Posts Tagged ‘Celebrity’

Poor Mindy McCready…

February 19, 2013


You know, I’d rather be repeatedly punched in my monkey parts than watch a minute of ‘Celebrity Rehab’… but seriously —

THIS headline:


Fifth. Out of about 50.

Strange… it’s almost like Dr. Drew and Co. were more concerned with exploiting people with emotional problems purely for entertainment purposes, rather than helping them or something???

I’ll say it again – day by day, inch by inch, we struggle closer and closer to television finally giving up and just embracing the dystopian future of ‘The Running Man‘…

I'd seek help from Richard Dawson circa '87 before I'd speak to Dr. Drew, any day o' the week

I’d seek help from Richard Dawson circa ’87 before I’d speak to Dr. Drew, any day o’ the week

Which does not work for me. At all. I for one still look shitty in a lycra bodysuit, and cannot effectively wield a chainsaw whilst in hand-to-hand combat.

Not whilst on camera anyways.

Rest in Peace, Mindy.



Writing for (Reality) Television 101

February 17, 2013

“Your story is only ever as strong as it’s antagonist”

                                                     – Old Jungle Saying

It’s been simultaneously fascinating and disheartening to see ‘My Kitchen Rules’ once again become an Australian TV ratings behemoth over the past few weeks, based primarily on some of the oldest character stereotypes in the book.

Every ‘reality’ show needs a villain (of course). Enter the ‘Spice Girls’, Jessie & Biswa from New South Wales…


Who, in a matter of weeks, used their unparalleled charm and sophistication to become seemingly the most hated duo in the country (sorry Tony & Julia). They tick every single ‘HAAAAAAATE-watch’ box for a Channel 7 audience. Lets count ’em off:

  • Gen Y? Tick.
  • Female? Tick.
  • Horribly entitled? Tick.
  • Dumb as a post? Tick.
  • And most importantly, an ethnicity just ‘brown’ enough to offend white Australia? Indian and Bangladeshi MEGA TICK!


You wouldn’t have guessed, but the judges and their fellow contestants voted these clowns off of a cooking show for the piddling offense of being unable to cook. Terrible, I know. Goodbye Spice Girls! Goodbye guaranteed ratings draw!

What are we to do now, MKR???

If your answer was  to introduce a new group of muckraking, gatecrashing contestants for no real reason other than to create conflict less than a month into the show, then you win… uhh… well… not much.

They haven’t even come up with something as clever as the SPICE GIRLS this time for fucks sake!!! ‘Gatecrashers’?!?!

* smacks head *

And yes, our most notable team of Gatecrashers are…


  • Gen Y? Tick.
  • Female? Tick.
  • Horribly entitled? Tick.
  • Dumb as a post? Tick.
  • And most importantly, an ethnicity just ‘Asian’ enough to offend white Australia? SUPER MEGA HAPPY TICK!

From the network that brought you ‘Border Patrol’… ladies and gentlemen, ‘MY KITCHEN RULES’!!!!!!!!!!

It’s made me pause more than once in the writers room of the TV show I work on to wonder why the hell we’re bothering to try to create boring shit like ‘well-rounded antagonists’,  ‘in depth backstories’, or ‘character arcs’. All that work, when really all we need to do is make our villain each and every week a spoiled stupid Gen-Y ditz with a complete lack of self-awareness.

The Hannibal Lector era of villainy is over, people. Long live Jessie & Biswa, the new breed of supervillain, soon to be enshrined in the Richard Hatch Hall of Infamy.

Take the tour.

It’s frigging horrible, sure, but it’ll only take 15 minutes.


Screw you Apatow – This is 32*

September 20, 2012

*Or, you know, maybe not. I have nothing against Judd Apatow. Not even the fact that he’s personally responsible for Katherine Heigl’s movie career. Sometimes you just need a title, and “The Introspective Ponderings of a Self-Loathing Potential Narcissist” seemed a LITTLE heavy…  

“Sigh… and then what did Kim Kardashian say?”

It will come as no surprise to anyone that’s ever read my drivel to know that I’m far too obsessed with all the wrong shit. I’d love to spend my days entrenched in conversation about philosophical concepts beyond the comprehension of 98.4% of the general population. It’d be great to have an extensive knowledge of the history of Baroque music. And I have no doubt that spending hours conducting exhaustive research for the thesis I’d someday write about the geo-politics of Australasian territories… that’d be swell.

