I hate me some scary movies. This is unfortunate, because The Lady and the best friend can’t get enough of them. I just never saw the point in watching a movie just so you can scream, or jump in your seat. I’d much rather watch a phenomenally cheesy flick like Two For the Money, then sit through any of the intolerable horror remakes we are inundated with each week (House of Wax, The Fog, Amityville Horror, Guess Who?, et al). I don’t like to be scared. I can understand why some people enjoy it, but for me, the movies are supposed to be a land of cool dialogue, happy dreams, and Heather Graham nude scenes. Given the choice, I will always pick against a scary movie every day of the week, twice on Sundays, and three times at any time in late October.

Such was the case the other day when The Lady and I were Blockbuster Nighting it and I chose the abortion that was Bewitched over the Paris Hilton insta-classic House of Wax. Did I really think that I would get wigged out over some lame killer slaughtering a second-rate cast of WB plastic people? No, but damned if I was ever gonna find out.

While bored out of my mind during the second unwatchable hour of that Nicole Kidman fiasco I got to thinking that it’s possible my distaste for scary movies may keep me from conquering my fear of being scared. Then I thought, do I ever really wanna conquer my fears, what with all the getting up and doing stuff and effort it may require? Absolutely not. So instead of trying to conquer my fears, I’ve decided to embrace them in written form. After all, I have my very own website; I can write about whatever I want. Maybe, just maybe, on this All Hallow’s Eve, it will make me feel so much better that now I won’t scream like a little girl every time I watch The Grudge.

So henceforth is a summation of mostly all the things that scare the bejeezus out of me. I’m not giving you all of them, because frankly, I’m freaked out just thinking about most of this stuff. Heck, you’re lucky I’m telling this much. And no, I don’t doubt for a second that I’m gonna get phone calls and e-mails making fun of me for being scared by a Kiefer Sutherland movie that isn’t Lost Boys.

So enjoy my list of fears and scares, and Happy Halloween to all my pretty peoples.

Snakes

Any size or shape. I don’t know if this stems from the three days I worked in a reptile pet shop while recovering from mono back in 1997, or from watching Raiders of the Lost Ark one too many times. Either way, I hate those slithering bitches. Any creature whose sole purpose is to bite other living things (Angelina Jolie excluded) becomes automatically freaky deaky. Furthermore, any animal that can open their mouth the size of Alanis Morissette ginormous maw just screams scary. Snakes are nasty little beasts, Indy is right to hate ‘em.

The end basement scene in Silence of the Lambs.

Wait, was she a great big fat person? Dude, you know what, come to think of it, that whole character of Buffalo Bill creeps me out. I can’t ever play Lambs without shivering now. It puts the lotion in the basket…

The theme from the movie Halloween, but in a good way.

This is also tied into my fear of people wearing masks of Bill Shatner. I am an unstable person.

That Sylvester Stallone Will Never Make Another Good Movie

And announcing another Rambo movie isn’t helping matters.

Getting A Texas Burial a.k.a. Being Buried Alive

I’m claustrophobic. I can barely handle being in a crowded elevator. I have to sit facing the door of a restaurant just to feel comfortable. So I can barely fathom the thought of waking up in my own coffin. I mean good god! My stomach is doing triple sachows just typing this paragraph. I don’t normally squirm during movies or TV shows, but anytime I see a character digging themselves out of a grave (like Buffy) or getting trapped in a confined space (like the elevator scene in Speed) I slink in my seat like Brodie hiding from a third nipple.

Worst Getting Buried Alive Moment in Film: Kiefer Sutherland in The Vanishing. I saw this flick in a pitch black cabin in Arrowhead, with wind whipping at the windows. When Kiefer wakes up in his coffin, flicks his lighter and screams, realizing where he is… well let’s just say I didn’t get much sleep that night. I had to pop in Mary Poppins AND The Phantom Tollbooth just to calm myself down.

You know, just to be on the safe side, I better hook up with Pai Mei in case I happen to errantly insult Michael Madsen with an ill-timed Species 2 joke.

Being Dirty For An Extended Period of Time

The day I bought my first bottle of Purell was the day I started fighting back.

The Career Longevity of Freddie Prinze Jr.

