Veteran singer/songwriter Kris Kristofferson heard Janis Joplin's rendition of his Me & Bobby Mcgee tune for the first time on the day she died 43 years ago. Kristofferson was among the celebrities who paid tribute to the tragic blues singer at her Hollywood Walk of Fame star unveiling ceremony in Los Angeles on Monday (04Nov13), and he performed the track that became her signature at the event.
He also recalled hearing Joplin's heartbreaking rendition of the song hours after learning she had died in 1970.
He explained, "Her producer gave me the record and it was pretty hard to listen to. I was listening to it at my publisher's office where we used to hang out, there was nobody there and I was playing it over and over again just so I could hear it without breaking up.
"It's really hard to say much about the stars and how much they mean; she means so much more to me than a star on a sidewalk."
Tragic singer Janis Joplin is to be honoured posthumously with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Kris Kristofferson and music mogul Clive Davis will join the Me & Bobby McGee singer's siblings, Michael and Laura, for the plaque unveiling ceremony on 4 November (13).
Country star and actor Kristofferson, who was a close friend to the blues singer, will perform a special acoustic version of Me and Bobby McGee, which Joplin recorded in 1970 just before her death.
Her star will be the 2,510th on the Walk of Fame.
Actress Amy Adams has been shrieking and screaming in a bid to break her voice so she can accurately recreate Janis Joplin's gravelly vocals in an upcoming biopic. The Fighter star has been cast as the tragic rock icon in Janis Joplin: Get It While You Can but she is concerned her singing will not match up to the Me and Bobby McGee hitmaker's famous voice.
She has been desperately trying to develop rasping tones by shouting and screaming loudly, but still fears directors will have to bring in a professional singer to help perfect the sound.
Adams tells Britain's The Times, "I've been working on my rasp. Just by tearing up my voice. I'm going to try to do as much singing as I can. But I'm also realistic, and I might need some assistance."
Joplin died aged 27 in 1970 from a drug overdose.
I hope that neither Mitt Romney nor Barack Obama talk about their stances on gay marriage tonight at the final presidential debate, because there won't be one gay person tuning in to hear them. Why? Because the premiere of the greatest contest in gay culture, RuPaul's Drag Race All Stars starts tonight on Logo at 9 PM as well. Is this little show that so few people have heard about and so few people watch really that big a deal? In one word: Yes.
Now, I can't say that all gay people watch and love Drag Race, just like you can't say that all redheads hate Glee (really, they should), but there is no denying that the show has had a huge impact on mass gay culture. Any queen who gets cast on this competition skyrockets to fame, making paid appearances at gay nightclubs and Gay Pride events across the country. Even Jiggy Caliente! And Drag Race certainly has plenty of straight fans. It deserves to have even more because this show is possibly the best competitive reality show on television. It certainly is the campiest.
Don't worry if you haven't seen the first four seasons before turning into tonight's All Stars edition. You might not know some of the players, but the show will remain remarkably the same. What you need to understand about RuPaul's genius creation is that no one takes it seriously. Not even RuPaul. It's a bigger joke than Lindsay Lohan's next acting gig. The challenges – which usually involve the queens choreographing a performance, getting together a ridiculous outfit, or filming a sequence that looks cheaper than a high-schooler's YouTube video – have little to no bearing on the outcome of the show. What really matters is how well each queen can dress for her final runway walk, how much RuPaul and her rotating cast of D-list judges like them, and whether or not they can lipsync for their lives. Yes, it's all kind of a joke. The prizes are chintzy, the stakes low, and the drama is exceptionally high.
Yes, Drag Race is, if anything, a parody of reality competition shows. It takes all the stupidity of America's Next Top Model, all the ritual of Survivor, and the transformative chutzpah of every makeover show you can dream of, and combines it into a package that's all its own. It's like rolling your body around in an exploded glitter ball and then wearing that to a day at the office. Oh, and let's not forget RuPaul's umpteen catch phrases. Every minute of the show is punctuated by one of her pronouncements from "She-Male" to "Don't f**k it up" to "Bring me my girls!" to "If you don't love yourself, how you gonna love anybody else, can I get an A-men?!" They all roll off the tongue quicker than RuPaul's puntastic commentary as each drag queen struts her stuff on the runway. I wouldn't be surprised if Ru started stealing some other people's catch phrases too. The first time she says, "The tribe has spoken" or "You're still in the running to be America's Next Top Model" I will seriously lose my shit.
But it's all the pop culture craziness that makes this an amazing show. It's not afraid to be what it really is deep down on the inside, a cheap entertainment made on the cheap. It knows how important it is, which is about as important as the continued existence of Hershey Kisses and Bratz dolls. The Amazing Race and American Idol are always selling themselves in these serious tones like this is the best adventure you'll ever have or the only shot you might ever have at a singing career. RuPaul does not play that game. It knows that the queens will go back to performing in gay bars just like they were before. Sure, they might get to go to bigger and better gay bars, but there are no crossover stars. The stakes are low, but that only means there's nothing left to lose. Bobby McGee taught us that that is what freedom is another word for.