However, what also will come as very little surprise to you, is that I ain’t that smart.

Not as smart as I’d like to be. Not as smart as I pretend to be. Not even as smart as I’d settle on being.

And so, rather than high-minded pursuits, my attention is dragged to what is basically the ephemera of world news. I’m so focussed on the algae resting atop the aquarium, that I never even notice the tropical fish below.

A point made doubly true by the fact that I know so little of algae, or of tropical fish, that my clumsy metaphor might be complete bullshit.

Just be thankful this is a picture of an actual aquarium… I’ll bet a million dollars someone somewhere uses ‘Dirty Aquarium’ as a sexual euphemism


So in the past week, I’ve been swamped by the kind of stories that would normally constitute their own posts here at the BPM.

There was the leaked video of Mitt Romney at a private dinner, where he told potential donors at a fund-raiser that approximately 47% of Americans believed they were entitled to things like food, or health care, and that “…my job is not to worry about those people. I’ll never convince them they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives”.

There was a kind of international moral litmus test involving the topless photos taken of Kate Middleton, as she and Prince William  sunbathed at a private château in France. The argument for publishing is encapsulated in this quote from Danish magazine Se of Hoer: “It is in the DNA of Se og Hoer that we should entertain and fulfil our readers’ curiosity. Therefore it is always relevant for us when a duchess and future queen of England is topless and voluntarily shows her breasts near a public road”.

And then there is the counter argument, that photo’s taken of a private estate from over a kilometre away, of the wife of a Prince whose mother died as she was being chased by paparazzi, might not be totes cool. For the record, thus far the British, American’s and Australian’s have chosen to err on the side of “Dude… really?!?”, as the Dane’s, Italian’s and French maintain their stance of “Hooray for boobies!”.

There was the initially peaceful protest by Muslims in Sydney’s Hyde Park, revolving around the now infamous American amateur film posted on YouTube which mocks Muhammed. As absolutely no one could’ve predicted, it swiftly got wayyyy out of hand. There was the image of a 4-year-old holding a sign that read ‘Behead All Those Who Insult The Prophet’. There was his mother, who upon being investigated by police, insisted that she didn’t know what the word ‘behead’ meant. And, of course, the inevitable online rush of white, middle-class, anglo ‘real’ Aussies to join Facebook groups represented by pictures like this one:

Don’t rush to judgement, the bottom word there has more syllables than any other word in his entire vocabulary

There was the vote in Australian parliament on the possibility of legalising gay marriage, where Liberal senator Cory Bernardi, a close ally of Tony Abbott, was forced to resign from his position after controversially phrasing his objection to gay marriage as follows: “The next step … is having three people that love each other be able to enter into a permanent union endorsed by society, or four people… There are even some creepy people out there, who say that it’s OK to have consensual sexual relations between humans and animals. Will that be a future step?”

Wow… all this is too heavy, Monkey. What about something to lighten the mood?

Well, there was ex-child star Amanda Bynes yet again throwing down the gauntlet to Lindsay Lohan, by continuing to unravel in public… you know, if you call driving on a suspended licence, multiple hit-and-run incidents, and driving whilst smoking pot unravelling. Lindsay responded by (of course) tweeting…
 … only to ‘allegedly’ hit a man in New York less than a week later, trying to park her car outside a hotel. Whilst under the influence, natch.

Now, the REAL challenge here… how does one create some kind of tangential link between such a disparate group of stories?

Well, how about this – they all elicited more or less the exact same kind of reaction from me. A reaction that kind of went something like this…

Sighing. Slumping of shoulders. Shaking of head. Curse word. Acceptance.

That’s in real-time, too.

I’ve officially finally reached the point of apathy where it’s almost impossible to legitimately feel any sense of outrage at the kind of source material that drives most of this blog. I emphasise the word legitimate, because I, like so many people, can still manufacture outrage well enough on occasion. But real emotion?

I suppose on one hand this is potentially a healthy development for me. Why should I give a shit (or indeed, quite so many shits) about these strangers, whose lives will never really intersect with mine on any level whatsoever? Shouldn’t this free up some psychic real estate that can now revolve around newer, healthier thoughts and obsessions? Like Baroque, philosophy, theses… you know… all that shit?

