If you've spent much time reading movie news on the internet this past year, there is no way that you could have avoided hearing about Precious, the sleeper hit that seemed to come out of nowhere, and has dumped tons of Oscar buzz on stars Gabourey Sidibe, Mo'Nique, and Mariah Carey.
(And can I just note for a minute how weird "2010" looks? It's like we're livin' in the future, baby! Where's my jet pack and rocket-powered hovercar, already? I MEAN SRSLY.)
So, this is what we get after Hugh Jackman decides he's had enough. [pours a little out for The Jackman] SNIFF.
We has NPH. We has teh winez. JOIN US.
Look, I know that Kanye West is the most epic of epic douchebags, ever. I know that he deserves to be strung and quartered or whatever is the appropriate pop cultural corollary of stringing and quartering. But his little chat with Jay Leno last night? In which Leno invokes his dead mother and asks what would your dead mother have thought about what you did? and basically makes Kanye cry?
That kind of made me feel a little bit sorry for him. Not a lot - say, a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the tiniest smidge, the kind of wee tinge of sympathy that you feel for schoolyard bullies who you know probably just want to be loved even though you also think that they should just be smacked, hard - but a little. A very little. I mean, seriously: his dead mother. Disappointed in him.
That's worse than being called a toolbox (by Pink) or a kitten-stomper (by Katy Perry) any day.
Video after the jump...
In case you missed it, from tonight's MTV VMAs:
Kanye West was then escorted from Radio City Music Hall. Shortly thereafter, the following appeared on his blog:
A week ago the 200-plus member Television Critics Association announced the winners of the 2009 TCA Awards honoring the best television programming of the past year. After the jump: this year's winners, plus the results of Variety's survey of TCA member regarding their selections for the best of the small screen since (gulp) 1999.
Katherine Heigl and Gerard Butler were forced to evacuate the Four Seasons Hotel Los Angeles while the police where investigating a bomb scare along with 400 other hotel guests over the weekend. They were there promoting their new film, The Ugly Truth.
They were forced outside with, like REAL PEOPLE, THE UNWASHED MASHED, for, GET THIS, TWO WHOLE HOURS, I DON'T KNOW HOW THEY SURVIVED.
Remember the days when Neil Patrick Harris existed only as an outlet for our mockery? The Doogie Howser days? Those were simpler, better times, when the Coke was New and a mortgage was just a mortgage, not a collateralized debt obligation. But then the world went to hell, and there was no one to make us laugh - except for Neil Patrick Harris, MamaPop's Official Gay Boyfriend.
While the Tony Awards were in one word, awesome, they did leave Bret Michaels injured in the opening number. Bret performed a number from the 80's jukebox musical Rock of Ages with Poison. He was hit by a large sign and broke his nose and split his lip.
"I got my bell rung! All in all, I'd like to think I feel okay. But I got to be honest with you, I feel pretty beat up." But, he is not planning to sue. Which is nice, in this overly litigious society. And hey, I'm a lawyer.
Bret's full statement is after the jump.
I blame Daisy.
"Rock of Love's" Bret Michaels performed with the rest of the Poison gang at the Tonys and after the number was rocked right in the head by a piece of scenery. Is there video you ask? Of course.
Michaels was performing with the cast of "Rock of Ages," the only way to explain both the necessity and validity to have Fergie's fraternal twin on a stage upon which Neil Patrick Harris walks and Tony awards are presented.
What? We've been duped! Cheated! Swindled!
It turns out that the now famous little "mishap" at the MTV Movie Awards was, in fact, staged. It was a fake!
Seriously, if you can't trust Hollywood to keep it real... I just don't know anymore.
Apparently Eminem was sitting in his seat, minding his own, watching Forest Whitaker sing "Dick in a Box" when Sacha Baron Cohen, in the role of Bruno, fell from the heavens teabag first and proceeded to make a cuppa Earl Grey in Slim's mug. Hilarity ensued.
So, someone decided to do the right thing. Even if it wasn't Nickelodeon, who still stands behind Chris Brown after he withdrew his own name from the Kid's Choice Awards. Thank G-d. Because otherwise Mamapop's collective heads may explode.
As of Tuesday, an online petition had received more than 5,200 signatures from fans asking that both Brown and Rihanna be removed from the list of nominations. And the fact that they asked for Rihanna's name to be removed, head exploding again.
That's right, in domestic violence there is a long history of blaming the victim. Rihanna totally shouldn't win an award because Chris beat the crap out of her. Makes total sense.
Even though Chris Brown was charged with 2 felony accounts of battery he is still on the list of the four nominees for favorite male singer on the Nickelodeon Kids' Choice Awards Ballot.
(begin sarcastic tone here)
Good call Nickelodeon. I'm sure we all want our children looking up to some mediocre singer who beats the shit out of his girlfriend in his spare time.
(/sarcasm)
Youth and an Oscar are all that seem to seperate alleged woman beaters Chris Brown and Sean Penn. While all of Hollywood toasted Penn on Oscar night, the glaring omission from his acceptance speech, besides a thanks to his wife (he said she understood he needed time for a political statement. No one actually asked Robin Wright Penn what she thought) - whom he is rumored to be cheating and have cheated on - was an apology to his first wife regarding the alleged abuse she suffered at his hands.
Authored by super special guest contributor and honorary MamaPop Bestard, Travis of The Holmes
Some friends of mine hold an Oscar party every year where all the guests receive a list of the nominees when they walk in the door. Everybody is supposed to go through the list and select their picks for the winners in every category, and whoever gets the most right gets a prize or some shit. My choices in this little game are never anything more than guesses, some perhaps informed a bit by hype I may have heard on the news, others complete shots in the dark. I’ve yet to win any prizes, but I make it through. Somehow.
See, It’s a pretty sure bet when Oscar time rolls around that I will not have seen any of the nominees. Maybe one if I’m lucky. I have this bad habit of not getting out much. The last movie I saw in the theater was this piece of shit called The Uninvited, an atrocious remake of the far superior Korean film A Tale of Two Sisters. And even though I live in a town with plenty of theaters that serve alcohol, I ended up seeing this bit of celluloid swiss cheese at a dry cinema. A different venue would have probably made a significant difference in my opinion of the film’s quality. I saw Freddy vs. Jason in the theater back when it came out, but in that case I saw it at Austin’s beloved Alamo Drafthouse, a place that shows movies the way they should be seen. They offer a plentiful variety of beer, some wine, pizza, burgers, wings, desserts, all served by waiters that bring it right to you and know how to walk hunchbacked so they don’t block the screen. By the time the blood started spurting, I had already made a nice dent in my first bucket of brew. I stumbled out of the theater insisting to all in earshot that it was absolutely a shoe-in for best picture.
MAMAPOP IS SMART POP CULTURE ANALYSIS, COMMENTARY, MERCILESS FUN-MAKING AND OTHER SUNDRY AWESOME, DISHED UP DAILY BY PARENTS, FOR PARENTS, AND ANYONE ELSE WHO UNDERSTANDS THAT PLAYTIME IS BETTER WITH VODKA. PLEASE TO ENJOY. READ MORE...
