by Jason Dean

The hypocrisy hounds smelled blood when word began to spread last year about “Leaves in the Wind,” the 156-acre, five-dwelling development in the Sweetwater Mesa area of the Malibu hills proposed by U2 guitarist The Edge. People salivated over the suggestion that the very band that propped itself up as a paragon of social responsibility would allow one of its own destroy the ecological balance of a cozy, coastal enclave.

As rancor built among neighbors and the California Coastal Commission debated aspects of the project, LA Times columnist Steve Lopez added to the cause-célèbre quotient when he launched a couple screeds impugning the integrity of the plan. The informational website that offered extensive details on the project was “slick,” scoffed Lopez, and the PR firm handling media inquiries were “lobbying/marketing people.” But what of the actual substance of the plans and the people who created them? Project Designer Wallace Cunningham and Landscaper Pamela Burton have built world-class reputations as sustainable building professionals. All necessary permits have been granted; there’s no rule bending or circumventing going on here. Thus far, Edge (David Evans when necessary) has stayed out of the fray, his statement on the Leaves in the Wind website being his only public comment on the matter. But he did take the time to provide some thoughtful responses to questions I e-mailed to him in mid-February.

First off, I wanted to know, did he expect that local opposition would be so passionate, and has it gotten him to reconsider any aspects of the project? “I went into the project determined to set a benchmark for architectural design in the Santa Monica Mountains, and for the project and to be exemplary in every aspect. Therefore, any legitimate criticism has been welcomed,” wrote Edge. “I believed that if I could communicate my intentions that I would win people over…. I believe that most of the local opposition is softening as understanding of our blended, sustainable approach deepens. However, there is a small group of locals who are very vocal and simply want to stop all development of any kind. We are not expecting them to change their no-growth opinion.”

Therein lies the crux of the issue. Build anything new in Malibu—on public or private land—and you’re committing a sacrilege, according to a few. I ask Edge what he thinks about this. “There is a new development of houses in a similar setting to our own that recently received permits just to the east of our land, so construction is not particularly unusual,” he wrote. “An important thing to realize is that because this land has pre-existing entitlements for five, individual, salable homes, it will be built upon at some point by somebody. From looking around at all of the inorganic, unsustainable homes in the area, the question for this land is not whether it is built upon, but what will be built,” he continued.  “We have the opportunity now to do it right.”

Edge and business partner Derek Quinlan bought the Sweetwater Mesa acreage in 2006 for $9 million. Of the 156 acres that make up the five land parcels, the plan calls for each home to sit on roughly a quarter acre, with a total of 1.15 acres being utilized for the development. Originally looking for just a single-family home in the area, Edge said when he saw a brochure for the property, he realized there was vast potential to create a pocket of “sustainable, organically blended homes” that would “collectively complement the landscape” of an area that he has developed strong connections to over the years. (Not exactly a recent invader, Edge has lived in Malibu for the past decade.)

I wanted to know how Edge came to choose Burton and Cunningham as the design team, and he obliged with a thorough explanation. After initial discussions with MIT Boston professors of architecture John Fernandez and Andrew Scott to “tease out the design philosophy,” Burton’s company was chosen because of her extensive work with native plants. Edge was attracted to Cunningham’s “organic architecture based on the design theories of Frank Lloyd Wright.” Edge and his wife, Morleigh, met extensively with Cunningham, visiting other homes he had designed, meeting at the local Starbucks in Malibu, and, finally, walking the site and discussing their shared goal of building on the land while respecting it.

“What I loved about his work,” wrote Edge about Cunningham, “was that each home was totally different and site-specific. They felt in harmony with the landscape. Seeing how Wally has painstakingly studied each square foot of the Sweetwater Mesa landscape…has been very inspiring. He got to know the land so well that he gave each natural rock outcrop a name.”

Cunningham, a gentle man with an easy laugh, understands people are upset, but he believes their anger is misdirected. “When I drive [Pacific Coast Highway] in Malibu, I’m disgusted,” he tells me. “The architecture’s ugly, everything’s paved, and those people who are complaining, did it all. They built ugly houses in gray colors, no rainwater systems, no solar…they have exotic, non-native landscapes, and they’re complaining.” Cunningham’s building plans integrate with the land, using non-objective shapes for the houses. “We didn’t use right angles,” he says. “We use shapes…and colors that [look like] the mountains.” I ask Cunningham what he makes of the protests, and he empathizes for a fleeting moment. “Everybody means well. It’s a beautiful piece of property. I’m sure they all wish they would have put money together and bought it years ago. But they didn’t.” Still, Cunningham believes when all is said and done, and the vision for Leaves in the Wind becomes reality, the opposition will be won over.

