You’ll Just Barely Be Able to Tell the Difference Between Kylie Jenner and Her Wax Figure

Kylie Jenner turned up at Madame Tussauds in Hollywood on Tuesday night to unveil her wax figure. The racy reality TV star posed for photos on the red carpet with her double wearing a sexy black dress, while the wax figure was done up in a silver gown inspired by Kylie’s 2016 Met Gala look — and needless to say, the resemblance was uncanny. The wax figure people really nailed everything about the 19-year-old, from her lips and eyebrows to her signature red carpet pose. It was so accurate that apparently Kylie’s family members couldn’t even tell the difference; Kylie shared an Instagram photo of herself and the figure wearing Snapchat filters, writing, «I made her FaceTime my whole family . . . fooled everyone.» She’s the puppy on the left, by the way.

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Mentalist Derren Brown Makes Magic From the Stories We Tell Ourselves

I’m filing out of New York’s Atlantic Theater, where I’ve just seen British mentalist Derren Brown perform his first American stage show, Secret. Around me, people are trying to work out how the two hours of tricks were done. I keep fidgeting, checking my phone—anything not to eavesdrop. With Brown’s work, and magic…

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Halle Berry Says She’s Not Trying To Tell Us She’s Knocked Up

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Halle Berry is one of those sneaky types of attention whores. The kind that, when the paparazzi accosts her, she pretends to be annoyed and starts throwing shit and yelling at them like the crazy cat lady who lives on your grandmom’s block. But whenever she needs them for publicity, she tones the crazy all the way down. For example, at Saturday nights Chrysalis Butterfly Ball in Los Angeles, Halle arrived with her plus one either being a new baby friend forming in her belly, or the remains of a gigantic steak burrito from Taco Bell busting out of her gut.

Honey reports that Halle showed up packing a little extra weight in her mid section, and people were whispering that the weight belonged to a future income tax check dependent.

As of recently, Halle added a series of steamy pics to her Instagram page, one featuring her giving us Showgirls 2: Bitch Please realness behind smoked glass and the following of her wearing a t-shirt that looks like it came from a Walking Dead themed garage sale.

Summer’s coming… let’s shine up our crowns ladies! Let’s do it like @justmike_

A post shared by Halle Berry (@halleberry) on

Clearly the shirt should have read “Stunt Queen Antics Comin’!” because that’s what this shit smells like. However, the shirt is very accurate, because according to the Mirror, Halle is single and free to do all the fucking she pleases right now.

The actress is not knowingly with anyone at the moment, having divorced her French actor husband Olivier Martinez in December 2016, with whom she has three-year-old son Maceo.

She’s also the mum to daughter Nahla, aged nine, who she shares with Gabriel Aubry from their previous relationship.

But speaking of children, Halle also had a conversation about her womb on Ellen in 2014:

Halle told Ellen DeGeneres on her chat show that discovering she was pregnant with her second child at the age of 47 was a total shock – especially as she thought her baby-making days were over.

“They call it a geriatric pregnancy. I was, you know, on my way … this is probably way TMI, but I was really, you know, kinda premenopausal so to have this happen was a huge [shock]. I mean, I didn’t think it was possible to have another baby … So, I’ve learned never to say never.”

Well, we can all say “never” this morning and join hands to let out a very loud “WOOHOO!!!,” because Maury’s test results are in and Halle….you are NOT the mother(to-be). Extra just cleared up these ridiculous science fiction type pregnancy rumors and swatted down speculation of her impending third kid with a huge “HELLLLLL NO!!”

Berry brought some attention to her tummy, placing her hand on it on the purple carpet as the cameras were flashing.

Her rep shut down the rumors, telling “Extra” Monday morning that she is not pregnant.

So basically what this means is that Halle noticed all the attention Janet Jackson got earlier this year from having her first child at the tender age of 50 and figured, “Let me slide on into my sparkly shit and get the paps tongues wagging for a bit!” Nice try Halle, but on this day we all played the role of Velma from Scooby-Doo to unmask your tricks and bullshit. FOILED AGAIN, BITCH!

