Journalist Fiona Connolly recently used column inches in the Daily Telegraph to alert readers to an extremely concerning issue - people on Facebook dislike Nicole Kidman. In fact, they loathe Our Nic TM enough to actually start spiteful groups which cruelly mock Nicole, her forehead, and her acting ability! It seems too horrible to be true, I understand. But our intrepid reporter has investigated the issue thoroughly and reached the only conclusion a decent and upstanding citizen possibly could.... Facebook is full of evildoers.

From the expose:

Someone I know suggested I join the Facebook group, "Am I Taking Crazy Pills or is Nicole Kidman the Worst Actress in the World?" I don't know why. I am completely indifferent as to whether Kidman's acting skills are bad, very bad or indeed the worst in the world. And I don't know what a crazy pill is supposed to be.

I think they are probably talking about ecstasy. Facebook users gulp these crazy pills by the fistful, as apparently they make the process of poking friends and strangers more pleasurable. Disgusting, I know.

Ms Connolly continues:

But I was not entirely surprised it existed - Facebookers are inherently unpleasant and Kidman has always polarised people.

Wahey! Hello there, sweeping statement! Facebookers are inherently unpleasant? Tell that to Dannii Minogue! She's probably right though - other than the homosexuals (and yours truly) who make up People For The Ethical Treatment Of Dannii Minogue, the social networking hell that is Facebook is pretty much made up of the most vicious and cruel bitches to ever walk the earth, sit down in front of a computer, and send a virtual plant to an associate using the (Lil) Green Patch application.

She goes on:

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As exit strategies go, Daniel Craig's long view on stepping away from James Bond is the most progressive we've encountered in some time: At a Quantum of Solace press conference last week in Rome, Craig suggested that Barack Obama's election win had perhaps laid the groundwork for a black 007. Admittedly, we hadn't yet considered the "action-movie franchise" component of Obama's social influence, but at least one critic opened the discussion online — and this only days after Beyoncé Knowles made a public appeal for the role of Wonder Woman in the long-delayed (and presumed dead) comic-book adaptation. And so begins America's next essential civil rights debate: Have our blockbuster heroes moved beyond race?

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The MPAA ratings system tomorrow celebrates its 40th birthday — four full decades of tormenting filmmakers, distributors and, ultimately, audiences with an inconsistent moral code symbolised by those infamous G, PG, PG-13, R and NC-17 ratings. In an interview published Thursday in Time, MPAA chief Dan Glickman and ratings board chair Joan Graves reflected warmly on the system's evolution over the years; and while we agree that Hollywood's self-governance is preferable to the zealotry of the Hays Code and other puritanical watchdogs who preceded it, Graves and Co. remain the city's worst censors by any other name. So join us after the jump to commemorate the MPAA's milestone with a look back at 40 decisions affirming its less-than-inspiring legacy. Unhappy 40th, everyone!

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We (and you) were none too pleased when Ben Lyons joined Ben Mankiewicz as the host for At the Movies earlier this year, particularly when we considered Lyons' track record as something of a half-wit Richard Roeper to Mankiewicz's low-rent Roger Ebert. And while Manckiewicz has settled in relatively well in the last six weeks, we continue to cringe at the sight and sound of Lyons fluffing away at Hollywood loins in his blurb-fertile reviews. Still, we knew he was a hack; what we didn't know (at least to the extent we do today) was the garish, staggering extent of his starfucking.

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Most of the attention paid to Jonathan Demme's new film Rachel Getting Married has centered on the Oscar-buzzed lead performance from Anne Hathaway, but many critics are consumed with something the movie treats as a non-event: the fact that the titular Rachel (Rosemarie DeWitt) is marrying a black man, Sidney (Tunde Adebimpe of the band TV on the Radio). The interracial nature of their relationship goes unremarked upon throughout the entire film, and that fact is vexing several film critics, who dismiss such a notion as a fantasy. Enjoy their thinly veiled discomfort with the shocking idea that white people can marry black people in 2008 without someone giving a speech about it, after the jump!

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No one around here really wants to have the Save-a-Fading-Hollywood-Icon conversation every day. But less than 24 hours after Ed McMahon's sad, bought-and-paid-for declaration that "I am officially a rapper," the quiet dumping of Diane Keaton's new film Smother (or the fact that there even is a Diane Keaton film called Smother) leaves us no real choice. The Oscar-winner's latest is her fourth consecutive Straight-to-Flopz™ effort since 2007, as well as the third during that time (alongside Because I Said So and Mama's Boy) in which she's portrayed a suffocating harpy mum. Worse yet — depressingly so — Smother is the first Diane Keaton film in our adult lifetimes that we didn't even know existed until after it opened. Not. Cool.

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Earlier this summer, when the news emerged that Sidekick Hall of Fame charter member Ed McMahon was facing imminent foreclosure on and eviction from his Beverly Hills residence, an outpouring of sympathy and support quickly followed from many directions. McMahon's real estate agent threw a Hail Mary as time ran out on his bank's clock. Donald Trump, citing the 85 year old's military heroism and monolithic pop-culture standing, made the one-handed catch for the win. He cameoed last weekend in Josh Groban's Emmy-night Miracle on Figueroa Street.

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By most accounts, Emmy viewers lost track of the broadcast's lows somewhere after hitting bottom during Josh Groban's infamous TV Theme Lightning Round — a four-minute, 26-song medley comprising some of television history's most celebrated opening themes. It helped if they had lyrics; there was no Seinfeld, Hill Street Blues, Taxi or Night Court, for starters, but The X-Files was nevertheless featured prominently and notoriously, so who knows? And really, who cares? Despite valid complaints about set-list omissions from Family Ties to The Monkees, it's essential, as with any performance art, to judge Groban's number on its own terms. Even if those terms include Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

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We took the better part of two days to process the NYT's recent recognition of Warner Bros. as the crown jewel at Time Warner, where Jeff Bewkes, Barry Meyer, Alan Horn and Co. are venerated at length for emphasizing "content" (i.e. their film and TV properties) ahead of "distribution" outlets like AOL, DVD and on-demand services. It's an oddly situational success story; in fact, it opens with WB chairman Meyer literally inhaling the incoming fax telling him The Dark Knight made $66 million on opening day, and namechecks Two and a Half Men among a handful of TV series that are finding lucrative traction internationally. There's also the HBO factor and the Turner channels' flourishing as well.

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Dear Quentin Tarantino,

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