Are you looking for something to, you know, do? If so, we have good news for you adventure seekers, as Molly McAleer has put together a whole evening's worth of recommendations for you. And in this installment, Molly is joined by Defamer contributor Douglas Reinhardt, whose feature, "A Call To The Bullpen", has resulted in more than a handful of angry phone calls / emails from angry publicists and other humor-challenged denizens of Hollywood in its two short months of existence. Enjoy!

Certainly the sight of Angelina Jolie topless comes as nothing new to even the most casual Jolie breast enthusiast—but that shouldn't mean that every fresh specimen isn't something worth celebrating. Take for example a recent series of photographs, shot by a paparazzo with a telephoto lens the size of a small corn silo, of the actress on a Cannes balcony. Whatever discomfort we may have experienced over this mild invasion of privacy were quickly offset by the excitement of stealing a double-helping glimpse of her Brad-only goodies. We've obfuscated the offending, glorious bits with the star of her latest animated voiceover project: We like to imagine censor-dot Kung Fu Panda is thinking, "Boobies!" to himself in a voice that sounds unmistakably like Jack Black's.

For every high-pitched shriek of rage we let loose after making it through a new episode of Lost without a single Big Question answered, there’s a part of us that doesn’t want to know what’ s going on anyway. Sure, it’d be nice if the epic’s smarmy producers decided to shed some light on what the four-toed statue from season two was all about, gave us some clues about the Smoke Monster, or what Josh Holloway might look like as a member of the full-frontal nudity club, but maybe getting some answers would weaken our obsession. At least that’s how we felt before hearing today that a sole cast member knows for sure exactly how the series will end. And we have a feeling that between now and 2010, they might wind up “blurting it out” despite assurances.

Just in time for blockbuster season, Ad Age brings into crisp relief the latest crisis befalling multiplexes around the country: Evil, evil popcorn. "According to an Agriculture Department report, next year's corn stocks are expected to plunge to a 13-year low and, as a result, corn-futures contracts have soared to an all-time high," notes reporter Claude Brodesser-Akner. "This can be attributed to the demand for ethanol, which will claim 40% of next year's corn crop, munching away at the margins of theaters that rely on concession sales for as much as 45% of their revenue." The author has more stats as well, none more distressing than that citing an 80% markup currently affecting popcorn and beverages concessions. Wait — except for maybe the one that claims 63% of moviegoers over 12 don't mind ads before the films. The whole thing has MPAA president Bob Pisano predicting "mutually assured destruction," with viewers retreating to the comfort of their homes. Defamer's solution: Booze, naturally, and a section of 21-and-over seats to make it work with the law. Yes, they'll have some drunks, but they do already; who else is the market for The Love Guru? [Ad Age]

During this exciting and hectic Cannes season, some lesser-budgeted and hyped projects are at risk, like sand through a topless sunbather's cleavage, of tumbling between the cracks. We therefore take a moment to draw your attention to Killing Fields director Roland Joffe's latest film: You And I, starring Mischa Barton and Anton Yelchin. From it's IMDb plot synopsis: "Two teenage girls, Janie who is American and Lana who is Russian, fall in love after meeting at a t.A.T.u concert and are swept into a dangerous world of obsession, drug abuse and murrrrrderrrr." (Italics and dread-inducing consonant-extension ours.) The movie, originally titled Finding t.A.T.u., has been gathering dust on a shelf for several years (back when Yelchin would still consider acting opposite Barton in a movie about a sapphic Soviet pop group), and is at last ready for its coming out party.

[Photo Credit: Flynet]

From the looks of this new teaser for CW’s upcoming Beverly Hills: 90210 remake, it looks as though any fans of the original hoping for a fresh take on their beloved West Beverly High alum will have to sheepishly return to watching classics from their prized VHS collection. Though they’ve obediently updated the infamous opening credits sequence in which each beautiful face candidly hops around a stark white set, we fear for the final result after hearing that a featured character is a “fun, energetic, not-your-typical grandma!” and that the adopted son will be black this time around. As if the cast’s promise that the reincarnation will be “a wild ride!” wasn’t enough to warn us, consider the update’s tagline: “If you wanna live in the Zip, you gotta live by the code.”

In a video testimonial posted this weekend to YouTube (do you call something that runs at 1 frame-per-second a "video," or just a really fast slide show?), American Idol contestant Danny Noriega—who before a premature ouster ushered in such hot-tranny-fierce-messisms as "TMTH: too much too handle," "ish," "mmm-hm," and, most notably, "SOME people weren't LIKIN' it," (accompanied by a whiplash-inducing neck-swivel)—revealed that he hasn't so much as received a ticket to attend any portion of this week's two-part, all-David finale.