Here are a few more pics of Mama Halle and the burrito baby at the Butterfly Ball.

Pics: WENN

Dlisted

What in the Drunken Slurring Fuck is Johnny Depp Doing In ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales’?

Getting this out of the way first: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales is not a terrible movie.

It’s not great.

But it’s also not awful.

It almostkindasorta works. Parts of it. Of those parts, approximately *drags out wrist calculator* zero of them belong to Johnny Depp.

Depp is back for the fifth time as Captain Jack Sparrow, the role that gave him his first Oscar nomination, and boy is it a goddamned embarrassing mess. Dead Men Tell No Tales has Sparrow go through all the same narrative hoops he faced in the previous movies: a hunt for treasure, an enemy from his past, constantly shifting alliances, a daring escape from the gallows. The plot, such as it is, involves Sparrow teaming up with Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann’s son, Henry (Brenton Thwaites), and plucky orphan Carina (Kaya Scodelario) to hunt down the Trident of Poseidon, a magical McGuffin that allows its wielder to rule over the seas and break any curse. Getting down to the nuts and bolts of it, nothing makes a ton of sense. You just have to throw your hands up and let the wacky wash over you.

A shambling mess of a story that’s riddled with plot holes and relies on coincidence wouldn’t be a dealbreaker—it’s not optimal, but I’m always down for a hefty dose of weird shit in the movies—if the whole thing weren’t hinged on the performance of Depp.

It’s baaaad, y’all.

In the first Pirates movie, Depp’s performance worked because it was slightly left of center, all swanning around and making these big expansive gestures and just generally being unpredictable and fun. In the years since Pirates first came out, Depp’s crawled up his own ass so far he went and found Tim Burton. His performance in this movie is all schtick. He slurs so much that I just plain couldn’t catch a good quarter of his dialogue. You remember that story about how doesn’t learn his lines anymore, and he showed up late to set and (reportedly) was fed his dialogue through an earpiece? Yeah. You can tell. Dead Men Tell No Tales is the natural endpoint of a craft that’s balanced more and more towards a lazy dependence on over the top mannerisms at the expense of actual acting. Well. At least it’s the endpoint until The Invisible Man comes out.

Depp’s not helped by a comedy-lite script where the idea of a funny joke is a running gag where a character says she’s a «horologist» and people interpret that to mean she’s a sex worker. Also, I’d be remiss not to mention a flashback scene where we see young Jack Sparrow, decades erased from Depp’s face by the magic of computers a la Captain America: Civil War (with Robert Downey Jr.) or Rogue One (with Carrie Fisher). Except this magic is of the black variety, because this shit is bar none the worst example of the ever-more-common de-aging phenomenon I have ever seen. It’s some uncanny valley creepiness. I know what Depp looked like when he was younger, and it wasn’t «plastic golem whose face looks like it’s about to somehow simultaneously melt and explode.» No one needed this. Just hire a young lookalike.

Aside from Depp… look, Dead Men Tell No Tales is fine. It’s an airplane movie. It’s dragged down by the presence of Thwaites, who makes absolutely no impression whatsoever. Scodelario fares slightly better as Carina, who’s very «Disney princess, Pirates-style.» She’s young and spunky and likes science and has a takes-no-shit attitude. I like the idea of her more than I like the character herself. Carina, unlike the great Elizabeth Swann before her, is fairly clunky and one-dimensional, and it’s hard to get invested in any romance subplot when one half of it is charisma vacuum Thwaites. Seeing Sparrow ogle Carina and, at one point, push her off a roof (onto a waiting hay cart, but still), isn’t (understatement alert) particularly fun given what we’ve come to know of Depp in real life. And Depp acting out a «once-great man, now washed up, gets his mojo back» character arc… yeah. Don’t really care for it! Sorry not sorry, Disney.

