Cillian Murphy. With glasses on.
I am supposed to be working here, but one thing has led to another, and I have discovered some amazing things. Like this: Alan Cumming will not be back in X-Men 3 as Nightcrawler. Damn. He was my favorite thing about that movie. He is, apparently, too busy marketing his new fragrance Cumming. It's got, lemmeseehere, burnt rubber, peat moss, mud, whiskey, three kinds of tobacco, pepper, white truffle oil...I honestly thought it was a joke at first. His Web site, well, I can't even do this justice...his site is loaded with innuendo, based on his name...man's very...sex-positive. Let's just leave it at that.
He's still a hero of mine, even if he consented to be in the second Mask movie. After all, I consented to work on the first one, I can't exactly throw stones.
And Nicolas Cage had an encounter with a cobra that made him start eating smaller portions and work out more. As he prepared to make Ghost Rider. Which I'm hoping will take the taste of Honeymoon in Vegas out of my mouth.
Oh, and Joss Whedon has promised not to do anything "funny" to Wonder Woman in the script he's writing. Hm. Funnier than what everyone else has done to her? I found it interesting that one writer from the comic series didn't understand a previous issue that had shown her at different ages. He thought the four manifestations (ie Wonder Tot) were discrete characters, and plotted accordingly. So WW's housecleaning during the Crisis on Infinite Earths was perhaps a little bloodier than that of some of her colleagues. And I'm not going to touch the fact that WW's creator had a real thing about bondage, except to note that if you're going to get tied up with your own damn magic lasso all the time, maybe you should consider leaving it at home before you head out to do battle.
I'm just saying.
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