Every time I think he’s over he goes and makes a half-decent sitcom, and buys himself a few more years. If a guy like that can have a successful career, what does that say about our society? The Apocalypse is nigh! Nigh, I tell you! Nigh!

The face Reese Witherspoon makes when she tries to make Ryan Phillippe laugh in Cruel Intentions.

I don’t care how funny Legally Blonde was, or how cute she was in that horrible Mark Ruffalo flick, I can never see a Reese Witherspoon performance and not get weirded out by “The Face”. As John Turturro would say, that image will haunt my dreams… forever.

Public Speaking

I’ve done it before to great success, and I’ve done it before to humiliating failure. I have spoken eloquently in front of five thousand people and assorted members of the local media, and I have spoken like a blubbering fool in front of a room full of friends. It’s one of the most exciting things I get to do, and I nearly crap my pants each time I have to do it. I think it boils down to being exposed and examined in front of people whose opinion you generally value. The thought of looking stupid, or spitting while you talk, or if you stammer or stutter, or cough at the wrong time, or having your voice visit puberty out of nowhere. All these things and more make public speaking the harrowing, trial-by-fire experience of most people’s lives. I absolutely love to own a crowd, but I writhe in fear that I won’t ever be able to do that. So, you know, I guess it’s great I’m an actor, then.

The Feeling of Falling in a Dream

Subtracted points for when I used to get that feeling while sleeping in class, and my whole body jerked like a Tasmanian Devil and my professor noticed. Damn fear of falling!

Demi Moore

No reason really, she just gives me the willies.

Losing My Parents

I just wouldn’t be able to function without them. I need them to see my yet-to-be born children. I need them to help me through buying my first home. I need them at my wedding and at my first movie premiere. There’s just too much left to be done and said. Maybe it’s my Jewish neuroticism because both of them are as healthy as I could ask for, but who knows, you know?

The feeling you get the moment before a car accident.

I’m talking about the point where your mind realizes that there is nothing you can do to prevent what’s about to happen. Basically, the “You’re screwed!” feeling. I also hate the rush of adrenaline you get right after you nearly avoid an accident.

Gene Simmons’s Tongue

That fucker is nasty. I saw him once at Steven Spielberg’s old restaurant The Dive! in Pasadena. He was with his wife, Shannon “Will Strip for Skinemax” Tweed. I was in a booth with the fam, when the KISS frontman stood up to leave, saw me staring, smiled… and unleashed it. It… was… huge. Even from a good thirty feet away it still seemed ginormous. He flicked it at me like a snake, and I nearly pissed myself. No sleep was had that night, and I’ve never been able to enjoy a KISS song since (With the occasional exception of “God Gave Rock n Roll To You”).

Helen Hunt’s Forehead

It’s just so… all-consuming.

That My Twitch Will Never Go Away…

… and I’ll be at the podium at the Oscars explaining why I keep stealing glances at the Oscar girl instead of dropping thank you’s into camera one.

Anna Nicole Smith.

Don’t ask.

Failure

You knew it was coming. This is probably the one universal fear. Well, that and snakes (those bitches). Look, as far as this one goes, you can’t really do anything about it. If you let it control you, then you’ll never succeed. You must remain resolute in your belief that success will find you, while failure is busy taking the wrong exit of the freeway. Personally, while I am afraid that my dreams won’t all come true and I’ll end up penniless and pessimistic, I try to not to let it get to me. As long as I find happiness, failure has no bearing on me. It wouldn’t matter if I got fired from every job I ever have; if I’m happy, then nothing else matters. Coming from the vantage point of someone who has already had their first “real world” job and gained some measure of success from it, I’m not so naïve that I think it will all work out right away. But I gotta believe that all this work is for a purpose. I gotta believe that I’m gonna make something of myself. Because if not, what’s this all for? Why am I even bothering? That’s failure- giving up on the belief that something good is always in reach. Knock on wood, I hope never to lose sight of that.

Ending This Blog Post Without A Funny Joke

Everyone has fears and phobias. The point of this article is to show that no one is alone in having them, as oddball as they may be. Fear is a good thing. It keeps us on our toes. If there was nothing to scare the bejeezus out of people, there would be no order to this world. Extreme sports wouldn’t exist. Johnny Knoxville wouldn’t have a career. And we don’t want that, do we?

