Guttenberg Galaxy

Not all that infrequently, TV provides the answers to my pop-culture prayers. Like that I'd live to see the day that Steve Guttenberg's career is resurrected to its former glory. Despite recent appearances in such films as P.S. Your Cat Is Dead! (2002), and Single Santa Seeks Mrs. Claus (2004; co-starring alongside Crystal Bernard, no less...still awaiting her own post-Wings resurrection a la Thomas Haden Church), Guttenberg has yet to make a Hollywood comeback worthy of his superstardom in the 1980s. For a number of years, I've found the Guttenberg situation troubling, to say the least. I mean, back in the day, this guy was the shit. As the charismatic, wisecracking Sgt. Carey Mahoney, he was the Tom Cruise of the Police Academy crew. Then came two more successful franchises, Cocoon - in which he more than held his own as the cast's sole non-octogenarian - and Three Men and a Baby. But the dawn of the 1990s seemed to bring an end to the age of Guttenberg. Then, almost 20 years later, along comes the 6th season of Dancing with the Stars, giving the much-deserving Guttenberg an opportunity to foxtrot right into America's hearts once again.

Granted, a Dancing with the Stars turn may not be the most preferable route to comeback heaven. But if any 1980s movie icon deserves a second chance at stardom, it's Steve Guttenberg. Should he sign on to a Police Academy 7 reunion project (which I'd pitch as Police Academy meets Cocoon), I'd happily forgive him for skipping out on Police Academy 5 and 6 -- which, looking back, was probably a really wise decision on his part. So Hollywood, if you're listening (and I mean YOU, Ron Howard), it's time to pay tribute to the Gutte and show him a little casting sugar. You know we love him. Now's the time to bring him back. And while you're at it, here's a few more 80s superstars who also deserve to be removed from the "Where are they now?" D-list and put back in the spotlight (a la "Dr. McDreamy" Patrick Dempsey, formerly known as "that guy from Can't Buy Me Love):

Kathleen Turner - Romancing the Stone, Jewel of the Nile, let's go for the trilogy, folks. I'm
sure Michael Douglas and Danny DeVito would be up for it. And think of the DVD collector's edition re-release box set sales!

Shelley Long - The world is divided into Diane Chambers people and Rebecca Howe people. I am a devoted Diane person, which is part of why I would looove to see Shelley Long make a comeback. She's a genius at screwball comedy (exhibit A, The Money Pit, one of my all-time favourite films). She's worthy of so much more than perennial Carol Brady gigs.

Nick Nolte - Unfortunately, young people these days know this former "Sexiest Man Alive" (1992) solely from his humiliating DUI mug shots. I stand by my claim that the man's still got it goin' on. I adored his turn in Paris je t'aime, and it got me thinking...someone needs to call up Sofia Coppola and put Nick's considerable charms back on the map with a Lost in Translation-esque age-gap romance. Brilliant, I know. Let's make it happen, people.

There's so many more stars that could be added to this list...perhaps this entry will have a sequel. Suggestions, anyone?

All is Right with the Royals

I, for one, am relieved by the latest breaking news stories on Prince William and Prince Harry, who have been photographed groping a girl on the dance floor and falling down drunk outside a nightclub, respectively. Proof positive, I say, that the young Princes are perfectly normal early twentysomething males. I'm glad they aren't missing out on any of the typical extra-curricular activities enjoyed by their MTV Spring Break peers. And you've got to feel sorry for the guys--I mean, how many of us would want hordes of papparazzi trailing us each and every time we go out for an evening of drinking and debauchery? Imagine a photo of you bumping booties with that random dude from your dorm making front page news in every national newspaper. Or worse, CNN running a video of you bowing to the porcelain god after a night of Jagermeister gone wild. Bottom line, the Princes are just as entitled to some wild and damaging partying as the rest of us. Just watch out for those hands, ladies...