First, the bad news about the new red-band trailer for Tropic Thunder: Alas, there is no trace of Tom Cruise's fat-suited, filthy-mouthed studio boss cameo that so entranced insiders at an early screening last month. The good news: Ben Stiller does throw a murderous Viet Cong toddler off a bridge, which is only about a 6 on the teaser's overactive, oft-peaking transgression scale. More bad news: The trailer appears to promise more than anyone can rightfully expect it to deliver, and Jack Black does appear in his underwear. More good news: Black in packing more than his junk in said underwear. More bad news: The trailer does zero favors for the squeamish. More good news: The trailer does zero favors for the squeamish. So we guess we're in! NB: Simple Jack could quite possibly turn out to be the best film never made. [Tropic Thunder]

After a week-long lull in apocalyptic mutterings from all sides of SAG and AFTRA negotiations with the major studios, a couple of new stumbling blocks have appeared en route to a deal. For starters, AFTRA national president Roberta Reardon today sent out a sobering e-mail to her members, both acknowledging her discussions' ongoing news blackout while giving the rank-and-file plenty to leak to the press. To wit: Reardon writes that even AFTRA, which was expected to breeze to a new contract after SAG very publicly dug in its heels last month, is apparently having a hard time coming to terms with the majors on new media:

· Sigourney Weaver, whom we love (but not enough to see Vantage Point) will star and co-produce Prayers for Bobby for Lifetime, in which she plays a religious woman who questions her beliefs about homosexuality after her son commits suicide. Lifetime: Television For Women Reconsidering Their Views on Gays.[Variety]
· Pierce Brosnan and Susan Sarandon will star in The Greatest, about a family trying to keep it together following the death of their son. Obviously, dead sons have replaced pregnancy as the hot new movie plot device. [Variety]

Those adorably violent animal lovers over at PETA have temporarily ceased from attacking fur-toting starlets with tomatoes to round up their nominees for this year’s Sexiest Vegetarian award. And judging by the list of potential winners, it seems that granola-loving male celebrities are seriously lacking in the “sexy” department as compared to their female counterparts. Herbivores like Naomi Watts and Natalie Portman are listed among the ladies, whereas guyliner fans, racist talk show hosts and '80s heartthrob-turned-has-beens make up the majority of the male contenders. We take a closer look at the uneven distribution after the jump.

We don't know if Venus is in retrograde or God hates us or whatever, but we can scarcely remember a time in recent history where we've been subjected to a series of more non-stop, ear-punishing horrors than the past month. Between recent performances by Jason Castro, Teri Hatcher, and Fantasia (as accompanied by the inmates of the Asylum of Charenton under the direction of the Marquis de Sade), we really didn't know how much more we could take. But those were all American Idol-advanced atrocities, which is why we thought we'd be safe with a seasoned pro like Usher on SNL. As the clip above will make quickly obvious, our assumption was dead wrong. Is this the worst performance in history? Probably not. But it's close, and contains the most hilariously spastic freestyle dance moves we've seen since Richard Simmons's Cranergy endorsement (to say nothing of more flat notes than a Post-It pad). Chris Brown: You're safe for now, Boo. [SNL]

[Photo Credit: X17]

Only days after rumors surfaced that the on-and-off relationship between Owen Wilson and Kate Hudson had switched back to Off, the Stallion was seen preying on new anonymous blondes in New York City while lovelorn Kate was allegedly recuperating from the split. So naturally, the news that Hudson picked herself back up and found a new paramour in the fit form of one-ball wonder Lance Armstrong is slightly comforting. But after reading the details surrounding the pair’s so-called dates and blooming “romance,” we aren’t biting. The three clues in particular that leave us seated while others jump to conclusions, after the jump.

You tell us what's more frightening about MGM boss Harry Sloan's recent proclamations from Cannes: A) That the guy freely admits both Robocop and the Brat Pack-slays-the-Communists epic Red Dawn are up for remakes at his studio, or B) Sloan's public support of Tom Cruise, Valkyrie and United Artists has winnowed to the point of "clanking endorsement." Oh, who are we kidding? Valkyrie trumps everything:

While Indiana Jones and the Can Someone Please Tell Me What the Fuck Just Happened? was the most sought-after ticket at Cannes, it was another prostate-enlarged cinematic icon's comeback—that of Woody Allen—that would prove the festival's most triumphant. His new Vicky Cristina Barcelona, which features Javier Bardem ravaging any number of comely lasses and at least one Penelope Cruz-on-Scarlett Johansson kiss, was greeted with a ten-minute standing ovation after its Saturday screening. Director and cast were on hand to soak in the glory—but not Johansson, whom the Daily Mail reports made life a living hell for the put-upon studio workers just trying to get a little Côte d'Azur photo-op action going:

Jennifer Aniston did it first, quickly followed by Blake Lively. Now Britney Spears has pulled out this spring’s most reliable accessory to nab a boy toy: the bikini. While sobering up at Casa Gibson down in Costa Rica, Spears spent the weekend looking happier than she has in months in two very itty bitty string bikinis adorned with tattoo parlor jargon. And in between bouts of boogie-boarding, golf cart-riding and rounds of Hide-and-Seek played amidst driftwood, Spears appeared to have successfully lined up a male suitor of her own. Who the mystery man might be, and a closer look at Spears' ongoing tendency to block her possibly-knocked up belly from sight, after the jump.

[Photo Credit: X17]

It's worthwhile sometimes to stop and think about the real victims of today's tanking American economy. Like Sanjay Sanghoee, a hedge-funder who's running into trouble financing the film version of his corporate intrigue novel. The novel, Merger, is your standard tale of "an Indian corporate titan who begins a hostile takeover of a satellite company that transmits information from the C.I.A." Obviously, it'd make a great little indie film. So Sanghoee, none of whose Law & Order spec scripts were ever accepted, raised millions in private money from his hedge fund friends. They loved the book, and the pitch, and the fact that it was a movie made by a banker about bankers. But then, the mortgage crisis! Suddenly, not even a verbal agreement from Lara Flynn Boyle "to take a supporting role as a sultry henchwoman" was enough to keep the checks rolling in.