Well Played

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[Photo: WENN.com]

LISA RINNA: FINE, fine, America, WHATEVER YOU WANT.

HARRY HAMLIN: Come on, Lisa, I can't believe you listened to those yokels! They're just afraid of what they feel!

LISA: No, no, Harry, if America wants me to put away my crotch, and the high-slit/boobs combo, and the Joan Collins hair, then FINE. FAR BE IT FROM ME to disobey the will of the public.

HARRY: What's the problem, America? Why you gotta be like that? She's got GREAT thigh cleavage! Why are you spoiling everyone else's fun?

LISA: Are you HAPPY NOW, America? I'm clothed AND you upset my husband!

HARRY: I just can't believe these prudes are crotch haters! They should be THANKING you! They're LUCKY to see what I see every day! And they don't even have to share with you their L.A. Law residuals!

LISA: WHAT L.A. Law residuals? Nobody reruns that show, Harry.

HARRY: NOW LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE, AMERICA. You've made her CRANKY and she's TAKING IT OUT ON L.A. LAW.

LISA: Let's just go, Harry. We've given them what they want. Now let's get this evening over with so I can take off this itchy fabric and set my essence free.
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VALENTINO: Anne. Pet.

ANNE HATHAWAY: Hello!

VALENTINO: I cannot believe my eyes.

ANNE: Thank you! I AM pretty pleased with my dress. My cleavage looks a bit fabulous.

VALENTINO: SO WHITE.

ANNE: ... Okay, now I have no idea whether it's a compliment or not.

VALENTINO: How are you so PALE? It's so UNNATURAL!

ANNE: ... Did he just tell me MY skin is unnatural?

VALENTINO: Skin the color of paper! It has to be a practical joke! Where is that George Clooney? Is he behind this?

ANNE: But this is totally the skin color I was born with -- I'm fair, you know? I like myself that way.

VALENTINO: Like? LIKE?

ANNE: Yeah! I'm proud of how I look. Porcelain skin is in, man.

VALENTINO: HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

ANNE: No, really, it's...

VALENTINO: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

ANNE: You're serious?

VALENTINO: HA.

ANNE: Because...

VALENTINO: HAH HA HAAAAAAAAA HA HA HAAA. IT MADE A FUNNY! HA HA HA HA!

ANNE: This is going to be a long night.

March 10, 2009

Well Played, Rose Byrne

OKAY. We're making progress here.

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Rose (wearing a very pretty dress in dusty rose, in what I'm sure is an unintentionally twee coincidence) actually looks moderately alive. Of all the times I've seen her, she looks the LEAST like she's about to barf all over her skirt from nerves, or burst into tears at the merest change of wind, or faint if you call out her name. She's wearing the merest hint of a quasi-smile. In fact, she's all but decided it's time to consider expressing a modicum of cheer. It's a MIRACLE. Maybe there's hope for this one after all.

Oh, K.Bell. We have gone through so many ups and downs, haven't we? And I was so scared when I saw you at the Miss Sixty show, figuring you might get some toxic ideas in your head and show up at parties in that acid-washed-denim strapless jumpsuit. But maybe that show was your way of reminding yourself what NOT to do, as this is most decidedly a crest and not a trough:

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[Photo: PacificCoastNewsOnline.com]

I LOVE that dress. I want that dress. I will never have that dress. Which is not a very happy ending for me, but I'm used to it -- my relationship with pretty celebrity fashion has always been one of unrequited ardor, and my bank account prefers it that way. I suppose keeping the roof over my head, rather than buying dresses with four-figure price-tags but living beneath an overpass in an old appliance box, IS a happy ending in itself.
As a follower of celebrity trends, a woman, a person blessed with the power of sight, and a human being, I would like to officially offer a heartfelt expression of thanks to Robert Pattinson, for showering:

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You clean up so good, dude! You're so cute! Was it really that hard? (Your tie is like a hair too short, but let's pretend that was just because Kid Who Plays Jacob That Everyone Wants To Recast Maybe was throttling you with it earlier, in some kind of job-insecurity-related stress rage, and we really can't hold you responsible for that. Especially in light of the fact that you look SO MUCH BETTER THANK GOD.)

Stewart, I'll deal with you later. Let's just say...Jessica Biel's Unwashed Oscar Hair of Shame was maybe not the right choice.
Mostly, the people who swapped outfits after the Oscars were ladies who had really dramatic trains that risked getting ruined -- people like Marisa Tomei or Penelope Cruz, who clearly did not want to look down and see a plate of shrimp, half a glass of red wine, and Madonna's shoe-print all over their beautifully elaborate hems. However, Alicia Keys joined the ranks of those who changed just because.

Here's what she had on for the red-carpet portion of events:

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I love that pinkish-purple, and her lipstick complements it nicely (I cannot thank her ENOUGH for not doing a nude or pale-pink lip, because I am generally tired of those), although that shiny eyeshadow does contour her a TAD too much -- sometimes I had to blink to make absolutely sure it really was Alicia Keys, and not some lookalike who only got in because she hummed two bars of "Fallen" to the security guard. And I admit to being semi-distracted by the bodice; when she was on-screen, I'd immediately wonder why her right boob was higher and two cup sizes smaller than the left, and then have to remind myself it's just a trick of the dress.

But in the end, there's something undeniably floaty and romantic about it. Her actual loveliness often gets lost by some weird ensemble or other -- skintight jeans, jumpsuits with lumpy crotches. Not so here. For which I am ALSO profoundly grateful, because if she'd shown up wearing a spandex jumpsuit with a biscuit-sized bulge in exactly the wrong place, I'd have gotten an attack of the vapors.