Baroque Art… kind of like an album cover for the band ‘Live’ circa 1995

Perhaps. I don’t know yet. I do know that more and more often I’m seeing no resolution to a raft of world issues as disparate as the Australian political stance on gay marriage, or anglo-Islamic relations, the intrusiveness of the papparazzi, or… Lindsay Lohan… no resolution except for “Well, what are you going to do except wait and hope for generational change?”.

Which still feels like a cowards way out to me, on many levels. Sure, I still believe in the causes that I believe in. I can call out bigotry, or prejudice, or the evils of Twitter, celebrity stupidity and entitlement. But even as I’m doing so, I increasingly find myself thinking that the only hope we have is that the next generation of Button Pushing Monkeys grow up in a society incrementally less hateful towards homosexuals, incrementally less divided by religion and culture, incrementally more respectful, and hopeful, and… better?

I’m still a young man. But I can admit that as far back as I can remember I’ve always been (perhaps to a degree that’s unhealthy) a cynic. Is this just what passes for hope as we get older? I’m interested in others opinions.

Perhaps in this world the most important thing is retaining any kind of hope at all.

It was Stephen King that said “Remember, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies”.

And I hope that’s true.

Thanks for bearing with me this long down the rabbit-hole/ up my own ass, folks. I promise our usual dick’n’fart joke broadcast will resume shortly.


Amuhr-ica! F*%# Yeah!

September 12, 2012

HAD to re-post this genius piece of editing, originally from the New York Magazine website:

If there’s a better two minute encapsulation of how out of control our culture of celebrity worship has become… well, I haven’t seen it.

Jesus wept…

Because apparently if we didn’t spend the anniversary of September 11 talking about Kris Jenner’s fake tits, then the terrorists truly have already won. 


On Michael Clarke Duncan, and Movie Hindsight

September 7, 2012

I was saddened this week to hear the news that actor Michael Clarke Duncan passed away, due to ongoing complications from a heart attack he suffered over a month ago. He was 54.

In an acting career that lasted ostensibly for less than 15 years, MCD starred in a wiiiiddddeeee variety of both high quality flicks and classic crap. Amongst the former? ‘The Green Mile’, ‘Sin City’, ‘Bulworth’, ‘Talladega Nights’ & ‘The Scorpion King’ (a real guilty pleasure of mine).

Amongst the latter? Well, there was ‘Daredevil’, ‘Green Lantern’, Burton’s ‘Planet of the Apes’ remake, ‘The Island’ and… well… pretty much anything starring Bruce Willis.

Friendship… it’s a double-edged sword sometimes

The one common thread to most everything I ever read about Duncan off-screen was that he was the archetypical ‘gentle giant’, and a quality human being. I’m not going to lionize Duncan’s acting ability or screen presence. But, thanks to THAT voice, and his size, Duncan was invariably at the very least fun to watch, a surprisingly underrated quality in a movie star these days when you stop to think about it.

Ironically I’d been thinking just several days before he passed about ‘The Green Mile’, and about 2 other performers in that flick, Tom Hanks and Doug Hutchison.

I remember eagerly awaiting ‘The Green Mile’ before its cinematic release. I was (and remain) a huge Stephen King fan, and had loved ‘The Shawshank Redemption’. So when I heard Frank Darabont was adapting the latest King novella, you better believe I was there on opening day.

Literally opening day. 10:30am on a Thursday morning, to be precise (ahhh, to be a University student again, with less than 12 contact hours per week…). Whatever misgivings I may have had about a) seeing the film alone, and b) seeing it in a cinema with less than 5 other people, were quickly dispelled as I immersed myself in the story of Paul Edgecombe, the giant John Coffey (like the drink, only spelled different), and the 2 dead girls…

To me it remains, to this day, a movie forgotten by the moviegoing public far too quickly. Well cast, with some decent (if a little Oscar baity), actor-ing including a breakout performance by Duncan. A calmly paced, sprawling script. Interesting direction. Sure, it’s not the life affirming classic Shawshank is, but the prison period-piece is still a well worth revisiting by Darabont.