A New Match for Marilyn

OK, so this is week-old news, but just to re-cap: the latest star marriage to shatter into so many dysfunctional, yet gossip-mag digestible pieces is that of Marilyn Manson and Dita Von Teese. The New York Post printed a decidedly Von Teese-sided article January 5th, titled "Dita Dumps Messed-Up Manson," that included the following synopsis:

"Sources say the raven-haired bombshell filed for the split right before Christmas, but Manson has been unaware of it because she couldn't get in touch with him....Friends say Manson had been boozing heavily last year, much to Von Teese's dismay, but she'd desperately tried to hold on. "She really tried to make this work," the friend said.""

A very sad state of affairs, apparently. Furthermore, from the same Post article:

"Von Teese's pals say they are squarely on her side. "Well, at least now she won't have to share her makeup," one quipped. [Ohhh, snap!] It's not known yet whether Von Teese plans to ask for custody of the couple's two cats, Lily and Aleister, and dachshunds, Greta and Eva."

No matter how nasty the break-up gets, let's keep the pets' best interests at heart, folks.

I can't say I've cultivated much personal fandom for Manson's music. In fact, it was around the time he made it big in the alt-rock scene that I started experiencing my first twinges of crotchetiness (sp? even a word?) towards "young people's music". Ironically, I was about 15 at the time, but I digress.

Even though I can't say I'm a fan, I certainly do hope that Manson's heartbreak heals and that he may even be back on the dating scene someday. I'm thinking that next time around, Manson should try courting a new type of gal for a change. Somebody preppy, perky and fond of wearing pastels. Somebody like...Mandy Moore. Perfect! Sort of like Marilyn Munster meets Marilyn Manson.

Sounds like a match made in, er...Hollywood? Hey, you never know.

Pam Gets Rocked

Congratulations are in order for Pamela Anderson and Kid Rock, who threw one fabulous party in St. Tropez today to celebrate their not-quite-yet-legal marriage. In keeping with Canadian tradition, the bride wore a white string bikini. According to Pam's website, "Pics will be out soon, from inside the boat we took." Uh-oh. Pam + amorous husband + boat...

All the best to the happy couple, but let's hope they left the camcorder at home.

You Go, Lance!

Today, former N'Sync member Lance Bass officially came out, making the following statement to the media:

“The thing is, I’m not ashamed — that’s the one thing I want to say. I don’t think it’s wrong, I’m not devastated going through this. I’m more liberated and happy than I’ve been my whole life. I’m just happy.”

You know, I never was much of an N'Sync fan, but this was one of the most heartwarming news stories I've heard all week. You go, Lance!

Running Farrell

My trip to L.A. is now officially complete--I have been to a red-carpet movie premiere. Miami Vice premiered tonight at the Mann Village Theatre in Westwood and I simply could not pass up the opportunity to saunter down the street after dinner and snap some pictures of the divine Messrs. Farrell and Foxx.

Never having been to one of these gigs before, I wasn't exactly sure where the best vantage point for star-watching would be. I first stood on the street corner out in front of Stan's Donuts (where I've been three times in the past week) amidst a pack of professional autograph hounds who, quite frankly, frightened me just a bit. Some of them were kind of like the L.A. equivalent of Comic Book Store Guy from the Simpsons.

Fortunately, a security guard came along and offered to take a group of people to the red-carpet-side bleachers across the street. I opted to go along, which resulted in me gaining a clear view of the stars as they made their way down the press gauntlet.

Using my old-school 35mm point-and-shoot camera, I snapped photos of Angie Harmon and Jason Sehorn, Tyrese, Victoria Rowell, Li Gong, Regina King, Pieter Jan Brugge (the film's producer), and, of course, Jamie Foxx and Colin Farrell. I also took a nice shot of Philip Michael Thomas. Unfortunately, Don Johnson was nowhere to be seen.

All the actors looked every bit as attractive in person as they do on film. Which, of course, did not surprise me. All in all, this is probably one of the most aesthetically-pleasing trips I've ever taken. I'm going to have to ease myself back into reality slowly this weekend.