I ask Cunningham about the Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy’s claim that the project would bring with it “unavoidable significant adverse visual and ecological impacts,” according to a recent letter. “The Mountain Conservancy, it’s their job to say [they] don’t want anything [built].” Cunningham has already repositioned and redesigned the houses based on recommendations from the California Coastal Commission. “We took a year’s worth of work and threw it in the trash and started from scratch, and I redesigned [the houses] with their wishes in mind.”

Critics also have leveled claims that because a new water line will have to be constructed, other builders inevitably would be drawn to the area to tap into it as well. Edge was ready with an answer. “The extension of the existing water line will have very little potential for other builders to draw from it,” he replied. “The alignment was carefully designed to predominately follow already built and disturbed land. The two or three un-built parcels that conceivably could be served by the water line extension are growth-limited by difficult-to-build terrain, rather than water supply.” Clearly, this rock musician has become geologically enlightened through this whole process.

Stephen Billings, senior project manager at Pamela Burton and Company, elaborated on the process of integrating with the sensitive landscape. “We’re working with a native plant expert to help propagate plants….We want to plant small, for good root structure, have temporary irrigation for a year, then it’s survival of the fittest after that.” Billings mentioned that sophisticated drip irrigation systems that can communicate with weather satellites will be used within 100 feet of the homes to maximize efficient water use on a permanent basis. “We’re trying to reduce ecological impact by creating patches and networks of [native] plant materials,” he added. “We’re looking at how to go into this landscape and create new planting that blends in; we don’t want to create a green scar.”

I ask if there are plans to eventually widen the road or if any adjustments have been made to anticipate increased traffic. “There’s not going to be a lot of parking; they’re not going to be having big parties,” he assured me. Fair enough. But there is one final straw to grab at that even the most ardent dissenter probably had not considered. Surely, Edge’s home will be equipped with some ridiculously extravagant, state-of-the-art, recording facility that will by chance emit high frequencies causing all the furry critters in the area to turn rabid and attack the good people of Malibu in the town below. Then these meddling green builders will finally see the error of their ways. Your move, Edge. “Actually, the house will have no built-in technology. It’s going to be our family home, maybe a place for me to study, but hopefully not a work place.” No further questions, your honor.

Before Morleigh introduced him to the beauty of the Santa Monica Mountains years ago, Edge explained, “I had only ever seen L.A. from the perspective of a visiting touring musician, which was the basically the West Hollywood and Beverly Hills area. When I discovered the raw beauty of the mountains I was totally blown away. I felt I was seeing the real L.A. for the first time. From then on I have always stayed down near the coast.”

Cunningham offers a final rejoinder to those who would like to give Leaves in the Wind the proverbial rake. “We could be looking at more Taco Bells up there. We could be looking at a southern Tuscan villa,” he said. “In this case, we have something that I believe is American architecture. I like American architecture, from Thomas Jefferson to now. And I think American architecture is very different from other architecture in the world. And there is a tradition. I feel connected to John Lautner, to Frank Lloyd Wright, Schindler, Neutra—all of the gang…. Would I set out to destroy a beautiful place? I hope that’s not what people think of
my work.”

by Jason Dean

The 82nd Annual Academy Awards’ build-up toward the crowning of Best Director and Best Picture was a see-saw battle for momentum between Team Cameron and Team Bigelow. Best Cinematography and Best Soundtrack showdowns for the two visually arresting—but very different—films set the tone as the dueling exes traded reaction shots throughout the evening. But when the dust settled, Kathryn Bigelow became the first female director to win an Oscar and The Hurt Locker (six wins, including best picture) stomped all over Hollywood’s biggest ego and the most lucrative movie ever made.

Director Kathryn Bigelow and presenter Barbara Streisand onstage

It was not James Cameron’s night. He never got any closer to the stage than his third-row seat allowed, and he was forced to grin and endure Ben Stiller’s deliciously dry blue-face parody as presenter for Best Make Up (for which Avatar was not even nominated). As Awards Season 2010 heated up, it became apparent that Avatar’s bloated technical reputation could outstrip its Oscar legitimacy. It could be that the gritty, Iraq War reality of The Hurt Locker speaks directly to our collective world-weary psyche, more so than a breathtaking, sparkly fantasy land. Or, The Academy is just plain sick of ol’ JC’s smug mug.