This dress didn't make it to the after-party, though. Here's what did:

Yes, that's right, you read the headline correctly -- this is probably going to be a really unpopular opinion, but I don't care. I am going to defend Miley Cyrus' Oscar dress. Because the more I read how much people hated it, the more I'm like, "... Wow, I really didn't think it was that bad at ALL."

To do it, though, I'm going to start with what she wore last year. Remember this?

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At the time a lot of critics -- including me, and I still stand by it -- thought this was overly aging. Like she was trying to be a demure 25-year old, and while I appreciate the instinct not to skank it up at her first-ever Oscars and ESPECIALLY at her young age, it came off more like she borrowed a dress from her mother. Under extreme duress. At the time Miley was 15 and whether you like her or not, she's got a really lively personality. She banters with Ryan Seacrest better than people twice her age, even if occasionally that banter is about how bummed she is that she got a hand-me-down Porsche for her birthday. (I mean, I hope she can also have her tight diamond shoes stretched so they don't give her blisters -- seriously, I've had the same Honda since I was 20, and I just found out the front undercarriage is being held together by a coat hanger. For real. I have no idea how it happened.) Yet somehow she hits this oddly entertaining combo of acting her age AND being personable, and this dress really wastes that.

So, now let's jump ahead to this year's Oscars and take a gander at what she picked:
That's right, Aniston, prepare to be shocked and amazed: We totally dug this dress on you.

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It's not black! It's not plain! It's downright glittery! It's completely flattering! And frankly, you have every right to look happy, since you stood up there in front of Brangelina -- knowing full well that the entire time you and Jack Black did your comedy bit, the telecast directors would be squawking about cutting to as many shots of them staring up at you as possible -- and you nailed it gracefully and as if nobody in the room had ever divorced you and then knocked up the world's most beautiful woman two times. It's a shame you're dating kind of a douche. A funny douche, and a personable one, sure, but still, isn't it a tad fishy that John Mayer was supposedly asking for "space" and "breathing room" and other commitment-phobe cliches about a week or two ago, then conveniently decided to be all over you at the post-parties for the Academy Awards? Although maybe you see right through it. Maybe you wanted it that way -- seriously, bring a date who appears smitten with your yoga-sculpted hot ass, just in case you bump into Angelina at the bar. Maybe you are a genius. Regardless, you looked gorgeous, so bask in the glow of our collective affection and then go find a nicer, more reliable boy toy that you are not in danger of needing to enroll in Tool Academy. That Zachary Levi is cute, AND tall. John Stamos is single -- who doesn't love Uncle Jesse? Ben Roethlisberger needs a nice lady friend to remind him about wearing helmets on his motorcycle. See? There are options.

February 23, 2009

Well Played, Viola Davis

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VIOLA DAVIS: I am so excited. I can't believe I'm here!

DUDE BEHIND VIOLA DAVIS: Holy cats. That woman is FOXY.

VIOLA: I had twelve minutes on the movie screen and my nose was totally running for at least half of it! But I still got nominated, because I kind of stole the hell out of that scene from Meryl Streep!

DBVD: I could play her like a viola, if you get my meaning. She could come join my string quartet, if you hear my drift.

VIOLA: I'm 43 years old and I never thought this time would come, but it did!

DBVD: She's 43?!?!? HOT DAMN. Shoot, somehow that makes her even finer. I cannot stop checking out her ass. I may need to Twitter her, if you know what I'm saying.

VIOLA: I am going to WORK THIS, fools! Drink it in, but it won't be your only sip!

DBVD: Sip? Why, I could tap that entire cask of finest vino and chug it in two minutes, if you smell what I'm steppin' in, succulent lady!

VIOLA: 'Cause, see, I have a rockin' bod and a killer face, this dress rules on me, and I don't look a day over 35. So after my big nomination, I am NOT going to disappear into the ether or do Botox ads like that Virginia Madsen person. Hell no, Hollywood. I am here to STAY. GET READY TO LOVE ME, Y'ALL!

DBVD: Yeeeeeah, baby, that's right -- I already love you. I could love you all night. Maybe even until sometime in the early morning, before I have to sneak back home and get in bed just in case my mother checks on me and notices I put a blow-up toy under the covers. Which.... shoot, my curfew is in fifteen minutes. At least this will make the AWESOMEST Facebook status update EVER.
It's been quite a week of fuggery, hasn't it? M.I.A. and Mayisha at the Grammys, Roisin Murphy's pants, Zooey Deschanel's saggy dress, and Alice Dellal's eye-searing number that almost made me cry blood... And it's only Thursday. We still have ONE MORE DAY and we've already been exposed to enough strong fug rays to get a screaming burn. Too bad they dont make fugscreen lotion.

Let's see if this is the next best thing:

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Yes, that's right, The Rock -- oops, I mean, Dwayne Johnson; sorry -- YOU just might be the cure. You are ridiculously smooth. And soothing. You are charming eye candy, a lozenge in these sore-throated times of pained screams at the sight of Alice Dellal's crotch trying to peek out from behind a strip of spandex. Thank you for being you, Dwayne. Thank you on behalf of all Dwaynes in the world for making the name Dwayne cool (get back to me when you can bodyslam an angry dude in tights, Dwayne Wade; and sorry, Dwayne Wayne, but you didn't quite get there either). And thank you for lowering my blood pressure. If we are ever hiring another intern to help lighten George's workoad, we promise to consider your application.

And now, buoyed by the calming sight of his mug (and the memory of what it looked like when he wore his WWE spankies), I am ready to confront another day. Bring it on, Friday. DO YOUR WORST.

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