A rainbow-coloured frenzy of reporting is happening all around the country with news splattered across the nation's papers of Australia Woman's Weekly Editor-At-Large and all round "hot lady" Deborah Hutton, in the midst of grieving for her brother who recently died unexpectedly, being yanked from her comfortable shoe-stocked cupboard and outed as She Who May Be Something More Than Roomies With Her Female Hockey Playing Associate.

A Sydney Sunday gossip item alleged Hutton had broken off a lesbian relationship with her live-in partner of seven years, gold medal-winning hockey player Danni Roche, saying the top-rating TV star had moved on to a relationship with an equally "high-profile television personality".

But while our Sydney colleagues tell us the story has been the talk of the town, in an extraordinary move Nine and Hutton's manager and former boyfriend, Harry M. Miller, rekindled interest yesterday by releasing a joint statement pleading for privacy.

"It is with great sadness and disappointment that such an admired person as Deborah has become the target of vicious rumour and speculation in regards to her private life," it read.

Is the vicious part the lesbian bit, or the allegations she's moved on quickly with another closeted famous lady? Or is it simply the timing of it all?

Personally, we think it'd be marvellous for Deborah's fans, perhaps more conservative older folk, to realise that The Gays come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, and anyone - ANYONE - could quite literally be one! And if they can "admire" someone like Deborah Hutton and she turns out to be partial to the occasional lady-dive, then perhaps they can open their minds and begin to respect all decent people regardless of their sexual preference.

Of course, you'd think Australian Woman's Weekly readers would be used to things not being what they initially appear to be, considering they're only able to purchase the magazine on a monthly basis.

The big question is... who's the equally high profile television personality they're talking about?

This weekend (well, dragged out over Sunday and Monday) will see the conclusion of an all-round fairly disappointing season of Big Brother. Can we blame the lack of nude moments? The housemates themselves? An exhausted nation weary of reality television? We will perhaps pen an incredibly lengthy and insightful essay answering these very questions next week.

In the meantime, please vote to save the wonderful, charming, sweet Zach who strikes us as the only person in the damn Dreamworld compound with a soul. Restore our faith in the nation. If Zach wins, the huge hole in our heart caused by the hideous victory of The Logans over Lefty Tim in 2005 may be somewhat filled.

All signs point to yes.

A comedy featuring a girl with teeth in her vagina, a gynaecologist who loses a hand in the workplace and a rottweiler eating his master's penis was always going to be the talk of the town, especially in Utah.

......

Teeth is the first feature Lichtenstein - son of Roy, the famous pop artist - has made. His central character, Dawn, is a sugar-and-spice high school girl who is a leading light in her local branch of the Promise, a chastity club.

Teen love looms, however, making it increasingly difficult for her to keep her vow. Confused, she swims at a local beauty spot with a sympathetic boy from the group when, against her will, he decides the moment for them to break their vows is now. Right now. It is then, in a scene that will give even the gorefest fans a small thrill, that she discovers her hidden weapon. Downstairs, she's like the Terminator.

SCREAM!

We are seeing it in approximately four hours, so we'll give you the heads up as to whether it is officially the Greatest Movie Ever on Monday.

Please enjoy the following video, sent to us in an email with the message "There's something about gay children lip synching which is akin to watching a car crash in slow motion..."

Indeed.

Australian shoppers aren't exactly rushing out to buy designer Josh Goot's diffusion range at Target.

In fact, our spies tell us that stores are struggling to push the crap, thus choosing to further devalue Mr Goot's name by discounting it.

Not that Mr Goot's name was worth much to the average punter to begin with. His eponymous label has enjoyed a meteoric and arguably undeserved rise to quasi-fame - clearly benefiting from good PR and friends in the biz, since no one outside of the insular and often misguided fashion pack actually know who the fuck he is anyway.

Nonetheless, in case you give a rats arse, the stuff is now 25% off at Target. Radical! We'll see you there on the 12th of Never!

Film publicists, aw heck, any kind of publicists really, love to find a story where there isn't one. Take today's email from Twentieth Century Fox Film Distributors...

"'The Simpsons Movie' grossed in excess of a massive A$2.3 million at the box office, making it the biggest animated film opening day of all time in Australia!

This is an extraordinary achievement given the non-holiday release date, confirming the exceptional appeal of the Springfield family to the Australian audience.

Extraordinary achievement? Um, no, getting accepted into Harvard as a 5-year-old is an extraordinary achievement. Winning 18 gold medals at 6 consecutive Olympic games is an extraordinary achievement.

Making $2.3 million on a film fans have been waiting to see for 18 years is, well, is par for the course, and frankly not that impressive. Seriously, it's STILL half what the latest Harry Potter film made.

Even though she chose to wash her hands of her association with Australians, the thoroughly lovable larrikans of the planet, Defamer Australia is somewhat pleased to inform you - via the magic of other people who actually know and find out stuff quite shortly after it happens - that Naomi Watts and Liev Schreiber have popped out a baby boy.