I’m warmed by my fears. It’s nice to know I have something to overcome, to stare down in the face of adversity and all that jazz. Whatever scares you, or keeps you up at nights, or makes you hyperventilate, it’s all for a purpose. Those things make you the person you are, not just the person who screams all the way through The Grudge, even though their eyes are covered the whole time. You know what I’m talking about.

Bangarang!

P.S. Damn it, I really didn’t conquer that last one. Aw well, maybe next year…

There used to be a time, round about ten years ago or so, when we had royalty in this country. That royalty was a group of seven or eight people who were admired by all. People from all across the land would flock to them, worshipping at their silver altar. They were the alpha and the omega for all that was important and right with what moved us. They were irreproachable (and unapproachable). They were indestructible. They were light.

… They were movie stars.

We used to have them. And at some point, I’m not even sure when, we lost them. They didn’t go anywhere, but we couldn’t see them. They became lost in a sea of mortality. At one time Gods and Goddesses amongst men, reduced now to just a recognizable face in the crowd.

They gave to us over and over again. The laughter, the tears, the heartbreak, the ecstasy… and they did it with class. It was all possible. We had it all and we fucked it up. And now we are here. And we have no one to turn to.

Where did all the movie stars go?

Cruise. Hanks. Roberts. Gibson. Ford. These names used to be untouchable. Beyond reproach. Audiences just not could not get enough. We ate them up, and eventually, one by one, we spit them out. Harrison can’t be bothered to leave his ranch. Mel went psycho religious. Tom just went psycho. Julia is bored of it all, and too busy Mom-ing it up to be our sole, true female movie star. And Tom Hanks, well, he’s more than a little miscast in The DaVinci Code.

Their fall from grace has soiled me on the idolatry of celebrity. People always ask me why I spend so much time snarking on celebrities. It’s not because I’m a mean person. It’s because celebrities disappoint me. I always hope to be dazzled and awed. And it never happens. One by one they all fall down. They make mistakes; they become addicts, or drunks, or party floozies, or they make ridiculously bad career choices. So then, who do I have to admire?

The problem is that we have no system for developing real, honest to god movie stars. No way to validate, or to nourish, or to workshop. Actors these days, the promising ones, are given quick unearned shots, and inevitable squander the chance. This is because no one has taught them how to be the part. Will Smith became WILL SMITH only through years of entertaining audiences. It took him six or seven gigantic movies before we gave him carte blanche. He has applied, and we have concurred. He’s in. But Will Smith could not become WILL SMITH now. He’d become Taye Diggs, a talented actor who can’t carry a movie because he wasn’t given the time to develop a tangible relationship with moviegoers.

Orlando Bloom. Jessica Biel. Jessica Alba. Lindsay Lohan. Paul Walker. Ashton Kutcher. Kate Hudson. Scarlett Johansson. These people aren’t movie stars. They’re popular actors. And in some cases, just popular people who happen to act (Yes you Walker, yeah, go do some more sit-ups and phone in another movie. Ass.). This is what we are given now. Sub-par talent, pretty faces, and tabloid fodder.

Ah, the tabloids… the reason for all of this. Let me ask you all something, because I really need some help. Why do we feel the need to tear all the good ones down? Moreover, why do we need to find fault? I don’t need to see pictures of Halle Berry coming out of the grocery store without make-up on. I don’t need to see Dennis Quaid drunk, coming out of a club at 2 a.m. I don’t need to see these people I’m supposed to care about, in compromising or humiliating positions. Can’t we have mystery? Can’t we have illusion anymore?

You wanna know why movies suck now, I’ll tell you. It has nothing to do with the quality of the films themselves. It has to do with two things: 1. The stars now are not stars, they’re Us Magazine cover holders, and 2. The real stars have had all their secrets dragged across the pages of countless cheap supermarket rags so now they carry too much baggage into each movie. There was once a time when we didn’t know what a celebrity did on a Tuesday. Now, those days are gone, baby gone.

We need to be able to look up to movie stars. We need to marvel at their grace, their humility, their flawlessness; we need to wonder what they are doing when they’re not on the screen, and imagine it’s something ultra-glamorous. Being a movie star is a job now, but there was a time when it was a privilege. And it should be, you know? It should be a privilege to entertain people. And it shouldn’t be taken lightly. It shouldn’t be exploited just to release a perfume, or a clothing line, or launch a fucking music career. It should be about the movies, about the work.