It’s not all bad. Geoffrey Rush is back as Sparrow’s off-and-on ally Barbossa, now a louche, even more extravagantly dressed than normal pirate king of the seas. He’s amazing, as he is in all the Pirates movies, even when everything around him is shit. The visual of a peg-legged Geoffrey Rush swinging into shot on a giant anchor is almost enough—almost—to make Dead Men Tell No Tales worth the cost of admission. Depp may be phoning in it, but Rush is a goddamned professional, and he puts in the effort and hams it up like he should. Clocking in similarly high on the drama scale is Javier Bardem as new villain Captain Salazar. As with Depp, you can’t understand a good chunk of his dialogue, snarling and heavily accented as it is, but fuck it, Bardem’s having a good time.

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Look at this. I love it. It’s great.

Some of the visuals and action setpieces are entertaining. There are zombie sharks. Dead Men Tell No Tales was directed by Joachim Rønning and Espen Sandberg, who scored a Best Foreign Language Oscar nomination in 2012 for Kon-Tiki, about the attempt of legendary explorer Thor Heyerdahl to cross the Pacific in a wooden raft. It’s an excellent film, and proof that Rønning and Sandberg know their way around a seafaring adventure. There are glimmers of that in Dead Man’s Chest, but ultimately it’s dragged down by far too much dead weight.

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Johnny Depp Vetoed A Female Villain For ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man Tell No Tales’

This week sees the release of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales, the fifth installation of the franchise and Hollywood’s latest attempt to assuage all those assault allegations because isn’t Johnny Depp quirky! The film stars Javier Bardem as the vengeance-driven villain Salazar, an undead sea captain who wants Depp’s Jack Sparrow dead. But it turns out an early pitch of the sequel could have had a female foe, if it weren’t for Depp putting the kibosh on it.

Movie Pilot uncovered a blog (which is currently offline) by screenwriter Terry Rossio, who had a hand in writing every Pirates of the Caribbean film to date. Recounting the development of Dead Men Tell No Tales, Rossio wrote:

«My version of Dead Men Tell No Tales was set aside because it featured a female villain, and Johnny Depp was worried that would be redundant to Dark Shadows, which also featured a female villain.»

The implication here seems to be that either Depp didn’t want to remind anyone of the absolute bomb that was Dark Shadows by having the common thread of a villainess, or that the scandalized actor somehow thinks that Dark Shadows having a female antagonist was somehow the problem with the Tim Burton debacle. Because Depp himself could not possibly have been in any way to blame for the absolute awfulness of that wildly dumb adaptation. Because Eva Green—no. I won’t even follow the thread of presumed Depp-thought that blames Eva «I was made to make even the shittiest movie better by my mere presence and theatricality» Green for Dark Shadows failing. There was a lot wrong with that flick, but Green was nothing but so so right.

I can’t help but wonder if maybe Depp thought it might not be a good look for him to battle a woman onscreen right now. Regardless, Depp got his way. There are women in Dead Men Tell No Tales, but none of them villains. Still, the high-seas moving is tanking with critics (including this one).

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Who might Depp blame if this film bombs like The Lone Ranger, Transcendence, and Mortdecai?

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I Think McKayla Maroney Is Trying To Tell Us Something


McKayla Maroney announced over the weekend that the ass video posted to her IG was not the work of some Russian hacker or some disgruntled old boyfriend who had her IG password. She uploaded the ass video and added, “unfollow if u need to. all love.”

Guys, it took me maybe 2 minutes to see what’s going on with her IG account. This is clearly a chick who has hit 21, doesn’t want to be framed as the gymnastics girl and wants some recognition for having an incredible ass.

All those moms out there who followed her because she’s an Olympic hero just need to face the facts that McKayla’s all grown up. This is your final notice.

Instagram Photo

This has to be one of the most impressive post-Olympics transformations I’ve ever seen. Normally the ladies go with the suburban mom route so the sponsors keep pumping their accounts with cash. McKayla’s clearly not playing that game.

Game over.


