<![CDATA[Gawker: defamer, sag awards]]> http://tags.gawker.com/assets/base/img/thumbs140x140/gawker.com.png <![CDATA[Gawker: defamer, sag awards]]> http://gawker.com/tag/defamer/sagawards http://gawker.com/tag/defamer/sagawards <![CDATA[Joey Fatone Stymied By James Franco's Desire To Play 'A Homosexual']]> Newly implicit in the awards show gauntlet is the poison-picking question, "Joey Fatone or Lisa Rinna?" SAG nominee James Franco selected Fatone rather than his TV Guide Channel cohost. He chose unwisely.

Via AfterElton comes this truly awkward clip, in which no amount of Lance Bass-led media training has guarded Fatone against asking uncomfortable questions about Franco's decision to "play a homosexual, correct?" After a full minute of suffering through Fatone's remedial queries and sexual double entendres, Franco looks ready to administer a patented "Rinna lip" to Fatone using his own fists; we're shocked that the 'N Syncer didn't make it all the way to, "So what was it like to kiss Sean Penn, who was also playing a homosexual?" but by then, he was no doubt receiving "wrap it up" signs from his producer, his horrified stylist, and a cackling Rinna (who would have been licking her lips, had she the energy for such a formidable task).

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<![CDATA[Rabid, Unstoppable 'Slumdog' Chews Into SAG Awards]]> Only four more weeks til the Oscars! Which, if last night's Screen Actors Guild Awards showing by Slumdog Millionaire is any indication, means only 11 more months until your next viable Oscar race.

The Indian magic-realism-by-way-of-game-show-immortality yarn claimed only one prize Sunday night at the Shrine, but that Best Ensemble hardware was all it really needed to affirm its awards-season supremacy over Oscar also-rans Benjamin Button, Milk (for which Sean Penn nevertheless won Best Actor) and Frost/Nixon. Meryl Streep won Best Actress for Doubt, further entrenching her in a three-way Oscar-night race alongside Anne Hathaway and Kate Winslet — the latter of whose Reader performance netted Best Supporting Actress from guild voters. Heath Ledger was chosen Best Supporting Actor. Again.

More foregone conclusions populated the TV side: Mad Men for drama, 30 Rock for comedy and John Adams for movie, preceded by Ernest Borgnine's adorable presentation of Best Actress to Laura Linney for her stunning work as "Abigail James." Somebody get this man an Oscars presenting berth; we really do need all the nonagenarian surprises we can muster at this point.

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<![CDATA[Casey Affleck Clearly Not Versed In How To Behave Around 'Dancing With The Stars' Also-Ran Royalty]]> Having only recently declared him the Most Adorable Thing Ever, we must admit the video above might force us to reexamine our Casey Affleck position. Showing all the ill-tempered signs of someone who's survived a childhood rife with Ben-inflicted noogie and wedgie abuse, Affleck's SAG Awards interaction with Lisa Rinna demonstrates the most shocking disregard for pre-awards-show social conventions we've seen since Jeremy Piven openly questioned the salvageability of Billy Bush's very existence at the 2006 Emmys.

Vigorously gnawing on a wad of gum as if it were the only thing preventing him from being sucked into a duck-lipped wormhole and spit out into the black void of Rinna's soul, Affleck only offers the brusquest responses to the TV Guide Channel correspondent's run-on questions. The result is a scene of red carpet carnage so grotesque, traumatized producers were forced to miniaturize the image and shuffle it off to the side, filling the screen instead with the relatively comforting pictures of the first human-hued celebrity they could train their cameras on.

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<![CDATA[Can't John Travolta Admire One Of His Most Gifted Peers Without Everyone Scrutinizing Him?]]>
A reader with much sharper eyes than ours asked us to go back and review a SAG awards audience reaction shot during the standing ovation for legend Mickey Rooney, feeling that there was something a little lascivious in Hairspray star John Travolta's sidelong glance at Eastern Promises' Viggo Mortensen.

Quite frankly, all we see is an accomplished actor recognizing the presence of two of his most talented peers. But if forced to analyze the lingering gaze, we must admit that Travolta's laser beams seem trained upon Cate Blanchett (note that the yellow arrow and looped, slow-motion replay reveal that they take their seats at the exact same time), whom he's never forgiven for beating him out for the role of a lifetime in the Elizabeth franchise, which would have provided him an unparalleled opportunity to prove that his much-celebrated, drag-enhanced acting chops would have easily translated to an Oscar-level period drama.

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<![CDATA[Angelina's Muumuu Not-So-Subtly Suggests Presence of Baby Pitt-Jolie(s)]]>
The rackalicious, curvalicious and usually teensy-waisted Angelina Jolie wore, for the first time in years, a real live muumuu to last night's SAG Awards, adding a bit more plausibility to all those rampant 'preggers with twins' rumors. Wearing a strapless vintage Hermes floaty number and clutching Brad's arm all the way down the red carpet, any signs of the pillow-lipped Perfect 10 bod were literally camouflaged (those brown, beige and gray shades would work well in Iraq) by a dress so long and wide that anyone stepping within ten feet of the (possible) new mother of twins would have slipped on its spacious circumference. Even more suspicious? Her decision to carry a shawl, lest anyone dare take note of her newly plump arms.

[Photo courtesy of Getty Images]

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<![CDATA[What Not To Wear To The Only Awards Show In A Thorougly Depressed Town]]> mirrensag.jpgWith this year's Golden Globes orgy replaced instead by a red-faced, naked Billy Bush apologizing sheepishly from beneath the covers, a disappointed America reassuring him not to worry about it, it happens to all awards shows from time to time, all hopes now turn to the SAGgies to satisfy our burning awards show needs. Traditionally a second-tier ceremony where Hollywood thespians felt safe to deliver 17-minute acceptance speeches on the pursuit of craft, the WGA-sanctioned ceremony is now looking like the only sure thing this anemic awards show season, delivering on our inalienable right to sit at home and watch some major fucking stars pick up some goddamned awards. Christ. MSNBC wonders how the ongoing labor strife will affect the fashion bottom line:

"This town is eager to show up. This town is eager to dress up, and they're going to," Hal Rubenstein, fashion director for InStyle magazine, told Reuters. "It's got to matter more because there's been nothing to look at." [...]

"Hollywood gets to export fantasy but usually Hollywood isn't in distress," [vintage boutique owner Cameron] Silver said. "Appropriate glamour will always look great—this is probably not the moment for 'costume couture."'

Regardless of how the style-trends skew (we're going to go out on a limb and predict tuxes for the guys, and Golden Era glamour for the women), the ceremony, this Sunday on TNT, promises at the very least some famous faces—even Lions For Lambs star Tom Cruise is among its confirmed list of presenters. With enough alcohol and squinting, its naked little green men might even start looking like shiny bald gold ones, and we'll all be just one awkward choir appearance and an underwhelming Ellen monologue away from feeling as if we're witnessing a legitimate Hollywood trophy ceremony!

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