Only movies can truly shake the world. A movie can rattle sabers, can launch a thousand dreams, and can rock you to the core. Movies are art. So movie stars should be artists. They should know and respect the history of their profession, and the legacy left behind by the ones that blazed the trail before them. Paul Walker should realize that Paul Newman came before him. Lindsay Lohan needs to remember that there was once a movie star named Michelle Pfeiffer, and that that means something. Every one of those wanna be actors that the Hollywood Press Machine throws at us need to remember that it is an honor to be were they are, and that if they can’t make good on the promise we let them make, then we’ll find someone else who can.

I got in this business for the same reason that we all do, I want to be famous. I know what it means to be famous, and the opportunity that lay within. I could care less about In Touch Weekly. I could give a shit about red carpet fame. I don’t need to win. I just want affect something. Emotion, if I do things right. Change, if I’m lucky. I want to inspire. I want to unearth. I want to live up to expectations. I want to prove to the world that being a movie star is not a right, it’s a privilege and an honor, and that if given the chance to be one, that I would not let them down. I wouldn’t screw it up with drugs or alcohol or stupid sex scandals. I wouldn’t be caught trashed at a club. I wouldn’t shout at a salesperson, or throw my phone at a hotel worker. I would merely do my job. I would make movies that are good, and I would be good in those movies. And I would do it until the day I die. And all that I would ask in return is that they try not to rip me from limb to limb, just because you all said yes to me.

Maybe we can’t have movie stars anymore. Maybe Catherine Zeta-Jones and Russell Crowe and George Clooney and Kate Winslet are just the last gasps of an old way of life. Maybe this is what we have to look forward to, a reality where anyone and everyone get their shot at being famous and no one person becomes beloved; a world where movies lose their allure because there are no more pure souls. After all, how can I believe Scarlet Johansson as a pure young thing, when I know she banged Benicio Del Toro in an elevator a week after the Oscars. God…

Why do I know that? There is nothing in me that wants to know that information. But I am inundated with it. Do I lap it up? Sure. It’s fun and it’s there. But do I wish I could give it all up and instead have a reality where a movie star lives a private life of glitz and glam, and the only time we see them in real life is when they walk down the red carpets of their lavish movie premieres? Oh, you bet I do. I long for those days. I miss that golden group of seven. We will never have that again. We can’t. The paparazzi and the tabloids and the internet cranks would never allow it. No, that apex of stardom has now become unattainable. And I’ll tell you this, I’m not gonna be the one to tell Rachel McAdams that there is no light at the end of the tunnel. I can’t be there when she finds out.

So we do just live with it? Just live with a world full of mean, jealous people who can’t stand to see someone gain success based on true merit? Do we have to discredit the idea of merit, because it has no value anymore? I refuse. I won’t do it. I’ll figure out a way to bring them back. If it takes me until the end of my career, I will find a way to bring back true movie stars. I will save us from a world of Orlando’s and Ashton’s and Hillary’s and Paris’s. I will find us the next Jack Nicholson, the next Meryl Streep, the next Rachel McAdams. I’ll do it because it needs to get done. I’ll do it because it means too much to me not to.

I need to know I live in a world filled with movie stars. I need to have our American royalty again. And I will find them, and crown them, one talented actor at a time.

I don’t know where the movie stars went, but mark my words, I will find them. I will bring them back. Just try and stop me.

Bangarang, Fallen Movie Stars!

My prediction for the movie: pain.

Sometimes you get a movie that comes out that you love so much and when you watch it you wish the film would never end. Some time later you are elated to find out that they’re making a sequel. It comes out and totally rules. You are all over this franchise. What’s more, the entire country is all up on the franchise. And sequels just start pouring out. And one after another, they all rule. You feel vindicated, sated and full on the series.

But the producers, or the director, or maybe even the star, disagree. And they decide to make one more. And suddenly after all this time you’re actually worried. You thought you were done. You thought you could just revel in the DVD’s or the repeat viewings on TNT, happy that the franchise was that close to perfection; even more happy that the series faded into the sunset before it was too late. But what to think now?

Isn’t it too late? Hasn’t time passed it over? Are you too old for it now? And what will this sequel do to the overall series, especially if it’s terrible?