Having said that, one of the most memorable parts of that film is the loathsome prison warden, Percy Whitmore. Whitmore, compellingly played by a relative unknown (at the time) Doug Hutchison, is a cruel cowardly man, trading in on his family connections to keep his job at the Green Mile (death row in a Louisiana prison in the 30’s). After the flick however, Hutchison was rarely seen, his most notable acting role in the ensuing years being a short-term role in one of the latter series’ of ‘Lost’.

I just assumed that maybe Hutchison had been too effective in his role as the Green Mile’s antagonist, that he was forever typecast as the creep, the petty scumbag.

And then there was this…

That’s right… Doug Hutchison, freaky weirdo from ‘The Green Mile’, is THAT GUY, the 51-year-old dude that married 16-year-old (coughcough) wannabe starlet Courtney Stodden.

News broke this week that now that Courtney has turned 18 (coughcough), she was willing to pose for Playboy! To which Playboy responded, and I quote, “Nobody really wants to see that”.


Perhaps in Doug’s eyes, appearing in TMZ with this prematurely withering, ditzy, spray tanned, peroxidal crone once a week means that he’s once again relevant in Hollywood. Sigh… and at what cost relevancy, say I.

At around the same time as Doug’s latest fame-crazy facepalm, Tom Hanks was reaffirming for the world why he’s more beloved than Santa Claus, rainbows, and a basket of playful kittens COMBINED!

Hanks went viral after a young man asked him to pose for a series of photos in a restaurant, where he pretended to steal Tommy’s glasses. What followed…

Only served…

To remind us…

That Hanks’ everyman appeal shall never wane.

How to tie all this together?

Well, after hearing of Duncan’s untimely passing, I did what many a movie-geek would do – I sought out his most notable performance, and slapped the disc into my DVD player for a reminder of how we lost a talented individual way too soon.


I soon found it virtually impossible to divorce my knowledge of 2012 celeb-u-tainment from a movie I’d previously enjoyed. Even the twin doses of MCD mourning and Hanksian charm weren’t enough to quell the revulsion I have for a man and his ‘child’ bride (coughcough) so desperately clawing at the underbelly of Hollywood’s D-list.

Which is strange, because as distracting as ‘Stoddison’ (you’re welcome, tabloids) is, is Hutchison any worse than… say… Charlie Sheen? Because I can still watch ‘Major League’ without picturing Charlie beating/shooting the female team owner. I can still watch ‘Grease’ without conjuring up images of Danny Zucco twisting Kenickie’s arm for a deep tissue massage. I never once imagined Batman losing his shit at Lucious Fox over the key lighting in Wayne Towers during ‘Dark Knight Rises’, and I’m pretty sure I’ve sat all the way through ‘The Terminator’ without making an inappropriate ‘Target Acquired: Latina Maid’ joke to The Wife.

And yet I legitimately cannot watch ‘Mean Girls’ without being distracted by the human shipwreck that is Lindsay Lohan. I cannot giggle at Michael Richards OTT entrances in any given ‘Seinfeld’ repeat. And I cannot suspend disbelief long enough to separate Percy Whitmore the villain from Doug Hutchison the… well…

Probably coulda just posted this picture and saved myself about 600 words, huh…

Why should one scandal weigh more heavily upon my psyche than another? Why should Lindsay’s slow, Winehousian descent be more distracting to me than Ah-nuld’s transgressions? Am I making unconscious, moral judgements? Am I on some level condoning Sheen’s ‘alleged’ physical abuse of (multiple) women, but condemning vacuous fame-whoring? Does this make me no better than the billions of ‘Two & a Half Men’ fans out there?

Ughhh… too much to ponder. I just wanted to watch a Tom Hanks movie featuring a ‘magical negro‘ character (conceived by a white writer, natch), death by electric chair, and an unnaturally long-lived mouse. 

So thanks, Doug… that’s one more neuroses to clutter up my brain, and one more DVD gathering dust and just taking up valuable space in my collection.

Which isn’t to say I gave up altogether on celebrating Duncan’s life in my own, small way…

Because hey… any day you manage to find time to watch The Rock and MCD motherflippin’ sword fight whilst simultaneously rocking some seriously bad-ass hair extensions… that, my friends, is a good day.

Which is my ridiculously long-winded way of saying you will be truly missed, Mr. Duncan.

