A little birdie tipped us off that the casting people for the upcoming Judd Apatow/Steve Carell project 40 Year-Old Virgin (no explanation necessary) are trolling local porn production companies for talent. They weren't looking for porn stars to really stretch themselves in the craft; the part in question is a hooker that's supposed to devirginize Carell's character. A day after sending out some script pages, though, the porn companies were told the hooker part had been rewritten as a tranny (thereby ratcheting up the hilarity levels by at least 33 percent). We don't want to tell these professionals how to do their jobs, but why don't they just cut out the middleman by taking a slow drive down Santa Monica Boulevard in Hollywood after sundown? They'd have nearly limitless casting options, most of whom probably already have SAG cards.

Page Six reports that a disgruntled cameraman let loose on the lately-sainted Bill Murray during a recent screening of The Life Aquatic WIth Steve Zissou:

Catholic League president William Donohue thinks that Hollywood doesn't like The Passion of the Christ—get ready for it—because the industry is run by Christ-hating Jews:

The Crude Futures blog notices an eerie similarity between two typefaces that have been ubiquitous during this holiday season. It's almost enough to drive a typographically-obsessed auteur back to his Big Book of Fonts, rocking back and forth for hours on end until he finds a new one that "feels" right. Eventually, realizing that going back and altering The Life Aquatic before its release this weekend is prohibitively expensive, Wes Andesron will have no choice but to capitulate and seek a promotional tie-in campaign between his movie and the gingerbread latte.

We've heard that the MPAA has once again summoned its team of heroic, pirate-hating lawyers for a fresh round of litigation against movie file-sharers (or as we like to call them, its customers), and the piping-hot lawsuits should be arriving sometime soon...like tomorrow. It seems that last month's opening round of legal intimidation somehow failed to immediately cease the scourge of movie piracy, necessitating this coming larger-scale offensive. We think we know why the earlier suits haven't driven downloaders to more savory expressions of their respect for copyrights: The idea of "lawsuits" is too abstract. How scary can a piece of paper with a bunch of big words on it be? If tomorrow's expected action fails to solve the problem once and for all, we recommend that the MPAA randomly select nine "example" pirates and nail one to each letter of the Hollywood sign. That would grab the attention of America's broadband-wielding scofflaws a lot more effectively than some stationary with Dan Glickman's signature on it.

Paramount's premiere for Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events, the event movie the studio hopes will ease the pain of a forgettable, turmoil-filled year, featured some kid-friendly fun, Jim Carrey displaying his face's rubberlike properties, and a truly regrettable fashion mistake by an executive. And even though it looks like even The Big Studio That Can't couldn't find a way to fuck up the movie, they had a hard time impressing a couple of our party-hardened spies:

At the Ocean's Twelve after-party, director Steven Soderbergh repeats a faux pas he made numerous times during the movie's filming by mistaking Andy Garcia for a cater-waiter and loudly demanding that Garcia immediately freshen up his drink.

This supposed, hatchet-burying epistle from former MPAA head/pirate-hunter-in-twilight Jack Valenti to longtime nemesis Oliver Stone is sure to provide pullquote fodder ("Brilliant!" "Engaging and enticing!" "ALEXANDER...hammered...with a bad rap!") for whatever advertising Warner Bros. wastes on Alexander as it fades away into the annals of epic flop history. We can't be sure that the letter is authentic, so click on the above image and enjoy with all of the healthy skepticism you'd reserve for anything signed by Hollywood's legendary, elf-harboring, buccaneer-baiting former chief lobbyist.

The Golden Globe nominations have been announced, and the wine-swilling members of the Hollywood Foreign Press have lavished seven nominations on Sideways, Alexander Payne's love poem to the kind of alcoholics who romantically perforate their livers with the fruit of the vine. A fitting choice, really, since the Globes ceremony is more notable for its highly amusing, shitfaced victory speeches than for its efficacy as an Oscar predictor. The red-hott Jamie Foxx was honored with acting nominations for Ray, Collateral, Redemption, and, oddly, a retroactive nod to his overlooked, prophylactic-seeking achievements in Booty Call. Miramax, maintaining an impressive ability to rise to the occasion for awards season, grabbed 15 nominations despite firing its entire staff. Congratulations to all of the nominees, whom we've already celebrated by chugging a bottle of three-dollar merlot.

