It’s time to get a little superficial up in here! Season three of Scandal is heating up and it’s not just because of all the fake deaths and creepy Papa Pope storylines. We’re guessing the show’s popularity lead to an increase in glam squad budget, because the Gladiators are looking hotter than ever. Leaving Olivia Pope out of this (because, come on...some people are in a class of their own), we’re ranking the amazing Gladiators based on what really matters — hotness.
4. Quinn Perkins (Katie Lowes)
We don’t know who’s doing Quinn’s eyeliner this season, but they are killin’ the game. Unfortunately Quinn’s also been pissing a lot of people off this season, seeing as how she can’t stop thinking about that one time she tortured a guy, and it’s been getting her into all kinds of trouble. Get it together, Quinn! Your emotional issues and creepy B6-13 drama plots are affecting your hotness.
3. Huck (Guillermo Díaz)
For the record we are talking about beardless Huck, and normal Huck — not Homeless Huck or Huck after he’s been water boarded by the CIA and hasn’t showered for weeks (à la last season). Huck is always gonna be a cutie, but he’s also still one of the scariest characters on Scandal, which makes him less hot and more "cute guy you'd take a second look at if you saw him in a coffee shop but would quickly look away when you saw the darkness behind his eyes."
2. Harrison Wright (Columbus Short)
Nobody knows how to rock a three-piece suit like Harrison. NOBODY. That is all.
1. Abby Whelan (Darby Stanchfield)
Last season Harrison might have topped this list, but Abby’s glam squad has seriously changed the game. They put a curling iron to those banging red locks (and clearly added a few tracks), took the smoky eye to a whole ‘nother level, and put her in all of the right clothes. No wonder poor David Rosen can’t keep away! It also helps that Abby’s funky little attitude hasn’t changed. All her über-sarcastic quips + that hair (seriously) = a hotness the likes of which Scandal has never seen.
Last year director Garry Marshall hit upon a devilishly canny approach to the romantic comedy. A more polished refinement of Hal Needham’s experimental Cannonball Run method it called for assembling a gaggle of famous faces from across the demographic spectrum and pairing them with a shallow day-in-the-life narrative packed with gobs of gooey sentiment. A cynical strategy to be sure but one that paid handsome dividends: Valentine’s Day earned over $56 million in its opening weekend surpassing even the rosiest of forecasts. Buoyed by the success Marshall and his screenwriter Katherine Fugate hastily retreated to the bowels of Hades to apply their lucrative formula to another holiday historically steeped in romantic significance and New Year’s Eve was born.
Set in Manhattan on the last day of the year New Year’s Eve crams together a dozen or so canned scenarios into one bloated barely coherent mass of cliches. As before Marshall’s recruited an impressive ensemble of minions to do his unholy bidding including Oscar winners Hilary Swank Halle Berry and Robert De Niro the latter luxuriating in a role that didn’t require him to get out of bed. High School Musical’s Zac Efron is paired up with ‘80s icon Michelle Pfeiffer – giving teenage girls and their fathers something to bond over – while Glee’s Lea Michele meets cute with a pajama-clad Ashton Kutcher. There’s Katherine Heigl in a familiar jilted-fiance role Sarah Jessica Parker as a fretful single mom and Chris “Ludacris” Bridges as the most laid-back cop in New York. Sofia Vergara and Hector Elizondo mine for cheap laughs with thick accents – his fake and hers real – and Jessica Biel and Josh Duhamel deftly mix beauty with blandness. Fans of awful music will delight in the sounds of Jon Bon Jovi straining against type to play a relevant pop musician.
The task of interweaving the various storylines is too great for Marshall and New Year’s Eve bears the distinct scent and stain of an editing-room bloodbath with plot holes so gaping that not even the brightest of celebrity smiles can obscure them. But that’s not the point – it never was. You should know better than to expect logic from a film that portrays 24-year-old Efron and 46-year-old Parker as brother-and-sister without bothering to explain how such an apparent scientific miracle might have come to pass. Marshall wagers that by the time the ball drops and the film’s last melodramatic sequence has ended prior transgressions will be absolved and moviegoers will be content to bask in New Year's Eve's artificial glow. The gambit worked for Valentine's Day; this time he may not be so fortunate.