Naomi Watts and Liev Schreiber welcomed their first child, a healthy baby boy, in Los Angeles on Thursday, PEOPLE has confirmed. Just last weekend, Watts, 38, and Schreiber, 39, celebrated with a baby shower at their Los Angeles-area home. Among the approximately 15 guests were Kate Hudson and actress Carla Gugino. The pair started dating in 2005.

No word on the name yet, but it's got to be better than Peter Andre and Jordan's choice of Princess Tiaamii for their newborn daughter, which made us think they were forced to come up with a name using only 15 random Scrabble letters handpicked by eldest offspring Harvey from a velvet drawstring bag, and after they managed to cobble together "princess" (a miracle in itself considering the pair's combined brain power), they were left with only two consonants and a sea of useless vowels to bang out a second name.

· A special thanks to the Official Star Wars Blog for saving us the trip to Comic-Con to learn that Karen Allen is returning for Indy 4. Still no word on when they're going to announce Short Round's surprise involvement. · The Lohan-Vac: for all your handheld, coke-hoovering needs. · Al Jean picks out his favourite Simpsons guest stars of all time. · Celebrity couples reproduce, just like Us! · Rock of Love fans wanting to know more about the contestants' fine work in the adult film field might want to read this. [NSFW, at all. You've been warned.]

As we all undoubtedly realise, the tragic, coke-in-someone-else's-pants-related events of early Tuesday morning created certain challenges for the people behind I Know Who Killed Me, the Lindsay Lohan vehicle opening tomorrow that will henceforth be associated with her most spectacular meltdown to date. Still, the cast and crew soldiered on last night at a private premiere screening, refusing to be defeated by circumstances outside of their control. The Defamer Special Correspondent On Well, It's Not Like We Can Just Burn All the Film and Pretend This Never Happened filed this report on the event: [warning: some spoilers ahead]

Tagged along with a friend of mine to the I Know Who Killed Me screening at the Academy in Beverly Hills last night. Co stars Neil McDonough and Julia Ormond were in attendance, but the star of the show (LILO - you may have read about her lately) was noticeably absent. As the movie begins, producer Frank Mancuso Jr. gets up and says the requisite "thanks for coming" and "thanks for all your hard work" and then goes there by saying that we've "seen things on this movie we never thought we would see in this town" and that after Lindsay's "most recent problem" they considered not even having this screening.

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Realising that her new, streamlined body may have thrown a harsh and unwelcome spotlight on some of her regrettable surgical enhancements of the past (it became glaringly obvious after a valet accidentally cut himself on one of her jutting cheek implants), perfection addict Courtney Love took to her MySpace blog, announcing in her trademarked, crackified prose her plans to visit a leading Parisian plastic surgery unbotcher:

"My mouth still looks wonky, i think i gott go back to paris tot he dr, he fixes bad surgery and also cleft palates and serious [bleep] its nbot really vanity hes conservtive, wich we like," the grunge singer wrote on her Web site. "This really isnt znyones business but im hating that id di that to my mouth back in the day and he didnt really take out enough the first time around i just wnt the mouth god gave me back."

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Without question, Mia Farrow's Wall Street Journal op-ed warning 2008 Olympic adviser Steven Spielberg that his failure to pressure the Chinese government about its funding of the Darfur genocide risked establishing him as the "Leni Riefenstahl of the Beijing Games" was a stirring speaking-truth-to-Hollywood-power moment, and one that proved far more effective in getting the director's attention than Brad Pitt's pulling aside Spielberg at the after-party for the A Mighty Heart premiere to tell the legend, "Um, Steven, I think Angie has something she'd like to tell you about The Sudan." But what drove Farrow to risk a DreamWorks disappearing by so publicly criticising the beloved icon? Slate's Kim Masters reports that after a pair of personal pleas went unanswered, she felt she had no other recourse:

Farrow got no response. Then she read that Spielberg was going to be an artistic director of the games. "I wrote him a letter of conscience saying I hoped he knew all these things," she says. "I really suggested he think twice. And then when I didn't hear back, I had a vision of a box within a box within a box - that he has an office, and then there's a real office behind that and maybe a really real office after that and maybe three letters a month actually get to him.

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· Just in case you missed yesterday afternoon's reports of the Steve McPherson/Ben Silverman "be a man" feud at the TCAs, here's Var's take on the "clueless or stupid" row. [Variety] · A planned Heroes video game could hit store shelves by late 2008, satisfying fans' desires to take control of indestructible cheerleaders or strippers who have homicidal reflections. [THR] · Guy Ritchie, whose film career once seemed entirely swallowed by the demands of being Mr. Madonna (constantly monitoring his wife's eBay orphan auctions is a pretty time-consuming responsibility), signs on to direct an adaptation of his Virgin comic The Gamekeeper for Warner Bros. [Variety] · Eddie Izzard replaces Jeremy Piven in Weinstein Co. animated movie Igor, though no reason for the switch has been given. But good news: as CAA reps both, the agency will retain its commission. Everyone wins! [THR] · Iron Man's billionaire industrialist alter-ego will be an Audi enthusiast. Suck it, BMW. And you too, VW.[Variety]