This is what haunts me after learning that Rocky VI is officially in pre-production. Stallone has been threatening that bomb for years now, but no one ever believed him. He’s well into his sixties now, ain’t no way we wanna see him shirtless and taking a beating. We all know it’s a desperate attempt to get back into the spotlight, and besides the last one was so terrible that we all collectively decided to believe it didn’t exist. Even more, he hasn’t had a hit movie in more than a decade. Why would we ever let him make this movie?

Like I said, he’s been saying it’s happening for years. He even wrote a spec script and pitched it across town. He released the first 60 pages in his worthless, now-defunct magazine “Sly”. I read it, it’s terrible. Rocky’s broke, Adrian’s dead, and the worthless son is now a successful stock broker that ignores Rocky. Meanwhile, Rocky runs his own restaurant, continues to be broke, and occasionally shadowboxes in his basement. Yeah, it’s that good. Worse yet, the villain is a stereotypical black heavyweight named Mason “The Line” Dixon. I wish I were kidding. Rocky decides to get back in the ring one last time, completely forgetting the fact that he has considerable brain damage, and even an errant backhand to the head may render him a vegetable. Of course, odds are he goes fifteen rounds, takes dozens and dozens of high impact shots to the face and body, gets knocked down two or three times, and somehow manages to win on a last second punch in the final round. The Rocky formula is nothing if not predictable.

I want to love this movie. If by some miracle he actually pulls it off, then we can erase the bad taste of Rocky 5, and finally feel like the series ended on the high note it deserved. Much like I hope that Lucas does one more Star Wars film that blows everyone’s minds and erases the necchy taste of the new trilogy. And in converse, much how I hope that Spielberg doesn’t make the fourth Indiana Jones movie, because the last one was so great and it seemed like such a perfect ending to such a sterling film franchise. But do I really think Stallone has one more in him? No, I don’t.

It’s not that I don’t think he’s talented, because I do. It’s not that I don’t think he has the body for it anymore, because good lord, he still does. Heck, he’s bigger now than he was for Rocky IV, and he was beyond yoked out back then. I just think the “idea” of Sylvester Stallone has eclipsed Sylvester Stallone the “person”, to the point where he has become a near-reality show parody of himself. And it all stems from that moment in his boxing reality show “The Contender” where the boxers come back to the gym to find Stallone shadowboxing and sweating like a hot pig. It was unreal. I truly think that HE believes he’s a real boxer. When you are known for one role, when that one role is so embedded in our cultural lexicon, it’s not hard to believe that the actor and the role are one in the same. But usually it’s the fans that are unable to disconnect, not the disillusioned actor.

The Rocky series was a touchstone for an America that no longer exists. Rocky was the everyman, fighting hard for God, Country, Mickey, etc. Hell, he single-handedly ended communism in Rocky IV. But what America would he be representing now? The country is split into colored-states, we’re at war with an enemy no one fears, the digital age has turned everyone into cynics, and worst of all, athletes are no longer seen as gods among men. You can blame the Terrell Owens’s of this world for pulling the curtain back on that myth. And boxing is in such disrepair now that Tyson is officially off the reservation, that Rocky Balboa is probably the most known boxer in the country, and he’s a fictional character.

There’s nothing for Rocky to unite. Nothing for him to fight for. Today’s audiences are no longer able to suspend disbelief. He’s gonna walk into that ring with a black guy twice his size and not a person under 21 will believe he can win. And when he does, they will laugh at the screen. And all the adults in the audience, the ones who bought the ticket hoping to recapture some of the magic they felt so many years ago, will duck down in their seats and cringe at what’s become of this once holy film franchise. They will reconsider why they ever bought the myth to begin with. It will destroy all the good this series has done for the movies, and for America.

I hope it’s good, I really do. I want the lights to come down and see Rocky Balboa take on the world. But I have this deep-seeded fear that instead of seeing inspiration, I’m just gonna feel sorry for him. I’m going to shake my head at the crooked decisions of an actor that once held my attention in palm of his hand. I’m just gonna feel bad that he refuses to hang them up. Because this isn’t like real life. When Michael Jordan came back to play for the Wizards we smiled and applauded but mostly we just ignored it. And now that he is retired for good we don’t think about it; it did nothing to tarnish his legacy. But movies are forever. Imagine if Return of the Jedi had been a complete disaster. We never would have looked at Star Wars the same way again. This is why we never saw a Godfather 4, because part three went so astray.