Starting in 2009, Best Actor and Actress nominees were introduced by their peers rather than shown in a clip from their nominated performance. Luckily, there were no moments like last year, when Adrien Brody was reduced to reciting Best Actor nom Richard Jenkins’ IMDB page, sounding suspiciously like the kid who forgot to do his homework and made some half-assed attempt to complete it five minutes before class started. Michelle Pfeiffer gave a moving introduction to Jeff Bridges in which she praised his moral character and commitment to his family and his craft. When Bridges won for his performance as a grizzled country singer in Crazy Heart, he basked in the moment with a humble appreciation that felt entirely authentic.

Sandra Bullock’s Best Actress win for The Blind Side gives the proven box office star an “Erin Brockovich” stamp of credibility.  Bullock was classy, elegant, and eloquent, though she seemed stunned to hear her name spoken, as would anyone who’s up for an award against Meryl Streep. Mo’Nique’s chilling portrayal of an evil and abusive mother in Precious rightfully earned her a Best Supporting Actress nod, and Christoph Waltz’s Best Supporting Actor win gave Inglorious Basterds its lone moment in the winner’s circle.

Co-hosts Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin during the 82nd Annual Academy Awards

As for the broadcast, the Martin/Baldwin co-host arrangement seemed ill-conceived; Steve Martin’s already hosted the show on his own. Hugh Jackman was snarked upon at last year’s Oscars for having the audacity to entertain as emcee; by comparison, this year’s cocktail banter between Steve and Alec didn’t inspire. There was a touching tribute to late filmmaker John Hughes, which was followed by a puzzling retrospective of horror movie scenes. We saw an interpretive dance number intended to represent each of the 10 Best Picture nominees. But once again, there were no musical performances from the Best Song category. James Taylor was on hand to perform The Beatles “In My Life” acoustically for the In Memoriam montage, which added a poignant touch to the annual feature that remembers those in the industry who have died in the past year.

Now that the 2010 broadcast is history, the Academy can get to work tinkering and reinventing itself for 2011. A few suggestions: One host is enough, one song is not enough, and James Cameron a safe distance away from a microphone is just right.

by Christina Ochoa Lopez

It is T minus 3 days for entertainment’s most talked about ceremony, and we all have our favorite nominees. Coming to mind are the controversial ex-spouses James Cameron and Katherine Bigelow–both heading the “Best Movie” and “Best Director” categories–sure to ruffle some feathers when the award is given, not to mention an immediate reaction shot of the losing party at the moment of the announcement.  To start off this countdown, and in anticipation of the hopefully memorable 2010 Oscar ceremony, we look back at the shocking and bizarre unexpected moments of the past…

Although the Academy Awards have been around since 1929, its only since 1952 Hollywood’s biggest night has been televised. Before that, they were  broadcast on radio, and not always the complete ceremony. Hell, before 1940, the results weren’t even in a sealed envelope. They would be printed in the next day’s newspapers. But its a good thing they televise them now, because otherwise they would rob us of great and shocking moments; from a puffed-up Sean Penn defending Jude Law to joking host Chris Rock—a moment that made Spicoli fans everywhere wonder where his sense of humor had gone. Or how about host Jerry Lewis, who had twenty minutes to kill in 1958 when the show ran early and tried to tell some jokes. In 2003, Adrien Brody gave presenter Halle Berry a long, passionate kiss after his unexpected Best Actor victory over Jack Nicholson and Daniel Day-Lewis. “I bet they didn’t tell you that was in the gift bag,” he then told a stunned Berry.

So here’s a look back at a couple of past moments that are both famous or just plain bizarre:

Jack Palance does one-armed push-ups.

Veteran character actor and perennial villain Jack Palance picked up an Oscar for spoofing his bad guy image in 1991’s “City Slickers.” While he probably deserved one for the legendary western “Shane” or little-known film noir “The Big Knife,” Palance proved that, at 72 years old, nobody was tougher. After receiving his statue, he got down on the floor of the auditorium and did one several armed push-ups. His “City Slickers” co-star (and Oscar host) Billy Crystal used Palance as fodder for his jokes all evening, giving the audience updates on the virile old man’s after-show activities: “Jack Palance has just bungee-jumped off the Hollywood sign.”