And eat a bag of dicks, Mr. Hutchison.


Wha’ Happened?!?

July 20, 2012

It’s way too late to look surprised, Fred

The age of the internets, and the 24 hour news cycle… she giveth, and she taketh away…eth.

I’m a huge fan of Fred Willard’s improv work, especially his roles in various Christopher Guest films like ‘A Mighty Wind’ and ‘Best in Show’. Which is why it’s such a bummer to hear he was arrested this week for masturbating in an adult theatre in Los Angeles.

Before you immediately jump onboard the “Masturbating in an adult theatre?!?! How quaint” bandwagon, bear in mind the fact that Fred is 72 years old. Maybe working out how to traverse the world of internet porn is beyond his comprehension at this point. I know that whenever my Dad needs to update Mozilla Firefox I need to drive to his place and very slowly walk him through the clickies. And he’s 10 years younger than Willard.

Plus I guess when you really think about it, and take into account Fred’s age, you have to believe that this wasn’t a spur of the moment act. There’s probably a fair degree of planning and preparation that goes into… uhh… his ‘performance’. So in a way he’s lucky the police didn’t consider this a pre-meditated act.

It manages to qualify as one of the few sordid celebrity acts that I really didn’t need to know about. But in an age when we know all about Miley’s latest tattoo before the ink is even dry, what chance does anyone have of keeping their peccadilloes private anymore?

And no, I didn’t just use the word ‘peccadillo’ as a euphemism for Willard’s wang.

I think…

Am I suddenly yearning for a return to olden days, when tales of Hollywood Babylon-esque depravity were kept off the record, on the QT, and very hush hush? Probably not – if they were, what the hell would I write about? Am I simply allowing my affection for Fred Willard to cloud my customary Schadenfreude in celebrating the pratfalls and fuck-ups of the Lohan’s and Kardashian’s of the world?

I guess (cue Doogie Howser-music and typing sound effect) the lesson to be learned here is that the freedom to pick and choose which celebrities disgrace themselves in public is truly out of my hands.

But not out of Fred’s.

God damn it…


Well… what would YOUR stand-off demands be?

July 10, 2012



When Frederick Denny barricaded himself into a New York hotel room this weekend and threatened to shoot police officers, he decided to aim high when negotiators asked him just what it was that he wanted.

His response? As the headline says, he wanted a pizza.

Oh, and the hand in marriage of millionaire socialite Paris Hilton.

So he aimed high… but not too high.

When negotiations broke down, the fuzz broke down his door, pepper-sprayed the poor schmo, and arrested his ass.

A pity. Because what better way to kick TomKat off the cover of every gossip magazine in the world than with THE CELEBRITY WEDDING OF THE YEAR!!!!

Oh, don’t look so haughty… you’ve done worse

Paris + night vision + Sexy Frederick + pizza… come on, tell me you wouldn’t watch that sex tape.

Rumours that Kris Jenner is trying to convince a second gunmen to hold his own stand-off, whilst demanding a lamb souvlaki and Khloe Kardashian remain completely unfounded…. at this stage, at least.

Though we probably shouldn’t give Kris any more great ideas


We Need to Talk About Whitney

February 13, 2012

1963 - 2012

So, are we ready to talk about Whitney yet?

Like Amy Winehouse, this had that horrible feeling of inevitability. Whitney Houston had the voice of a generation, and yet aged only 48, she becomes the new poster child when it comes to destroying god given talent with drug abuse.

Dozens of musicians influenced by Houston expressed their grief at her passing the only way they knew how… via Twitter, of course (“What a tragedy! Let me tell how you this effects #ME”).

The pre-Grammy’s party she was meant to attend at the Beverly Hilton Hotel? Well, sure… it proceeded as planned, but they DID move it to a different area of the hotel, right?

The Grammy Awards themselves quickly became a sombre, tasteful evening, where high profile guests momentarily shrugged off their own all consuming need for the spotlight, choosing instead to show some respect for the memory of…

This fucking fruit loop is a 'Nicki Minaj', apparently


Rather than regurgitate any more of the innumerable articles about her gospel influences, or the destructive influence of Bobby Brown, or that “Crack is whack” interview, I’ll leave with perhaps the best way to remember Whitney Houston – an example of a peerless female vocallist in her prime (as suggested by The Age contributor, Clem Bastow):


Whitney is survived by her daughter, Kristina Bobbi Brown.