Gay folks love it so much because it is our entertainment, and this show is as crazy and gay as it wants to be. Maybe that's why it is the only hit to come out of the gay-oriented cable channel Logo. Like so much of its other programming (or the more popular stuff on its fey older sister Bravo) there is no equivocating the gayness on Drag Race. It is so gay, that straight people might not even understand all the words people are using. (If you're straight and you know the difference between "reading" and "shade" and "kiki" and "kai-kai," you are either Bette Midler or have your own personal Village People troupe.) It succeeds because it just doesn't care, and that makes us care about it so much. RuPaul is everything and nothing all at once, the gayest show on TV and Logo's only straight crossover hit, both dreadfully sincere and more ironic than an arched (and painted-on eyebrow). And that is why everyone with a television should be tuning in.
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A decade-long gap between sequels could leave a franchise stale but in the case of Men in Black 3 it's the launch pad for an unexpectedly great blockbuster. The kooky antics of Agent J (Will Smith) and Agent K (Tommy Lee Jones) don't stray far from their 1997 and 2002 adventures but without a bombardment of follow-ups to keep the series in mind the wonderfully weird sensibilities of Men in Black feel fresh Smith's natural charisma once again on full display. Barry Sonnenfeld returns for the threequel another space alien romp with a time travel twist — which turns out to be Pandora's Box for the director's deranged imagination.
As time passed in the real world so did it for the timeline in the world of Men in Black. Picking up ten years after MIB 2 J and K are continuing to protect the Earth from alien threats and enforce the law on those who live incognito. While dealing with their own personal issues — K is at his all-time crabbiest for seemingly no reason — the suited duo encounter an old enemy Boris the Animal (Jemaine Clement) a prickly assassin seeking revenge on K who blew his arm off back in the '60s. Their street fight is more of a warning; Boris' real plan is to head back in time to save his arm and kill off K. He's successful prompting J to take his own leap through the time-space continuum — and team up with a younger K (Josh Brolin) to put an end to Boris plans for world domination.
Men in Black 3 is the Will Smith show. Splitting his time between the brick personalities of Jones and Brolin's K Smith struts his stuff with all the fast-talking comedic style that made him a star in yesteryears. In present day he's still the laid back normal guy in a world of oddities — J raises an eyebrow as new head honcho O (Emma Thompson) delivers a eulogy in a screeching alien tongue but coming up with real world explanations for flying saucer crashes comes a little easier. But back in 1969 he's an even bigger fish out water. Surprisingly director Barry Sonnenfeld and writer Etan Cohen dabble in the inherent issues that would spring up if a black gentlemen decked out in a slick suit paraded around New York in the late '60s. A star of Smith's caliber may stray away from that type of racy humor but the hook of Men in Black 3 is the actor's readiness for anything. He turns J's jokey anachronisms into genuine laughs and doesn't mind letting the special effect artists stretch him into an unrecognizable Twizzler for the movie's epic time jump sequence.
Unlike other summer blockbusters Men in Black 3 is light on the action Sonnenfeld utilizing his effects budget and dazzling creature work (by the legendary Rick Baker) to push the comedy forward. J's fight with an oversized extraterrestrial fish won't keep you on the edge of your seat but his slapstick escape and the marine animal's eventual demise are genuinely amusing. Sonnenfeld carries over the twisted sensibilities he displayed in small screen work like Pushing Daisies favoring bizarre banter and elaborating on the kookiness of the alien underworld than battle scenes. MIB3's chase scene is passable but the movie in its prime when Smith is sparring with Brolin and newcomer Michael Stuhlbarg who steals the show as a being capable of seeing the future. His twitchy character keeps Smith and the audience on their toes.
Men in Black 3 digs up nostalgia I wasn't aware I had. Smith's the golden boy of summer and even with modern ingenuity keeping it fresh — Sonnenfeld uses the mandatory 3D to full and fun effect — there's an element to the film that feels plucked from another era. The movie is economical and slight with plenty of lapses in logic that will provoke head scratching on the walk out of the theater but it's also perfectly executed. After ten years of cinematic neutralizing the folks behind Men in Black haven't forgotten what made the first movie work so well. After al these years Smith continues to make the goofy plot wild spectacle and crazed alien antics look good.
The Oscar-winning actor reached the milestone in August 2010 while he was filming This Must Be The Place, alongside Bono's daughter Eve Hewson, in the Irish capital.
He left his birthday celebrations in the hands of the U2 rocker, who organised a bash with guests including the actor's children and country legend Kris Kristofferson - and Penn was delighted with the party.