Jolie in love with her brother?

Maybe one of the most shocking moments starred a newly awarded Angelina Jolie in 1999 for her role of Lisa in “Girl, Interrupted.” A stunned and smiling Jolie stood on stage and professed her not only shock over the win but the fact that she was madly in love with her own brother. Apparently in a candid moment just before her acceptance, Angelina’s brother, James-Haven, held his sister close to him and professed his love for her as well with a then-deemed very inappropriate kiss. The result: an unclear and shocking remark that lead to unending tabloid rumors as to the exact nature of the siblings’ relationship still talked about in interviews today.

Crawford evens the score.

Joan Crawford was a notoriously competitive movie queen (ever seen “Mommie Dearest”?) whose real-life animosity for co-star Bette Davis came through in the campy psychological thriller “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” In 1963, when Davis was nominated for Best Actress for the film and not her, Crawford wrote each of the other nominees and offered to accept the award if they were not able to attend. Sure enough, Anne Bancroft won the statue that night and wasn’t able to be there, so Crawford slithered up to the stage to bask in the glory while Davis sat in her seat and gave her the evil eye.

Brando refuses award.

The most puzzling event of any Oscar telecast was occurred in 1973 when Marlon Brando won his inevitable Best Actor award for “The Godfather.” He sent a woman who claimed her name was Sacheen Littlefeather onstage, dressed in traditional Native American garb, to refuse his award. Why? “Marlon Brando very regretfully cannot accept this very generous award … the reason for this being the treatment of American Indians today by the film industry, excuse me, and on television in movie re-runs, and also the recent happenings at Wounded Knee.” Huh? It turns out Littlefeather was really a struggling B-movie actress of largely Mexican descent named Maria Cruz. The speech caused Clint Eastwood to joke that night whether the Best Picture award should be accepted “on behalf of all the cowboys shot in John Ford westerns over the years.” Seven months later Cruz appeared, sans costume, in Playboy.

By Jason Dean

Certain things in this world just feel wrong when you put them together. Olives and raisins. Burkas and Coppertone.  Rachel Maddow-Coulter.  Now comes the most salacious pairing of modern journalism: National Enquirer and Pulitzer Prize? (Try saying it out loud without your voice curling up into a question at the end.)

This torrid hook-up may spawn more scandal than Speidi, Brangelina, and even Pelosobamadonnagaga. (Okay, I made that last one up.) The brouhaha caused by this bastard coupling of literary integrity and tabloid pap—or as I like to call it, NatPul—is merely the latest symptom of society’s degenerative relationship with its favorite whipping dog—the media.  NatPul was bound to happen. Call it a tryst of fate.

The National Enquirer was the first publication to break the John Edwards scandal. Not the pretty-boy hair thing (although they covered that admirably as well), the other story—the one about him fathering a love child with his girlfriend while his wife was undergoing cancer treatment and he was running for president (not necessarily in that order). Edwards clarified that he had had the affair while his wife’s cancer was in remission during a subsequent TV interview, where he could be seen haplessly fumbling around for the “off” switch on the giant, shit-covered fan whirring away next to him.

The “legitimate” press—which conducts itself with loads more decorum (emphasis added for ironic license) than its supermarket-checkout-line-dwelling brethren—had little interest in the tawdry affair. Heck, Edwards wasn’t even a Republican. When it comes to scandal, everybody knows Rush Limb-hog’s pill habit and Sen. Craig’s urine-stained loafers trump Gov. Spitzer’s high-priced prostitution ring any day of the week. Besides, no one on either side of the aisle could compete with the legendary babe magnet himself, William Jefferson Clinton—The Pain Feeler.

So while the wily Enquirer was doggedly sniffing out the story, the fat cats at other news organizations calmly went about their business adjusting the deck chairs, preparing for the inevitable, titanic collapse of the print medium. The conversation probably went something like this.

New York Times: “I say, old chap, have you heard about this Edwards fellow and his shenanigans?”

Boston Globe: “I do recall seeing something when I was waiting to buy crumpets and brie at the market.”

New York Times: “There’s no Clinton factor; I’m nonplussed.”

Boston Globe: “Harrumph.”

San Francisco Examiner: “How come Barney Frank never responds to my tweets?”

