Camping Out

THE WEEK FROM MY VIEW

by James Killough

I rather like Nicole Kidman.  As an actress, I mean.  I’ve heard varying reports on what she’s like to work with.  I try to discount the Hollywood Personal Assistant Network, a.k.a. Nannywood, which naturally labels her a “bitch.”  But being hot gossip around Nannywood is rather like negative confirmation: if you’re not a bitch or “total weirdo/asshole” (for the guys) then they don’t talk about you, anyway.

Mcconaughey is the “Cannes revelation” because of his recent career-changing roles.

Indeed, there’s no point being nice to PAs because that won’t make them feel empowered when the network assembles to compare notes; they cannot feel they have the moral high ground over you, cannot one-up each other with who is more of an insider with the gods than whom.

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But Ya Are, Blanche!

TUTTLE MODE

by James Tuttle

Gentle reader,

Last Saturday night, my dear friend Lisa and I had the honor of attending the opening night of Bitchslap! in West Hollywood, in which my friend C. Stephen Foster plays Bette Davis.  If that doesn’t sound gay enough, just keep reading.

And if THAT wasn’t gay enough, how’s this photo?  Pablo Hernandez by Thomas Synnamon.

The play traces the legendary rivalry between Davis and Joan Crawford, using gossip columnist Hedda Hopper as an entertaining intermediary, which culminates in the two actresses’ first collaboration on the film Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?

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The Elusive Eunuch—Part One

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES | THE INDIA FILES

by James Killough

At some point during Shoot Your Heroes Week here at PFC, I had an exchange with Eric Baker in our incestuous comments section that led me to remember the time I crossed the Rann of Kutch in a rickety van in search of the secret temple sacred to the hijras, the notorious eunuchs of India.

A hijra performing for the boys.

Captain Sir Richard Francis Burton became the one and only hero I’d ever had around page one hundred of Edward Rice’s superlative best-selling biography of him, which I read when it first came out in the early 90s.  This is the kind of man I would have tried to become had I been a Victorian with the sort of linguistic and scholarly brilliance with which he was blessed.  Burton was a character far more extraordinary than his contemporary Rudyard Kipling in many respects; he didn’t just dream of the Indian subcontinent and the British Raj in poems and novels, he lived it, playing the Great Game to the very edge of brinksmanship with a level of chutzpah I aspire to.

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Don and Donna

BAKER STREET

by Eric J Baker

At 9 a.m. this past Friday, Facebook’s IPO was the most supercalifragilisticexpialidocious event ever, worth more than 100 Avengers movies and better than carrot cake on Fat Bitch Sunday. By noon, the whole thing was Snakes on a Plane: A bit of hype and then quickly forgotten. The only thing I want to know is if Bono really made 1.5 billion dollars on the deal, or was that just phantom wealth, like America’s before the real estate crash.

Evans, the poorest person mentioned in this segment.

On the other hand, one Avengers movie was enough for Robert Downey Jr. to rake in a quick 50 million dollars, and that’s money in the bank if Disney doesn’t get too creative with the accounting. Not bad for a troubled ex-con. If I’m Chris Evans, I’m restructuring my deal for Avengers II to bring my salary closer to the double-digit millions. That is an obvious statement, but it gives me an excuse to run another picture of Evans, who’s a click magnet for us.

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Sacha: Comedy Fuck Up for Make Benefit Glorious Studio of Paramount

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES | REVIEW

by James Killough

I said on Monday that I would never see The Dictator, not even if I secured my favorite seat, C-22 in the handicapped section at the Arclight Hollywood, which is exactly where I saw it from last night.  I am allowed to go back on my word because my evil twin Andrew Sullivan flip-flopped about Obama last week, so now it’s all the rage.

Let me clarify, however: flip-flopping actually means something completely different to Gheys than changing your mind.  I assure you that I will never go to that point.  No, really.  Sullivan may engage in the gay version of flip-flopping to his heart’s content, but this total top’s sphincter remains puckered shut, never more so since seeing The Dictator.

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Hip to Be Square

TUTTLE MODE

by James  Tuttle

Gentle reader,

Okay, so don’t tell anyone, but I’ve been watching Smash on NBC from the very first episode.  That surprised me because I hate musicals, aside from Cabaret and Chicago, both of which are among my favorite films, but that’s because the songs are integral to the plot; they’re largely about singers and dancers.

Tyson Paige in Hipster-with-a trust-fund swimwear. (Ph: Steven Chee)

My Fair Lady gets a pass, too, because Audrey Hepburn was so beautiful and Cecil Beaton’s Ascot scene was so brilliant, but if I hear so much as the first two bars of “Seventy-six Trombones” or “The Surrey with the Fringe on Top” I will claw my way through the fucking wall to get out of there.

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Trailer Trashing

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

by James Killough

If I had gone by the trailer alone, I would never have seen The Avengers, just as I never saw Thor or Captain America.  These films aren’t made with me in mind, so why should I shell out sixteen bucks even for my favorite seat, C-22 in the middle of the handicapped section at the Arclight Hollywood?  Much as I love movies, that would be the definition of dysfunctional behavior.

Michael Fassbender: Android perfection.

I was just going to let Eric Baker review The Avengers until it became clear almost two weeks ago that it was a juggernaut that was going to make film history, and that suddenly turned it from an ordinary early summer blockbuster into an event this blog had to cover.

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