The star tells Britain's Telegraph magazine, "He (Bono) takes us to lunch, then on a literary walking tour, then up the stairs of some famous pub - and there waiting are (folk band) the Dubliners. They play for five hours, my son sits in on guitar, we drink Guinness...
"And he didn't just sing me Happy Birthday. He sang me (Me and) Bobby McGee (by Kristofferson)."
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.
When you’re casting the host for a show about models, you choose an ex model to stand at the helm. When you’re casting a show about fitness, you enlist the help of a fitness expert. So it’s no wonder that when Bobby Goldstein, the creator of the ridiculously unclassy gotcha show Cheaters, would do the same when he expands his cheatin’ empire with a show about celebrity cheaters called…Celebrity Cheaters. (He’s really working that brain of his for new ideas, isn’t he?) Goldstein has both Jesse James’ alleged mistress, Michelle “Bombshell” McGee, and one of Tiger Woods’ harem of mistresses, Jamie Jungers, signed on for the new project.
Talk about sleeping your way to the middle. Are these ladies trying to make being a celebrity mistress look like a lucrative business plan? Help a famous guy cheat, be ridiculous enough to get uber-famous for it, and then you’ll land a television show. Yuck.
I guess the one thing I can get on-board with (and I use that term very loosely) is that if anyone is qualified to comment on or talk about celebs cheating on their spouses, girlfriends or boyfriends, it’s them. And what’s more is that the show would follow the same format of Cheaters; it aims to try and catch celebrity cheaters in the act. With that in mind, I guess I can’t think of anyone better to host the show. I mean, McGee and Jungers would know how to catch these unfaithful starlets and celebs and at least they’re not going to be the next desperate-for-more-fame “celebs” on Skating with the Stars.
The God of Legion secular Hollywood’s latest Biblically-inspired action flick is old-school an angry spiteful Almighty with a penchant for Old Testament theatrics. Fed up with humanity’s decadent warmongering ways He’s decided to pull the plug on the whole crazy experiment and start over from scratch.
Fortunately for us the God of Legion is also a rather lazy fellow. Instead of doing the apocalyptic work himself and wiping us out with a giant flood which worked perfectly well last time He opts to delegate the task to His army of angels — a questionable strategy that starts to fall apart when the archangel charged with leading the planned extermination Michael (Paul Bettany) refuses to comply.
Michael who unlike his boss still harbors affection for our sorry species abandons his post and descends to earth where inside the swollen belly of Charlie (Adrianne Palicki) an unwed mother-to-be working as a waitress in an out-of-the-way diner sits humanity’s lone hope for survival. Why is this particular baby so important? Is it the one destined to lead us to victory over Skynet? Heaven knows — Legion reveals little details its script devoid of actual scripture. What is clear is that God’s celestial hitmen want the kid whacked before it’s born.
But Michael won’t let humanity fall without a fight. Armed with a Waco-sized arsenal of assault weapons he hunkers down with the diner’s patrons a largely superfluous collection of thinly-sketched caricatures from various demographic groups led by Dennis Quaid as the diner’s grizzled owner Tyrese Gibson as a hip-hop hustler and Lucas Black as a simple-minded country boy.
Together they mount a heroic final stand against hordes of angels who’ve taken possession of “weak-willed” humans turning kindly old grandmas and mild-mannered ice cream vendors into snarling ravenous foul-mouthed beasts. They descend upon the ramshackle diner in a series of full-frontal assaults commanded by the archangel Gabriel (Kevin Durand) the George Pickett of End of Days generals.
Beneath its superficial religious facade Legion is really just a run-of-the-mill zombie flick a Biblical I Am Legend. Bettany an actor accustomed to smaller dramatic roles in films like A Beautiful Mind and The Da Vinci Code looks perfectly at ease in his first major action role wielding machine guns and bowie knives with equal aplomb. Conversely first-time director Scott Stewart a former visual effects artist does little to prove himself worthy of such a promotion serving up some impressive CGI work but not much else worthy of note.
Actor Ethan Hawke's Kris Kristofferson tribute in the new issue of Rolling Stone magazine has been attacked again -- by the country star himself.
Hawke has already upset Toby Keith by suggesting he and Kristofferson almost came to blows during a backstage dispute at a Willie Nelson tribute show in 2003, and now the "Me & Bobby McGee" singer is questioning the validity of the article.
Kristofferson insists he has no recollection of the altercation between himself and Keith, and although he thanks the actor for his "generous and respectful story about me," the country legend and movie star suggests not everything Hawke wrote is true.
In a letter to the Tennessean newspaper, he writes, "I have no memory of talking so tough to anyone at Willie's birthday party -- least of all to Toby Keith... for whom I have nothing but admiration and respect.
"And, contrary to what the college classmate said (to Hawke), I never was president of any class in college or on the debating team, writing club or played baseball. I hated politics and never ran for anything."
Rolling Stone editors continue to stand by the story and Hawke's reporting.
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