Onward through the presidential election season the mainstream media forged, foraging for newsy scoops to inform the public and illuminate the times. They filed in-depth reports on the deterioration of the economic fabric of society and the burgeoning national debt, the Wall Street bailouts, the health care crisis, the disappearing middle class, climate change, stump speeches, flag pins, and more, dumping a mind-numbing pile of hefty paperweights on an already beleaguered American psyche.

Okay, to be fair and balanced, the New York Times did win a Pulitzer last year for breaking the Spitzer story and following it up with “authoritative, rapid-fire reports,” according to the Pulitzer website, culminating with Mr. Spitzer’s resignation three days later. The austere Times can get down and dirty when necessary. But The National Enquirer wrote the modern playbook on breaking sordid scandals; they do it with the grace of a bull in a china shop and the cerebral nourishment of a double-stuff Twinkie. If such a creature exists, I can’t think of a better mascot for the modern American media machine.

The Enquirer is entered in two categories in this year’s Pulitzer voting: Investigative Reporting and National News Reporting. (The word “news” has been open to broad interpretation ever since the bastion of right-wing propaganda known as Fox News started broadcasting its signal.) The valuable lesson that the New York Times should take from NatPul is that it’s time to get with the times. There’s no shame in being as dumb as a post (The New York Post, that is). Lose the haughty “Mr. and Ms.” garbage and come up with some cool handles for public figures. Give us more candid bathing-suit shots and less analysis about why respectable media sources are turning to candid bathing suits shots to stay relevant. Don’t over-think; overdo. If The Times plays it smart, the following conversation could play out in an elitist espresso shop near you.

Unemployed screenwriter: “Did you hear about the man who was impregnated by an alien sheepdog?”

Barista: “Preposterous!”

Unemployed screenwriter: “But I read it in the New York Times.”

Barista: “Oh, do tell!”

By Mark Cartier

Kevin Smith, noted film director, was recently kicked off a Southwest Airlines flight from Oakland to Burbank… for being too fat.

The resulting Twitter war has sucked me in just at a time when I had conspired to give up on Twitter as a conquered property of teenage jagoffs. Proving itself useful again, Mr. Smith’s back and forth with @SouthwestAir is the single reason I re-purchased the twitter app for my iPhone that so recently had been mothballed as a useless tool of children and out of touch politicians.

As interesting as the entire mishandled debacle is, I find my self increasingly amused by posts like this: “Kevin Smith got himself kicked off a plane because he’s too fat. That’s the funniest thing he’s done since… ever.”

It’s Tweets like this that have reminded me- Twitter gives the little man a voice… albeit a drowned-out and typically idiotic voice, but a voice non-the-less.

I have a special place in my heart for Kevin Smith, after all, he directed Zach and Miri Make a Porno. Which is brilliant. His ability to mine this otherwise dropped-at-annoying event is a tribute to his smarts… I see years of free flying in his future. I’ve also enjoyed the several tweets of recent challenging Southwest to bring the row of seats he was kicked out of to the set of The Daily Show so this giant mishandled FAIL can be settled once and for all. He’s even offered to pay $10K to the charity of Southwest’s choosing if he is in fact too fat.

To me, this is less a story about a completely justified Kevin Smith lashing out and challenging Southwest Airlines for its humorous policy of throwing fat people off airplanes (even after said fat people have seated and belted), so much as it’s a story about the near-forgotten usefulness of Twitter. “Forgotten!?” Yes. Forgotten. I challenge you to name a single peer you have who has read a single Tweet in the four months prior to Fat-gate. I can think of none. In fact, most of my friends who know the gritty details of Fat-gate got their information from other sources, all of which cite Twitter as a source of content. These sources have armies of Twitter reading interns or research assistants so that we no longer need to waste our time. It’s too bad there’s not a TwitterPro… a Twitter that has been edited down to display only interesting crap, instead of @douchecleveland’s rants about whatever the hell people in Cleveland rant about. TwitterPro could start with this article.

Lady Gaga performs onstage

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Musician Lady Gaga performs onstage at the 52nd Annual GRAMMY Awards held at Staples Center on January 31, 2010 in Los Angeles, California.The 52nd Annual GRAMMY Awards - ShowStaples CenterLos Angeles, CA United StatesJanuary 31, 2010Photo by Michael Caulfield/WireImage.com

The 52nd Annual Grammy Awards shoehorned a string of powerhouse performances into a three-and-a-half-hour awards free-for-all Sunday night. When it was all over, Beyoncé had won six Grammys—a record for a female—but country music darling Taylor Swift took home the crown jewel for album of the year.