· Tara Reid, in an attempt to make nice with Page Six, sends them a fruit basket in thanks for being referred "demurely dressed and completely cogent." We suppose that backhanded compliment is still better than the Six Crew calling her vagina a "revolving man-door."
· We could spend all weekend in front of this montage of classic Maria Moments from this season's Apprentice. We won't, though, because that would be pathetic, and we'll be busy losing two days to a bottle of Vicodin we found in our friend's purse.
· Open All Night stalks Lindsay Lohan all over NY, so you don't have to bother with the frivolous stalker lawsuits yourselves.
· From GoldDerby.com's Golden Globes nominations preview: "Sideways [is] a fine film that probably owes its FANATICAL following to the fact that it glamorizes excessive boozing as being cool." It's not just any kind of boozing, though, It's the classy, wine-drinking kind of boozing, which always seems more acceptable than the kind where you drink straight from the Grey Goose bottle before dancing on P. Diddy's table.

If you were thinking about checking out Closer solely to see how much of Natalie Portman's naked body director Mike Nichols left in the film, but have balked because you've heard those scenes are constantly interrupted by pretentious nonsense like "acting" and "dialogue," the internet has again come to your rescue. Sister site Fleshbot does its best to save you the trip to the theater with some stills from the movie, as well as a link to this clever collection of all of Portman's semi-nude scenes set to a perky disco soundtrack. We're still scouring the web for a version of Clive Owen and Jude Law's climactic IMing scene set to "I Touch Myself," but the Portman stuff should hold us over for a while.

With the Sundance just around the corner, Defamer is committed to bringing together Hollywood's hottest behind-the-scenes players and sponsors seeking the kind of heat that only a presence at the industry's top independent film festival can provide. In an e-mail pitch to buzz-seeking brands looking to get in on Cinetic Media's celebrity-studded party, the consulting firm is touted as the "unseen hand" that "virtually 'owns' Sundance" by past clients' successes and the twelve films they're hawking this year. Get on board while you still can, in the "right, sexy way," as the e-mail so alluringly puts it. But please, let's not tell Robert Redford or Sundance head Geoff Gilmore, who might take exception to the idea that someone else owns Park City. The e-mail is after the jump.

The difference between Scientology poster-children Tom Cruise and John Travolta (besides about 100 pounds of head-bloat): When Cruise wants to make Battlefield:Earth, he gets Steven Spielberg to direct it.

An "insider" tells Page Six that the production of Memoirs of a Geisha has been slowed because they've hired any Asian actor they can get their hands on (whether or not they're Japanese like the story's characters), necessitating a small army of translators to get anything done. Naturally, the producers "laughed off" the insider's story, saying, "They all look alike anyway! Who cares if they can't understand each other?" OK, they didn't actually say that, but we've got a feeling that's their favorite on-set joke anytime something goes wrong (other than "Well, that's why Spielberg dumped this project!")

· The O.C.'s Mischa Barton is in negotiations to star in Dino de Laurentiis period drama The Decameron, based on the 14th century literary classic that no one within a 300-mile radius of Los Angeles has ever heard of. [THR]
· Adam Sandler's proves his Happy Madison Productions exists solely to keep his underemployed friends in mortgage payments, producing Bench Warmers for Rob Schneider and David Spade. Make up your own idea for a logline, you'll probably get it in fewer than three tries. [Variety, sub. req'd.]
· In a move we're sure has NOTHING to do with Pixar's Cars move, DreamWorks pushes Shrek 3 to 2007. Why not just hold it until the Apocalypse, Katzenberg? It's a great time for opening family fare. [THR]
· Wayne Brady and Frasier scribe Saldin Patterson set up a legal comedy at NBC. Suicide, cutting, and vomiting to follow this item. Not in that order. [THR]
· DreamWorks renews its deal with Ben Stiller's Red Hour production company, banking that it will get more DodgeBall than Duplex. [Variety]

The maxim "write what you know" is a double-edged sword:

Last night, we cut the rusty chains that bind us to this computer to attend the Celebrity Dodgeball Tournament at the Palladium, a benefit for the Elizabeth Glazer Pediatric AIDS Foundation (and sponsored by Fox to celebrate yesterday's DVD release of their promotionally-convenient film concerning red balls and the triumph of the underdog).

Puppet-porn pimping sister site Fleshbot alerts us to the appearance of Team America's much ballyhooed, deleted sex scene, the Holy Grail of marionette-fucking that we've been desperate to see ever since the MPAA made Trey Parker and Matt Stone cut it to earn an R rating. Unfortunately, the rumored "puppet golden shower" continues to be lost to history, but there's plenty of anatomically incorrect, salad-tossing action to keep you occupied until the DVD release. Enjoy, and no worries: No one's going to judge you if you tie some strings around your limbs and take some alone time. (Different strokes for different folks, and all that.)

In an industry obsessed with constant dick-measuring, we're not sure that Kinsey's attempt to make awards voters confront the truth about themselves is the best way to gain votes. If they really wanted to improve their chances, the ruler would start at nine inches.

If our idea for the Spanglish campaign doesn't work, Sony might try addressing their FYC materials directly to Academy voters' illegal maids. They're the ones who fill out the ballots anyway.