I just don’t understand why Stallone doesn’t get it. The last Rocky movie was an abomination. And now all these years later he’s gonna roll the dice on an egg like this? If this movie tanks than I’m no longer looking at four good movies and one mistake. No, now I’m looking at four good films that may have only been so good because the last two were so bad. I am obligated to question the integrity of the sequels that are good movies. I don’t want to do that. I have too many good memories of the Rocky franchise. Can’t we just let it be? Can’t we just let it rest in peace?

Up until those lights come down on opening night I will hope the movie is good. I will watch the trailer and analyze the poster. I will tell myself it’s gonna be good. I will watch a sit through a Rocky marathon with my friend A-Train the night before “Rocky Balboa” comes out. I will be there opening night. I will hold my breath for two hours. And hopefully, I will walk out pumping my fists in celebration, a mixture of relief and excitement. That would be… good.

The ball’s in your court, Sylvester. You’ve been great to me in the past, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt. Please, please please don’t let me (or the world) down.

Bangarang, Rocky!

UPDATE: Yeah, so I was waaay wrong about this movie.

Does Charlize Theron deserve to win a second Academy Award? More importantly, for the good of the movies, do we even want her to?

Let’s get to the case.

Ching-Ching!

That was a Law & Order sound effect, just by the by.

… Oh, shut up, you know what I meant.

Before we start let me make one thing plainly clear: I like Charlize Theron. I think she is a talented actress, a beautiful woman, and a more than worthy addition to the movies.

That being said, I do not want her to win another Oscar. Let me tell you why…

Charlize is that rare actress who was introduced to the movie-going public one way (that being the vapid, über-hottie), and then successfully transitioned into a more respectable one (that being the “classy” actress). Few have pulled this feat off, and fewer still were able to keep us convinced (hello, Nicole Kidman). I found Charlize’s transition somewhat endearing, as I personally never thought she would succeed.

I liked the role she played in the industry. She was this great combination of fresh face, luscious body and surprising skill. She held her own against a slew of talented actors: Pacino, Spader, Caine, Depp, Maguire, DiCaprio, Caan, Norton, and Reeves (that would be Keanu, and twice at that). She never took anything off the table, never was the weak part of the film (even though her part may have been weak), and never starved the audience for something nice to look at. Breaking it down, she was a perfect up and coming star. And then a curious thing happened, she turned out to be a good actress.

Maybe she had never been given the chance before to show what she had. Maybe she was just bored by the material. Maybe she was always that good but we were too busy staring at her beauty, and ignored everything else. It’s probably a combination of all three. The most likely answer is that she is just so beautiful that we can’t possibly fathom that she would be a great actor. Call it the Audrey Hepburn Effect. Or maybe the Catherine Zeta-Jones Corollary.

As it turns out, the girl can act. A lot.

And so Monster came out and it was over for Charlize: The Beauty Queen. I think she won the Oscar that year due to a combination of two things:

1. She went way unglamorous which forced us to pay attention to her acting, which then resulted in us being so pleasantly surprised by her actual talent.

2. It was a very lean year for Best Actress Nominees. I mean really, the Academy was not going to give its biggest award to Samantha Morton, a 13 year old girl or a Diane Keaton performance that wasn’t nearly as good as people think. The only real competition that year was Naomi Watts, and since she acts only with her mouth, there was really nothing doing there. Basically, it was a gimme.

They had no choice but to give to Charlize. Which is fine, because she gave a fantastic, revelatory performance, but here’s my problem, now the Hollywood Press Machine is trying to reinvent her as a dramatic Actress (capital letter “A”), and I’m just not buying it. Though, to be fair, I have no solid ground to stand on.

For every prestige film she was in (The Cider House Rules), she matched it with a big Hollywood stinker (Mighty Joe Young). For every time we got a glimmer of something better (The Astronaut’s Wife), we got a look at something nechy (Sweet November… sorry Keanu, they can’t all be gold). Pre-Monster, Charlize was in this weird vortex of stardom where she would take two steps forward, then take three steps back. Hollywood wanted to make her a star, but she kept trying to be an actress. That constant push and pull made it hard to pin her down. American audiences need to put a label on actors so we can quickly associate between them. For example:

• Tobey Maguire: Sullen.
• Sandra Bullock: Sweet.
• Paul Walker: Surfer Dude.
• Cameron Diaz: Blond Moron.