Highlights? There were many. Michael Jackson was awarded a posthumous lifetime achievement award, and Celine Dion, Usher, Carrie Underwood, and Jennifer Hudson sang along with the King of Pop on a new song to a backdrop of some snazzy 3D imagery. Mike’s kids—Prince and Paris—were trotted out afterwards to read some awkwardly worded teleprompter text about how they will continue to spread his message of love.

One surprise had to be Kings of Leon winning record of the year over Beyoncé, Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, and the Black Eyed Peas. Presenter Ringo Starr wasn’t expecting it, because he didn’t even know how to pronounce the band’s name. Speaking of the Black Eyed Peas, what was that ridiculous shart they made on stage during their performance? On a night when everything sparkled like rhinestones on Liberace’s codpiece, that tuneless robo-train wreck was—oh, what’s another word for “pathetic” that isn’t quite as upbeat?

Back to the highlights. Pink’s swinging/singing performance above the audience was graceful, inventive, and sounded great. The fact that her skin-tight outfit was barely there—especially after she was dipped in water and soaking wet—kept millions of eyes glued to the set clear well into the commercial break.

The powers that be at the Grammys of the 21st century have diversified the brand to account for every nook and cranny of recorded sound. Good for them. Long gone are the days when a band of hairy men and a flute (Jethro Tull) could blow away Metallica for Best Metal Performance, which famously happened in 1989. But the Best New Artist category still brings an oddball assortment of genres. Sizing up the countrified winners the Zac Brown Band with other nominees The Ting Tings, Keri Hilson, the Silversun Pickups, and MGMT is like comparing apples, spoons, shoes, and canoes.

I was just thankful I didn’t spend the night sitting behind Lady Gaga and her very inconsiderate “hat” that resembled foam insulation on acid.

Jeff Bridges, Maggie Gyllenhaal and Peter Sarsgaard

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CENTURY CITY, CA - JANUARY 17: Actors Jeff Bridges, Maggie Gyllenhaal and Peter Sarsgaard attend Fox's 2010 Golden Globe Awards Party held at Craft on January 17, 2010 in Century City, California. (Photo by Todd Williamson/WireImage)

By Jason Dean

If this year’s Golden Globes revealed any Oscar premonitions, prepare thyself for another titanic helping of James Cameron. The self-proclaimed “King of the World” took the next logical step and created his own planet, taking home two Golden Globes when Avatar won for Best Picture after he had already bagged the Best Director trophy.

All in all, though, there were some gracious and deserving winners—as well as some surprises—when the Hollywood Foreign Press bestowed its 67th edition of TV and film awards Sunday at the Beverly Hilton. Meryl Streep (Julie & Julia), Jeff Bridges (Crazy Heart), Sandra Bullock (The Blind Side), and Robert Downey, Jr. (Sherlock Holmes) took home statues for their work. TV winners included Toni Collette (“United States of Tara”), Michael C. Hall (“Dexter”), Alec Baldwin (“30 Rock”), and Julianna Margulies (“The Good Wife”).

Ricky Gervais emceed the usually host-less event, which is billed as a night when Hollywood “lets its hair down.” Gervais’ finest moment occurred when—beer in hand and inebriated glint in his eye—he confessed that he “like[s] a drink as much as the next guy…” After a brief pause, he introduced the next presenter. “Unless the next guy is Mel Gibson!”

Other highlights:

· The Governator introducing a clip from best-picture winner “Abidah.”
· Mickey Rourke’s cowboy hat looking like it was eating his head as he was presenting the Golden Globe for Best Actress in a Drama.
· Jeff Bridges’ eloquent acceptance speech, which he capped by thanking his longtime stand-in/stunt double, Loyd Catlett.
· “Glee” beating out “30 Rock” and “The Office” for Best Comedy Series.
· Mo’nique winning for her performance in Precious: Based on the Novel Push by Sapphire.
· And finally, James Cameron imploring the crowd of actors and filmmakers to “give it up for yourselves” for being in the business of entertaining the world (in which he still rules as king).