Juiced Newton

December 14, 2011


from The

Just… wow.

Because you just know a guy has SERIOUS issues when he (allegedly) repeatedly punches a 66-year-old taxi driver, and your initial response is “Well… at least he punched a dude this time and not another woman”.

Legal ‘experts’ predict a prolonged, court-ordered period of hospitalization is on the cards for Newton.

My advice, for what it’s worth, Matt?

If that offer IS on the table, then you take it. Take it now. Take it yesterday, for Gods sake.

Because if you can’t find a way to get these punchy demons under control, and you were to really face the legal consequences of repeated incidents of assault…

Well… lets just say that if every prison movie I’ve seen has taught me anything, it’s that a young, affluent white guy with your background would probably be nicknamed ‘Patti’ within a week, even if that wasn’t actually already his mother’s name.


The Scarlett (Open) Letter

September 15, 2011
Another day, another nude scandal. The latest victim? Scarlett Johansson, whose phone / email / dream journal has reportedly been hackedby the same guy who allegedly stole passwords to over 50 celebrity accounts. 2 nude photos of Scarlett have been circulating around the net like crazy over the past 24 hours.

It’s a crime so serious that apparently ScarJo even has the FBI working on the case. That’s the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Because the only commodity the U.S economy has left is the dignity and integrity of their celebs, right?

It’s a pity she divorced the Green Lantern last year, he could’ve been really helpful right about now…

In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall corrupt this website…

Now, commonfolk like you, or me, or your grandpa, or that girl who works in accounts, taking happy snaps of their bizness is understandable, if a little fraught with peril.

And the rich and famous, chicks like Scarlett? She’s people too. She’s prone to the same errors of judgement as you or I. Throw in the fact that filming away from home for prolonged periods can mean weeks, and sometimes months, apart from your partner or spouse. So why not get the iPhone out of your handbag and MMS the one you love?

I mean I don’t partake myself, but I get it. It’s transgressive, it’s crossing a line, it’s naughty. The fact that it IS a little dangerous is what makes it so sexy, right?

Sure. Until your ex decides to upload your photo to, or it accidentally gets sent to someone it shouldn’t. Or until some jerkoff hacks into your internet account.

Now, you or me – we’d probably be mortified. What if people I know saw it? What if my friends saw it? What if my employer saw it? What if my mother saw it!

Shitty repercussions would ensue. Very shitty repercussions. But repercussions which are, nonetheless, almost entirely personal.

But now lets say you’re Jessica Alba? Or Blake Lively? Or, as is the case today, Scarlett Johansson? Who everybody knows? Whose private lives we intrude upon constantly, thanks to television, gossip mags and (admittedly) sites like this one. Modern day Goddesses that live under the glare of these spotlights, who have made the concerted decision in their professional career (at least thus far) to NEVER appear naked on television or in a film.

A decision that probably cost Robert Rodriguez you do NOT want to know how much time and money in post-production on 'Machete'

Which is a smart call. But all of these photos that inevitably wind up getting leaked to the press? They’ve got one thing in common – they were ALL self-taken. All of them were the result of a decision, made for whatever reason, by Jess, Blake and Scarlett to take nude photos of themselves.

Maybe it’s just an ego thing that I can’t fathom. That these are women who live their entire lives in front of a lens, adored by millions, every movement recorded. They’re sex symbols, who have been objectified and worshipped for years now. Maybe there’s an inability NOT to be photographed, or recorded.

I don’t know…

What we do know is that Scarlett Johansson is a human being, and undoubtedly she’s embarrassed – her privacy has been violated, and she’d be hurting right now. And far be it from me to tell anyone else what to do in the bedroom, or in the privacy of their own home.

But maybe… just maybe… for the movie mega-stars, girls in year 10 and suburban housewives alike…

For the sake of your dignity AND your professional credibility, maybe settling for some good ol’ fashioned phone sex when you’re lonely ain’t so bad after all, huh?

Because I like looking at incredibly attractive women like Scarlett, sure. But hopefully I speak for one or two other men when I say that we can do without the digital age version of clandestinely peeping through your neighbours bedroom window.

Even if your neighbour does look like this.