Doggy Fizzle Publishizzle

According to an article published last month on The Book Standard, Snoop Dogg will be making his literary debut this October with his first novel, titled Love Don't Live Here No More. Not to be confused with the 1978 Rose Royce hit, "Love Don't Live Here Anymore," Snoop's novel will tell the story of "a young man living the hard life in Southern California while struggling to make it in the world of hip-hop."

The article goes on to note that the novel will be the first in a "street-lit" series headed by Snoop for Atria Books, a division of Simon & Schuster. Kathleen Schmidt, v.p. and director of publicity for Atria told The Book Standard that “Snoop, by nature of what he does, is a storyteller." Furthermore, Ms. Schmidt explains, “Books speak more to a female audience than does [Snoop's] music, so these novels give him an opportunity to show, particularly his female fans, another side.”

Rrrrriiiigghht. I assume she means the side of Snoop other than the one responsible for rapping such tunes as "Bitches Ain't Shit But Hoes and Tricks," "Break a Bitch 'Til I Die," and "Can You Control Yo Hoe?" (featuring the memorable lyric, "You've got to put that bitch in her place/Even if it's slapping her in the face"). We've apparently now entered a new era of Barnes & Noble-friendly Snoop (personally, I think changing the book's title to Love Don't Live Here No More, Bitch would help ensure a smoother trans-media crossover).

I wish Snoop the best of luck with his new endeavour. If nothing else, it's gonna make Book-TV a hell of a lot more exciting this fall. As far as winning over the female audience goes, I guess I should keep an open mind. Even old Doggz learn new tricks.

Say It Ain't So, Kevbo

Oh, how the once-mighty have fallen. No, I'm not talking about Keith Richards' recent plummet from a coconut tree. I'm talking about the recent allegations pertaining to Kevin Costner's, er, indiscretions at a Scottish spa. I do not intend to devote this entry to the nature of these allegations (N.B.--This blog deals only in oblique references to smutty gossip; if you want the real deal, you'll have to Google elsewhere. I have standards to uphold). Rather, I thought I would take this unfortunate turn of alleged events as an opportunity to cast a look back at the golden era of Costner's stardom and pause for a few moments to wonder where the hell it went and why.

Some fifteen years ago, it seemed Costner's star image would collapse under the weight of its own over-exposure. The man was skyrocketing into ever higher echelons of fame at a seemingly unstoppable rate. Recall the path he blazed to glory between 1988 and 1991: Bull Durham (1988), Field of Dreams (1989), Dances with Wolves (1990--the Best Director award/Best Actor nomination combo was, in hindsight, a harbinger of the madness to come. We can thank Mel Gibson for what we now know about such omens), and Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991). Women around the world between the ages of 24 and 65, including my grade 7 homeroom teacher, succumbed to schoolgirl-like Costner crushes. I remember watching Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves in class and not daring to question its relevance to French-Canadian fur trading routes. As far as my teacher was concerned, if it was Costner, it was kosher.

But then, then...Costner started engaging in some decision making that made us wonder whether he really wanted to hang on to the incomparable fame he had achieved or instead wished to see how quickly it would self-destruct. First, there was The Bodyguard (1992), a supremely odd and overblown picture in which Costner was entirely outshone by the soundtrack (never a good sign). Then, a couple of years later, we got to witness the now-mythical box-office disaster that was Waterworld (which, I actually went to see at the mall theatre with my friends--one of the lowest points of my moviegoing life). By the time The Postman came out in 1997, we knew Costner's days of superstardom were over.

To Costner's credit, it was a glorious, if perhaps overly earnest and oftentimes pretentious, ride. Now, it remains to be seen whether he will allow himself to be defeated by the dual Hollywood foes of scandal and age, or whether he will pull it out of the fire and turn both those foes to his advantage. Which is possible, if he can embrace those invaluable allies of fallen stars, camp and irony. I'd cite the John Travolta-Pulp Fiction precedent here, but, well, that hasn't panned out so good. Maybe Kevin Costner can make a lasting comeback. And hey Mr. C., if you do, make sure to write out clear instructions for Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt on how you managed it. Because in a few years, they're gonna need them (trust me on this one).