The truth-seekers of Entertainment Tonight, virtually alone in their principled quest to reject the anti-Lohan propaganda force-fed to the media by the Santa Monica Police Department, has started asking the uncomfortable questions about What Really Happened following the fateful high-speed chase of early Monday morning: What precipitated that second assistant's mysterious firing/termination? Does anyone know for sure that Lindsay Lohan was actually the one driving the pursuit vehicle? And, most crucially: Did Lindsay have any idea whose cocaine-laden pants she was wearing? In the spirit of the report, we won't steer you towards any particular answers to these queries, but we will note that if one put on the pants of a randomly selected clubgoing female from Lohan's Los Angeles peer group, there's at least a 75 percent that there will be blow in the pocket. Do the maths. Open your eyes. Think for yourselves. Also of note: Lohan was apparently barefoot during the incident. Which, as strange as it sounds, is a minor miracle, because had the police discovered "a small amount of cocaine in her shoe," well, even the most dogged of celebrity newsmagazine investigations wouldn't be able to save her from the unjust persecution of the ensuing jokes.

• Entertainment Tonight [ETonline.com]
• Previously: How Fucked Is Lindsay Lohan?: Acting Career Edition [Defamer]

Generally speaking, the blame for most junket disasters can be assigned to the talent, as the punishing demands of nonstop press obligations often leaves performers a little sleepy or disoriented by a handful of jetlag helpers, suboptimal interview conditions that invariably lead to erratic results. But in the above clip, all of the technical difficulties seem to be affecting only the personnel on hand in the news studio, leaving a game Holly Hunter to suffer her way through four of the more uncomfortable minutes you're likely to ever see.

• TV Disaster [YouTube]

Not since the advent of local news station KABC7's patented RichieTracker7000â„¢ have reality-simulating tools available on the internet enabled us to immerse ourselves in a virtual world in which we can experience the defining moment of a troubled starlet's life, but this afternoon, the combination of AccessHollywood.com's Lindsay Lohan timeline map and TMZ's streaming audio feed of the 911 call that led to Lohan's DUI arrest allows us to once again disappear into the Celebutard Matrix. We recommend that the weak of constitution not attempt to follow the map and listen to the audio at the same time, as the psychological overload of becoming unstuck in time along the Lohan Self-Destruction Continuum while being anchored to the present by the anguished voice in the 911 call could result in a fatal aneurysm.

• Lindsay Lohan's Map of Mishaps [AH]
• Bulletin: Lohan -- The Hysterical 911 Tape [TMZ]

David Hans Schmidt, aka the Sultan of Sleaze, has made a career out of brokering celebrity smut to the highest bidder. Without him, that storage locker of Paris Hilton's repossessed personal effects would never have found its way online, thereby forever denying the world her racist renditions of popular disco songs and pictures of Cisco Adler's improbably oversized testicles. But Schmidt was operating in a different league when he went after Tom Cruise, offering to sell back the happily married actor a stash of stolen wedding photos for $US1 million. From The Smoking Gun:

David Hans Schmidt, 47, was nabbed Tuesday by FBI agents and is currently being held at the federal detention centre in L.A.. He allegedly tried to sell Cruise a large cache of private photos from the actor's November 2006 wedding to Katie Holmes. Schmidt sought more than $US1 million for the wedding photos, which were stolen from the actor, said Bert Fields, a Cruise lawyer.

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We're not entirely sure what to make of this Pringles-can-eye-view of Rosie O'Donnell recently uploaded to her Flickr stream. Perhaps the digitally altered portrait is message-art, there to remind Drew Carey - recently chosen over her to host The Price is Right - that despite his recent casting coup, the planet still very much revolves around O'Donnell's blinding star, and that he should remain grateful that she doesn't choose to dispense of the bespectacled comedian by incinerating him with her sapphic UV rays or one blow of her hurricane-powered super-breath.

• photobooth [Rosie O'Donnell's Flickr Stream]

Prince Frederic Von Anhalt, best known as a dark horse in the Anna Nicole Smith paternity sweepstakes and the only man who can please a still-insatiable Zsa Zsa Gabor, has found himself the victim of a random act of violence perpetrated by a trio of armed women (or so the notorious publicity-whoring faux-royal says). ETOnline.com has the details:

ANHALT says he was robbed Thursday morning by three gun-toting women on a Los Angeles street.

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In this celebrity-obsessed time, where even the seemingly most innocent home visit by a UPS delivery-person, handyman, or allegedly discreet escort specialising in pirate-themed bondage can result in a humiliating four-page, cameraphone-photo spread in Life & Style spotlighting the appalling tackiness of an actor's window treatments, an image-conscious famous person's best friend is the nondisclosure agreement, the first legal line of defence against preventable privacy violations. The LAT today risks third degree burns by getting too close to the sizzle of Hollywood's hottest legal document:

"It's the information age, and information is power," says Peter Dunham, an interior designer based in West Hollywood who is often privy to VIP secrets through his work for celebrities. Dunham says requests for nondisclosure agreements have become so prevalent, he's had to add a boilerplate in his contracts stating that he and his staff will keep their lips sealed on every detail, be it the celebrity's address, her budget, the kind of flowers she prefers in the foyer or the intimate details of what lies in her closets.

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