Sports Gossip, Sexy WAGs, NFL and Hot Cheerleaders: BustedCoverage

Hold Me Tight And Tell Me It’s Going To Be Okay: Prince Hot Ginge Is Probably Getting Engaged Soon 

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I got a later start than usual today, and it wasn’t because I had to lure my shivering and scared liver out of the corner with milk thistle while promising it that I’ll never ever celebrate Cinco de Mayo again. I got a later start because I needed to explain to the police this morning that the “guinea pig on helium getting choked out” noise that my neighbors called 911 about was just me wailing over the pictures from The Sun of Prince Hot Ginge sucking on Meghan Markle’s face.

On Saturday, Meghan Markle made her first semi-official appearance as Prince Hot Ginge’s full-time piece at a charity polo match in Ascot, Berkshire. PHG played in the match and Meghan was there to cheer him on. While in the parking lot of the polo club, PHG and Future Princess Meghan touched lips and the paps just so happened to get pictures of it. This is the part of the day when some of us curse at the gods over not being born a basic cable TV actress, because then we’d be the ones getting into parking lot suck face action with PHG instead of spending a Saturday making out with our own hand, which we drew PHG’s face on with an orange marker.

Meghan and PHG are going to keep the public shit going by showing up to Pippa Middleton’s wedding together later this month. Pippa has reportedly put a “no ring, no bring” rule on the ceremony, so Meghan was only going to go to the reception as PHG’s date. But now The Telegraph is hearing that Pippa is bending that rule for Meghan and letting her go to the wedding ceremony too.

But in an apparent exception to the rule, sources have told The Daily Telegraph that Miss Markle will attend the wedding, despite being neither married nor engaged to Prince Harry.

So Meghan made her sort of official debut as PHG’s girlfriend this past weekend and now she’s been allowed to go to Pippa’s wedding ceremony. Either they’re going to get engaged in a minute or they’re already engaged. If it’s the second one, then I hope that during Pippa’s wedding ceremony, Meghan oh-so-casually lifts her left hand to her face and Pippa’s eyes are temporarily blinded by the spark shooting off of a giant engagement ring on Meghan’s finger. PHG’s engagement news will be much easier to take if it’s paired with grainy cell phone video of a raging Pippa Middleton jumping into the church pews to whoop a spotlight-stealing trick’s ass.

Pic: @TheSun

 

Dlisted

So This Is What Happens When ‘Archer’ Just Decides To Tell A Story

Archer has always been a show that revolves around its perennially perfect cast delivering glorious gags and dialogues to die for. While its episode plots are often inventive and perfectly suitable in terms of delivering the crew into any number of scenarios so as to see them react in the funniest ways possible, the overarching season narratives, such as they are, have been largely irrelevant. Or I should say: they have been at best unimportant, and at worse completely forgettable. I can vaguely recall some details about the earlier, ISIS seasons, but dammed if I can think of any Whys or Hows about the CIA stuff that came later.

Not that Archer, or any other comedy show really, should be obliged to provide a season-long narrative through line, but it always feels quite nice in a way when it does. One of the otherwise overall weaker seasons of this show, Archer: Vice stands almost alone in that regard: it dared to tell a self-contained story with relatively well-defined boundaries and goals. The ex-ISIS crew, coming into a large stash of illicit coke, become drug cartel; something something outlaw country; something something South American escalation. Sure it was a bit of a mess, but it felt distinct, and the bigger story felt like an actual story rather than just a backdrop.

Four episodes in and Archer: Dreamland is proving to be a very satisfying synthesis of the superior gags of the earlier seasons and the narrative cohesion of Archer: Vice. Mix in that noir aesthetic and baby, you got a stew going.

Episode 4 — ‘Archer Dreamland: Ladyfingers’

Four episodes in and each episode of Dreamland has picked up exactly where the last one left of. In this case, the heiress VanderTunt has been kidnapped after trying to fake her own death. Well, sort of kidnapped. She’s in Mother’s Dreamland office, being loomed over by the colossal, dinosaur-sounding bouncer, with Mother trying to get through to the patriarch VanderTunt in order to extract a ransom and press her advantage against rival mob boss, Len Trexler. Cheryl, as ever, remains an absolute deranged treat. Brought to life by the inimitable Judy Greer (who embodies Cheryl’s madness so perfectly that if I ever met the actress in person I’d probably be terrified on hearing that voice) she cycles through terror, arousal, and boredom as powerful forces swirl around her.

