Paris Hilton filming a commercial for Israeli television on Lexington Avenue ... Mary-Kate Olsen leaving her apartment in the Village ... Mike Myers crossing the street in Tribeca ... Cynthia Nixon talking on her cell phone in the West Village ... Pierce Brosnan going to lunch on the Upper East Side ... Jennie Garth arriving at JFK ... Channing Tatum getting out of a car in front of the Apple store in SoHo ... Lauren Conrad arriving at the Wendy Williams Show in Midtown ... Mick Jagger having a late-night dinner at La Esquina ... and James Gandolfini leaving lunch at Bubby's on Hudson Street.
Overbearing hype aside, Inglorious Bastards really wouldn't be a Quentin Tarantino film unless he revived at least one moribund career in the process. Enter Mike Myers, who is now confirmed to play British Gen. Ed Fenech, "a military mastermind who takes part in hatching a plot to wipe out Nazi leaders." It's a relatively small part, we're now told, with Fenech featured on only seven pages — 29 lines total — recruiting a Nazi killer reportedly tailored for Simon Pegg, who has yet to be officially attached.Myers joins an ensemble that already includes Brad Pitt, Eli Roth and B.J. Novak, nudging the project ever closer to the unmarketable territory where Tarantino and Harvey Weinstein seem to flourish together. Moreover, we didn't expect Myers to do another non-comedy so soon after The Love Guru; that Halloween remake we pegged him for was something we presumed was at least a few years off, or at least well after Austin Powers 4. But when even Deepak Chopra is hating on you, some gambles are just more necessary than others. Good luck, Mike!
The day's fastest-spreading casting rumor intrigues as much for its potential for on-screen carnage as its requisite off-screen tragedy: The man who originated Freddy Krueger in A Nightmare on Elm Street has Billy Bob Thornton pegged to portray the razor-fingered villain in a planned remake. Robert Englund doesn't sound too upset about it, either, informing JoBlo that the Michael Bay-produced reimagining would treat Wes Craven's original with the hacky, high-gloss dignity it deserved 25 years ago. Englund stopped short of suggesting he'd join the film, of course, lest he subject himself to Thornton's infamous scythe-handling clumsiness. Nevertheless, his overall support reminds us what a fertile period it is for the villain in American cinema — and how '80s/'90s-era schlock could stand to benefit from an A-list talent injection. We consulted our own casting department for five ideal remakes, and the stars who might push them over the top:
It seems like only yesterday that Deepak Chopra flexed his philosophical muscle in the name of The Love Guru, deflecting rumors of its anti-Hindu undercurrents in a zinger of an essay on BeliefNet: "Silliness often has wisdom hidden just beneath the surface — perhaps The Love Guru will, also, since Myers laced his Austin Powers farce with a message about tolerance — but if you can't accept silliness in the first place, you are likely to be immune to wisdom, too." Oh, but for the old times, as Guru's singular tank job, critical enmity and shocking Myers implosion provoked a reconsideration of sorts for the spirituality kingpin, who seems to have overcome his immunity to wisdom in the bitter months since Guru's release:
After the unfortunate reception for The Love Guru, it's just too easy to write off New Line's prospective Austin Powers revival (which Mike Myers is reportedly working on for New Line with former series collaborator Mike McCullers) as yet another ill-advised folly belching the black smoke of Myers's career. In fact, taken as merely a part of the larger phenomenon we at Defamer like to call The End of Ideas, the Powers franchise is but a speck of the shit on Hollywood's collective bathroom wall — a tableau diligently studied today by the haz-mat crew at Entertainment Weekly.
· And now for some non-earthquake-related Big Brother rumbles: In one corner, we have 75-year-old contestant (and the oldest person on CBS since Murder, She Wrote), Jerry. In the other, we have professional "mixologist" Memphis, precisely one-third Jerry's age. We won't tell you how it plays out, except to say so long as you're glimpsing three-quarters-of-a-century-old armpit, Jerry's winning. [Big Brother] · A fourth Austin Powers is reportedly being written by Mike Myers. It's a "very personal [take] with a father and son theme loosely based on his own life," meaning it's sure to feature a scene in which the old Mini Me is tossed around in the backyard. [Deadline Hollywood] · In honor of Discovery Channel's Shark Week, a chat with a Great White. [edithzimmerman.com] · Hitting every stop on the Interactive Ben Kingsley Accent Map would wear out even the sturdiest Amazing Race contestants. [bestweekever.tv] · Hey—bear running around a track in high heels! [Jezebel]
It's that time of year again, when Hollywood's biggest stars harvest their multiplex crops, drop the hammer on their mums and size up their places among Forbes's annual list of highest-paid movie stars. As we've come to expect, it's Will Smith's world, with the megastar and noted Scientology-school patron raking in $80 million since last June; the remainder of the list comprises mainstays like Johnny Depp ($72 million) and Leonardo DiCaprio ($45 million) along with slip-sliding shockers including Eddie Murphy and Mike Myers, each tied at $55 million thanks in large part to the Shrek franchise's enduring success.
Life is rough these days for Verne Troyer, the diminutive, sex-tape-making, back-tax-owing (allegedly), bomb-starring actor whose bout with the tabloids took an introspective turn Tuesday in an interview with E! Denying he had anything to do with the "unauthorized" release of his videotaped tongue-stabbing of ex-girlfriend Ranae Shrider, a sober Troyer inventoried Shrider's motivations for supposedly dropping the tryst at TMZ's doorstep — and, in the process, both defused and started harrowing rumors we could have gone the rest of our lives without conjuring:
It occurred to us here at Defamer HQ that The Love Guru—by all accounts, the most execrable film sediment to coat our cultural shores in eons—marks something of an Unfunniness Benchmark for its dwarfhandling star, Mike Myers. Which got us a-thinking: Was he ever funny? What if we could map the relative comedic trajectory of his collected oeuvre over time and space, in a scientifically controlled environment?