The soul-deadening imposition of commercial brands on your moviegoing experience got even more shameless this morning when the oft-overlooked ring of Hell know as "brandcameo" unveiled the winners of its fourth annual Product Placement Awards. You could probably guess at least most of the heavyweight competitors — your Apples, your Fords, your Manolos — from a glance at the last year's worth of releases, but that doesn't make the year's findings any less remarkable in context: The surveyors counted an average of 22.1 brands in each of the 20 films this year to have a No. 1 weekend at the box office. That number is down from 2007, when an average of nearly 25 brands were counted among the year's 32 top releases.

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Unlike most adulterous celebrity scandals, the latest claim that Most Awkward On-Screen Sex Partner Matthew Broderick has pulled a Beckham / Phillippe / Hawke by getting involved in a long-term affair with a 25-year old redhead is actually filled to the brim with hilariously kinky details. The Star exclusive includes all sorts of juicy and slightly nauseating allegations, making Pat O'Brien's "I want to fucking eat you!" sweet nothings seem tame in comparison. As sad as any remaining fans of Ferris may be to hear it, the mag's sources claim newly mole-less SJP's hubby is fond of popping 'round his do-gooder mistress' bedroom, darting out after 30 minutes, and leaving the girl "passed out on her bed in her panties." But is this really so shocking? After the jump, we cover the many times Parker has hinted that the long-married couple has serious issues, from her comments that he's always "secretly manipulating you," to the time she confessed she just adores seeing him "have great chemistry" with other women:

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Was Sarah Jessica Parker's mole removal so effective in the sexiness department that the simple laser treatment managed to majorly tighten the trousers of all those T&A experts at Maxim? As we noted this week, SJP found herself caught up in a mystery-laden MoleGate, in which her immortal beauty mark suddenly disappeared. Some (guilty as charged) played the optimist by suggesting the once-highly noticeable imperfection had simply been disguised by some genius makeup artist — but just one day later, her rep confirmed that the SATC star did go under the laser simply because "she was in the mood."

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We have noted the ridiculously mean-spirited SATC review that curmudgeonly queen Rex Reed wrote for the NY Observer on these pages before. However, we have never printed the offending opening graf here on these pages, but seeing as how SJP had her beauty-mark lasered off sometime in the last few weeks (it wasn't just makeup, after all), it seems that the time is right:

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The Daily Mail, that notorious rag that deconstructs celebrity faces and performs detailed analyses of every miniscule wrinkle, inflated pout, and sagging rump, has finally turned its eagle eyes towards Sarah Jessica Parker. And unlike fellow plastic surgery obsessed sites, the tab has gone beyond simply accusing the SATC behemoth of getting nips and tucks, choosing instead to focus on the famously anti-surgical enhancement star's cute, albeit sizable, mole above her chin. You see, the British body part attack squad spotted a recent photo of SJP taken at last night's MLB All-Star Game and jumped to the thrilling conclusion that the actress has had her trademark imperfection — the one that inspired Rex Reed to spend an entire paragraph of his mean-spirited SATC review begging her to laser off — removed once and for all. But paired with Parker's decade-long (sometimes downright bitchy) assault on peers who dare halt the aging process with needles and knives, the photo in question does little to convince us Sarah Jessica is guilty of anything more than having enough money to hire a proper makeup artist:

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There's nothing more delicious than a model/journalist (the rarer subgenre of the model/actress, model/musician, model/fashion designer, or my personal favourite, the MAW - model/actress/whatever), so I was thrilled to see Jennifer Hawkins had been given a guest's desk at the Daily Telegraph to write an Bronte-esque missive about her date with Chris "Mr Big" Noth.

Here's what Australia's latest poet laureate has to say:

Before the party started I got to chat with him about the movie, his visit to Sydney and travelling the world.

He'd heard I was going to Paris on Saturday, for the Dior fashion shows, and he suggested a few restaurants to go to.

He'd been there filming scenes for Sex And The City and knew all the right places to eat.

He tried to change my mind about eating escargot (snails).

I've tried them and know they're a delicacy, but as I told him, I just didn't like them.

And just when you think you can't take any more, she brings it all home with this stunning closing couplet:

He seems really free-spirited and told me he wished he hadn't been so jet-lagged the last time he was in Australia for the Logies.

Still, watching him meet-and-greet everyone last night I'm pretty sure he'll make the most of his time in this city.

Can we sort out a column for J-Hawk now that Bec Hewitt has flown the 'My Pregnancy/Marriage/Baby/Drug/Lawnmowing/Three-Piece Lounge Suite Hell' coop? See to it, there's a good man.

Sex and the City: The Movie—already a sacred Women's Studies text, pored over on campuses throughout the country as the prototypical example of early-21st Century "shoe-me" feminism—has found itself on the receiving end of some of the most petty and vicious critiques of any movie in ages. There was Rex Reed's NY Observer review, in which Reed spent the first 90 words obsessing over Sarah Jessica Parker's chin growth, and likened to the cast to "plow mules in lipstick," and Anthony Lane's subtler ("...thudding closeups of her slurping through a cocktail straw or swallowing a mouthful of guacamole..."), but no less nauseated, take on the film's middle-aged stars in the New Yorker. Now, approaching its fourth week of release, the hits keeps coming. From Page Six:

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· Tyra dubs Carnie Wilson's tabloid-documented weight battles "Carnie Wilson's War," mainly because every paparazzi shot of her eating an ice cream cone also features Tom Hanks engaging in witty repartee from behind a highball glass. [Tyra Show]
· The Golden Girls (minus Estelle Getty) reunited last night for the TV Land Awards. You know which episode was on the other week that we had totally forgotten about? The one where Rose thinks she's HIV positive for 72 hours, and Sophia draws an "R" on her coffee mugs! [Mollygood]
· What Hollywood's Next A-list feature would be complete without James McAvoy's overexposed turtle-face? [EW.com]
·We've seen some sexist attacks on Sex and the City, but this clucking SATC slumber party takes the cake. That said, we watched it for way longer than was really necessary. [YTMND]
· The LAT visits the set of Bitch Slap, a C-movie production proudly keeping the Russ Meyer aesthetic alive. [Hollywood Backlot]
·2 Girls, 1 Cup, and 1 Birthday Cake that will probably yield a record amount of leftovers. (Caution: Contains convincing icing-simulated poo.) [flickr via B3TA]

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Browsing the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly, we came across Steve Daly's survey of the modern spoiler, never more epidemic in the Internet age than on exterior shoots. And while some studios conceal their films' secrets by burning the entire set and even the movies themselves to smouldering rubble, we tip our cap to the more creatively minded subterfuge happening on sets from Indiana Jones 4 to Gossip Girl to Sex and the City. That's not going to stop us, though, from giving away everything that happens in Daly's piece after the jump.

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On a day when feminism in Hollywood swings wildly between pure gender-pandering and impassioned scrotum-punching, we're hearing about one developing project that could potentially split the difference: I Spit on Your Grave, a remake of the notorious 1978 rape-revenge film that made so many friends upon its initial release ("Attending it was one of the most depressing experiences of my life," Roger Ebert wrote in his original review).

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