And on and on.

But Charlize wasn’t easy to pin down. Was she a Beauty Queen, or just a Pretty Actress? We’ve had tons of the former and very few true examples of the latter. Since I couldn’t pin her down to either one, I just wrote her off as this weird hybrid of talent whose film choices I could never predict.

Post-Monster, she has continued to be a hybrid, though has pushed the Pretty Actress part more in the press. I’m still confused. Is she the leather dominatrix from the upcoming Aeon Flux adaptation, or is she the hardened mine worker from the upcoming Oscar bait-pic, North Country? I don’t know the answer, but I’ll tell you what I’d like it to be: neither. I would rather she continue to brighten up bad movies and surprise in good ones. I may very well get my wish about her, but I doubt it, and for one simple reason: She’s probably going to win another Oscar this year. Remember, she’s going unglamorous again, starring opposite respected actresses again, and the field is very, very shallow. Again. I can’t decide if she’s this lucky or that good. Maybe it’s a bit of both.

There’s just something not right about the phrase “Two Time Academy Award Winner Charlize Theron”. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I know I don’t like it. When I think of multiple Oscar winners I think Meryl, Jack, Spencer, Katherine, Elizabeth, Ingrid, and I guess grudgingly, Swank. I just don’t think Charlize. Maybe it’s the caliber of resume, but no, because it’s just fine. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t come across as a serious actress. No, I know what it is, it’s because the first time I saw her on-screen she got naked (Two Days in the Valley). When you show your boobs, bone James Spader, and then wrestle with Teri Hatcher in your first high exposure role, how serious can you really become? She was just too much fun to watch. Then she kept getting naked: Cider House Rules, Astronaut’s Wife, Devil’s Advocate. I’ve seen her bathing suit parts more often than even I care to. Which is a lot.

So there she goes, continuing to beguile me. I want to take her seriously and let her be a big dramatic actress like fellow blondes Michelle Pfeiffer or Uma Thurman, but it’s hard to let go of a near naked catfight with Teri Hatcher. She just needs to do more good movies. Not North Country, look how dour I can be type movies. But good Cider House Rules type movies.

I fear that if she wins another Oscar we’re gonna lose this fun actress who used to entertain people. There’s no way you’re gonna see an Aeon Flux sequel if she wins for North Country. And after Aeon bombs (and it will, because she’s not yet big enough a “star” to carry a picture like this), it’s going to be all serious, all the time. Same thing happened to Julia. One Oscar later and I’m sitting through her attempt to be dramatic in Closer. Give me back the big hair, the mega watt smile and the Notting Hill, please.

If she wins, then I’ll be happy for her. She’s seems like a genuinely likable person, and has talent to burn. But I’ll be a little sad for her also, because winning two Oscar’s puts a lot of undue pressure on an actor, and if you aren’t made of steel like Nicholson, or have effortless ability like Meryl, than you’re in trouble. She’s gonna have to keep proving herself to critics and audiences, instead of just making movies that she wants to make.

Charlize, please, do that Italian Job sequel. Be the best Aeon you can be. Keep guest starring on cool Fox sitcoms. Continue to be gorgeous on the cover of Premiere magazine. And don’t forget to make good movies. I’m gonna see your North Country, like I saw your Monster, but every once in a while, if you could give me a Reindeer Games, that would be great.

In the case against Charlize Theron: Two Time Academy Award Winner, I find her a little wanting, but still very worthy.

Bangarang, Charlize!

This is what we get for lasting through a year chock full of crappy movies. This is the reward for an entire news cycle built around Brangelina. This is the pay off for the summer of Britney’s hell spawn. This is the day we have been waiting for.

This is the reason we have entertainment blogs. For days like this.

So much happened today that we’re gonna have to do a bullet point rundown just to sift through all the rubble. But before we start, let me raise a glass to all the hard working publicists out there who must have had the busiest day in their entire careers. Today was so busy that Us Magazine will probably have to run a double issue next week, with the celebrity bidding war for the cover reaching Louisiana Purchase-esque proportions.

Let’s go to the news:

• Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes Mate… Sort Of. Maybe. Probably Not.