And while we’re on the subject of (Vander)Tunts: Cecil!

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Last seen a few seasons ago in the two-part ‘Sea Tunt’, Cecil has morphed, in Archer’s wonderful noir-tinged mind, from a slightly odd, wealthy philanthropist into a much more Cheryl-style unhinged character. Eugene Mirman really shows off his delivery chops in ‘Ladyfingers’ as his line readings are pure gold throughout the episode.

Of course Cecil is there to help propel the plot along too. Archer may be running errands for Mother at the moment, but it’s all in the service of ultimately figuring out who iced his partner. If that means serving as a go-between so be it. Even if that might occasionally involve getting ahold of a deceased lady’s finger in order to pass it off as belonging to ostensible kidnapping victim Cheryl. Sterling Archer, low on patience, perpetually drunk and/or hungover, and narcissistic to a fault, is a great choice for the put-upon P.I. noir hero. Where usually those tough guys would meet their circumstances with a wry remark and a stoic acceptance, Archer gets mad, frustrated, and monologues to stray dogs and hitch-hiking bums. The contrast works great because while he’s kicking against things in his own particular Sterling Archer way, he’s still got his sights on the real prize: figuring just who the hell killed Woodhouse. He genuinely seems to care about getting to the bottom of things, and that gives him the strength to power through the tide of shit that a hero in his position and in his conceptual universe must face. Intimidating mob bosses, dangerous dames, and crooked cops are all a part of it. That’s just how it goes.

I’m not gonna go into how much I’m enjoying Pam and Cyril as the crooked cop duo. Suffice it to say that their characters have been recontexualised perfectly for this noir universe. Pam — sweet, buffoonish, earnest, gross, and tough as nails — contrasts perfectly with Cyril’s snivelling and barely repressed insecure rage. Archer: Dreamland is doing an absolutely stellar job with transporting these characters we know so well into another dimension. It’s holding onto what makes them who they are, and it’s morphing them into slightly different versions of that, exaggerating some aspects and shrinking others. Any fears that the season would be powered mostly by the novelty of seeing these people in a new setting can be put to bed now. They’re sewed in seamlessly, and their foibles are helping to drive an increasingly intricate-yet-grounded plot.

Which of course leads us to the Krieger of it all.

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Dr Algernop Krieger, mad scientist and probable clone of Adolf Hitler, has long been my favourite character on Archer. That’s partly because I’m a sucker for mad scientists and partly due to Lucky Yates’ inspired and divine delivery; but also because there’s always been an undercurrent of pathos to what could otherwise be a one-note comic relief character. The writers have snuck this emotional connection in gently over the seasons. Krieger is a man of great (and, granted, very strange) passions. He is often existentially challenged by thoughts of his place in the world, his origin, his purpose. And despite that, most of the of the time he manages to sublimate those anxieties into impressive (again, though, often very disturbing) projects. Krieger is as compelling a character as he is a funny one. And here, in Archer: Dreamland, this is now more true than ever, because: holy friggin’ shit Dr Krieger originally worked for the Nazis on a grand robotic supermen project but actually then it turns out that he is secretly a Jewish genius called Aaron Leibowitz who has deliberately been sabotaging the grand robotic supermen project, thus wasting colossal amounts of the Nazi’s precious war resources! Also he didn’t sabotage all of it: the dogs (and cat) work!

I mean, holy shit, talk about a gut-punch. Like the original works of noir, Archer: Dreamland lives in the shadow of war. Not just in the aesthetic and the world it’s set in; Archer’s flashbacks have been hinting at something larger for his character. Dreamland’s Krieger’s connections to that horror have now been revealed, and they have grounded the character in ways we couldn’t have previously imagined. The episode managed to weave this grand revelation into its narrative expertly. I like it when Archer relaxes and just tells a story. It wears it well.

——


Petr Knava
lives in London and plays music

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