Category: Shallow

I have seen tomorrow’s Maureen Dowd column and it contains a Pepe Le Pew joke.

Good morning, rappers and rapper-wannabes! Today is the day to send your men servants (that means you, Farnsworth Bentley!) to J&R to get a copy of the cynically-reissued Scarface 20th Anniversary DVD.
As anyone who’s ever watched an episide of Cribs knows, rappers love the rags-to-riches-to mountains of coke saga of Tony Montana. Heck, just this week mush-mouthed rapper and walking clay pigeon 50 Cent bought Mike Tyson’s Montana-esque 18 bedroom mansion to live out his drug lord fantasies. Yep, rappers love Scarface! My question is, have any of them watched the film all the way to the end? The fall of the House of Montana (its foundation built on coke instead of sand) makes the Hammer Behind the Music seem positively uplifting.

Queens-bred, Oscar-winning model-lover and Dummy star Adrien Brody got into a little fender-bender on Delancey Street yesterday.
“I saw this big SUV on my left, and the next thing I knew, he was trying to switch lanes, but we ended up colliding instead… He said: ‘Didn’t you see me? Why didn’t you make room for me?” says Heidi Hong, the driver whose car he hit. “He seemed pretty angry, but there was no way it was my fault.”
Adrien. We expect better from you! Where did you learn such a thing? Oh, right. Next up, Brody snogs Durst.

There has certainly been quite the spate of recent noteworthy deaths of late, and usually in pairs of sorts; 1940s anti-icons Edward Teller and Leni Riefenstahl; “entertainment johnnies” Cash and Ritter; and Ivy-League academic types George Plimpton and Edward Said (about whom you may want to read this surprisingly touching obit by the otherwise icy-demeanored Christopher Hitchens).
With the clock ticking as such, we’d like to wish 50 Cent and Nick Lachey’s wife all the best!

Following the death of Stanley Kubrick, we were treated to dozens of personal reminiscences by colleagues and acquaintances. At first, most were by close friends of the director, but after a little while, anyone with even the most tenuous connection to him got a dollar-a-word for their memories.
With the recent death of George Plimpton we can expect a repeat of this phenomenon. At first we’ll get the Mailers, Taleses, and Remnicks of the lit world, but soon everyone who ever went to a Paris Review party or worked as an unpaid intern for the journal for two weeks before returning to Vassar will be speaking about their intimate journeys with George. That’s the thing: every Ivy League graduate who ever wrote a poem or fancied himself a short story writer has gone to at least one Paris Review event or interviewed for a job there. Heck even people who met the guy one time are sharing their memories. Even the kid from the Intellevision commercial will probably have his say sooner or later.

Since it opened in 2001, The Landmark Sunshine Theater has proved a nice addition to the city’s downtown art house scene. Roomier than The Quad, better sound and sight lines than The Angelika (plus no rumbling subways), and with more widely-appealing selections than Film Forum, The Sunshine became the destination of choice to see stuff like Adaptation, Bowling for Columbine, and all your other required “indie” film texts.
Sadly, I can never go there again.
Why? It seems that Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban has just bought Landmark Cinemas. If Cuban (or “Cubes” as the perpetually frat-like superrich overgrown man boy likes to be called) isn’t the most annoying zillionaire in America, he’s damn near close. This is the guy who ran around like Richie Rich on a bender for the benefit of Esquire writer Mike Sager in April 2000’s profile “Yeaahhhh Baabaabbyyy!” (Available to subscribers only.) (Quick highlight: “Cubes [is] wearing a T-shirt, upon which his girlfriend had scrawled, ‘I want you to pin my legs back like a Safeway chicken.'”) Just today, The New York Post quoted Cubes as saying, ” “Every now and then I will catch myself and look around and just smile. Anyone who says it’s a burden having this much money is a moron.” Who’s a moron, Cubes?
I’d rather sit in the coffin-like confines of the Angelika than give this guy another $10.

It’s official: Americans eat too fucking much. How fucking much? So fucking much that the C.O.O. of Red Lobster was let go because customers were ransacking the restaurant chain by getting seconds, thirds, and even fourths on the $22.95 “Endless Crab” dinner.
According to The New York Post, Darden Restaurants, Red Lobster’s parent company, lost $3.3 million in first-quarter profits due to customers’ bottomless stomachs. Luckily, Darden also owns The Olive Garden, home of bottomless pasta. (Incidentally, Darden also owns something called Smokey Bones; insert your own joke here.)
Pencils down Letterman, Leno, and Conan writers!

The New York Post reports that MTV has canned The New Tom Green Show after only three months on air.
It didn’t even last as long as his marriage to Drew Barrymore
According to The Post‘s Pulitzer Prize shortlisted TV scribe, Adam Buckman, the show “drew an average 889.000 viewers nightly” during its first weeks (emphasis on poor word choice, mine).
That’s nearly a million viewers a night! That’s gotta be like a thousand times more than tuned in to Undressed or Spyder Games.

“What have you done to him? What have you done to his eyes, you maniacs!”
“He has his father’s eyes.”- Rosemary’s Baby
Funnily enough, that other classic spawn of Satan film, The Omen, was released by 20th Century FOX, a division of News Corporation.

Hint: one’s funny on purpose.

It’s something in the nose and lips, right? Sorry, Todd. You know, it could be worse. Warren Beatty was obsessed by the fact that he resembled the sitting President; try making love to Julie Christie while she’s thinking of this guy.