Stop all the rumors, TheJay.com has the real story. It was artificial insemination. Katie donated her eggs to Tom. He’s gonna carry the baby. His close ties to Scientology, rigid research on the subject of reproduction and deep empathy for Motherhood allow him to defy the laws of physics and actually carry a child. And if you were worrying about it, no, he will not be taking drugs during the birth. And don’t even go near post-partum depression, the Cruiser will have none of that. In fact, he’s gonna have a couch brought into the delivery room so that the moment the doctor pulls the kid out, Cruise can squeal in delight and leap over the couch, fists pumping like a madman. Oprah is in heavy negotiations to film the birth.

Check back with me over the course of the next year as I track the hatching of the little TomKat pod baby.

• Nick and Jessica Split! Nick Immediately Dissapears From the Minds of America

Us Magazine is the first to sack up and call this story. To be fair, this item got tested once earlier in the year by E!, and with disastrous results. So who knows if this story is true? Either way, it makes me sick how eager the tabloids are to ruin these two people. Irregardless of the talent level of either of them, trying to ruin someone’s marriage just to sell some papers is just plain wrong, and one more in the long list of reasons why I keep my work online and not in print. They’re bloody savages.

• Nick and Jessica Deny Break-up Reports

Oh, well then… nevermind.

• Britney Spears Has A Sex Tape… Natch

This is neither news, nor a surprise. Who didn’t have “Britney Spears has a sex tape” in their “How Trashy is Britney” office pool? The only real bit of interest here is in just how gross the tape is. It reminds me of the scene in Zoolander where Derek and Hansel (He is so hot. Hansel.) are talking about the orgy they had the night before, and Derek is all “Did you see the Maori tribesman that showed up out of nowhere”. My money on the tapes contents is Britney singing badly to one of Christina Aguilera’s songs, while Kevin taps her from behind, throws gang signs at the camera and occasionally spies glances at the flock of sheep grazing on leftover Big Macs that litter their floor. How did the sheep get there, you ask? Nobody knows…

• Nic Cage Ruins His Child’s Life

TheJay.com officially welcomes Kal-El Coppola Cage into the world. You know, I never thought I would see the day when naming your baby “Apple” would be considered tame and normal. Well played, Nic.

• Lindsay Lohan Crashes Her Car, Is a Moron.

What moron gave this girl a driver’s license? Just like I think old people need to be tested once a year, celebrities should have to do the same. And the test should be harder for any young teen actress who has ever been spotted drinking in a club with any of the following people: Paris, Nicole, Tara, Mischa, or Lindsay Lohan. Let me also add that blaming your accident on the paparazzi is so two months ago. Way to try and bite off of a real actress, you poser!

• Renee Zellweger Gets A “Sweet Face” Transplant

Joke! Just making sure you’re still paying attention.

• Paris Hilton Likes Greek Dudes (with money)

Rumors are already stirring that Paris has hooked up with a former Olsen Twin boy toy, who is also an even richer Greek shipping heir than the last guy. Apparently, having a fortune of only $7.5 billion isn’t enough for the frequent Stuff Magazine cover girl. I know what she means. I won’t settle for any girl who doesn’t have at least a mil or two in her savings. A boy’s gotta have his standards.

• Janet Jackson Sunbaths Nude. FCC Gives Up. (NSFW)

In a day with so much going on, this barely warrants a mention, which is ironic considering the uproar that was cased by the last time “Ms. Jackson if your nasty” unleashed the twins.

• Charlize Theron Gets Her Ass-kissed on Leno. Seriously.

Yet another reason why Charlize is one of the coolest people in the business.

• Ashton and Demi Still Married, Earth Still Round

I guess we really have to stop joking about this now . After all, it’s been the requisite week and a half, which in the celebrity world means they are a legitimate married couple. Heck, they’re practically hitting syndication length by most celebrity marriage standards.

Phew! What a day! This can only bode well for the next couple of gossip-heavy months. With award season on the horizon, and celebrities jockeying for attention and accolades, there’s no telling what may happen. And after a day like this, all bets are off. Heck, at this point I wouldn’t be surprised if next week we find out that Keira Knightley is actually just a really pretty boy. It could happen.

Stay tuned…

Bangarang, poor little Kal-El Coppola Cage!