. Nancy: “You pooped in your pants.”
Al: “I pooped my pants. Not horribly, but enough that I knew…”
Dr. Nancy: “Which is a common side effect of the surgery…”
Al: “Exactly. And so, I was panicking, so I got to the restroom in the press room, threw out the underwear and went commando.”
Shart (in your panties) happens. Al Roker gave us a double gift, because not only do we have the image of him sneakily stuffing his sharted-up chonies in a trash can, but since Star Jones also had gastric bypass surgery, we also have the image of her dropping a surprise caca bomb in her silky drawers. Thank you, Al Roker!