By Jason Dean

Carrie Underwood shows her engagement ring

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LOS ANGELES, CA - JANUARY 06: Carrie Underwood shows her engagement ring on the red carpet at the People's Choice Awards 2010 held at Nokia Theatre L.A. Live on January 6, 2010 in Los Angeles, California. at Nokia Theatre L.A. Live on January 6, 2010 in Los Angeles, California. (Photo by Todd Williamson/WireImage)

The People have chosen. The People’s Choice Awards, a conveniently packaged snow globe of pop culture popularity contests, anointed this year’s class of Most Special Snowflakes. A mash-up awards show if ever there was one, the annual event pays tribute to a large swath of entertainment’s elite class of thoroughbreds, party crashers, and prodigies.

Mouse-wielding opinionators around the globe have selected their favorite movie stars (Johnny Depp , Sandra Bullock, Hugh Jackman, Jim Carrey), music acts (Keith Urban, Taylor Swift, Mariah Carey, Eninem), TV stars (Steve Carell, Hugh Laurie, Alyson Hannigan, Katherine Heigl), TV shows (Glee, The Vampire Diaries, House, American Idol), and movies (Twilight, Up, Inglorious Basterds, The Proposal). This year’s breakout winners were Lady Gaga (music artist), Miley Cyrus (movie actress), and Taylor Lautner (movie actor).

To prove that the People’s Choice people are always thinking of ways to expand and refine their brand, in 2010 we have a favorite animal show — Dog Whisperer, a top TV obsession –True Blood, and a preferred Web celeb–Ashton Kutcher. The Car-Less Dude’s Twitter moment with CNN was cool and all (I guess), but fellow nom Andy Samberg cut some viral promos for the 2009 MTV Movie Awards that live on as YouTube classics.

People’s Choice clunkers? The Proposal beat out The Hangover for fave comedy movie. Think about that for a second. The movie where the guy from The Daily Show wakes up from a bachelor party in Vegas missing his tooth lost to a movie about a book editor who almost gets deported to Canada.

Happy awards season, America. Get ready to bask vicariously in all the glitz, glamour, and star power the season has to offer.

by Jason Dean

During a break on a Maxim photo shoot in 2001, Brittany Murphy suddenly exclaimed, “Come on, everybody, have fun! Think butterflies and lollipops and surfer girls and American flags!” She clapped her hands as the words flowed from her sinewy frame, her physical composure maintained by a stylist who was taming her tresses. There is no audible reaction on the set, but you can almost hear an awkward glance or two.

Watching the waifish actress in her moment of goofy, stream-of-consciousness abandon, I am reminded of why I found her so winsome. It takes a certain quirk of personality to reveal unguarded, in-the-moment exuberance without coming off like an indulgent twit. And Murphy, who displayed her talents in a variety of film, music, and voiceover projects in the years following her memorable screen debut in 1995’s Clueless, did it with aplomb.

In 1999, Murphy was brilliant in Girl, Interrupted, while playing third fiddle to Oscar winner Angelina Jolie and Winona Ryder. Two years later, her creepy/quivery refrain “I’ll never tell” was the sound bite to the Michael Douglas thriller Don’t Say a Word. From November 2002 to August 2003, Murphy careened from being Eminem’s main squeeze (8 Mile) to Ashton Kutcher’s wife (Just Married) to Dakota Fanning’s babysitter (Uptown Girl). It’s enough to tire a girl out—or make her want to get real high (a popular suspicion, judging by some of the Internet commentary on her disheveled appearance and spotty behavior in recent years). Indeed, Murphy copped to doing a copious amount of “research” for her role as a druggie in 2003’s Spun.

Murphy’s voice has made the rounds as well. The Atlanta native contributed her native drawl as King of the Hill trailer trash hottie Luanne Platter for 13 years. She supplied the vocals on Paul Oakenfold’s 2006 dance hit, “Faster Kill Pussycat.” And she voiced a character in the animation flick, “Happy Feet,” for which she also sang Queen and Earth, Wind, and Fire covers. “I like singing, because I can act while I’m doing it,” she once said.

Later on during the memorable photo shoot that opens this story, Murphy recites a verse during a break in the action:  “Here’s to the girl with the little red shoes. She smoked her smokes and drank her booze. She ain’t got her cherry but that’s no sin; she’s still got the box that her cherry came in.” Now and forever an iconic blend of beauty and tragedy, Brittany Murphy is the lingering trace of cigarette smoke that my eyes want to follow to the point of evaporation.