Celebrity news & gossip from the world’s showbiz and glamour magazines (OK!, Hello, National Enquirer and more). We read them so you don’t have to, picking the best bits from the showbiz world’s maw and spitting it back at them. Expect lots of sarcasm.
Front-page news in the Sun: “Britain’s Got Talent ballet sensation is Beau’s cousin.” The “sensation” is Jack Higgins, 14, a young stage school ballerina who “wowed” the TV show’s judges with his dancing, causing Amanda holden to gape and stop blinking, Simon Cowell to use up the expression he was saving for when he sees the face of Mamon, David Walliams to swoon and Alesha Dixon to hail it as the best thing ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever.
The best bit, of course, was that Jack cried. Tears are the cynical BGT’s pop shot, the moment of release. (Remember Hollie Steel who sobbed half-way through Edelweiss and triggered a race to see which celeb could reach her with the comfort hug? Hollie… Oh, never mind.)
Jack said he’d been “bullied for ballet since five”. He’s been at stage school for nine years, so you wonder who had been bullying him for that long – the smart money is on the tap dancing mob or the country dancing toughs?
Today the Sun tells us that Jack is related to Beau Dermott, the stage school singer who belted out a show tune one week earlier. Their mothers are twin sisters. To help us tell them apart. Jack’s mum Debbie is the one in the T-shirt yelling “GO JACK – BGT 2016”.
Jack says, “It would be amazing to both get to the final. We are completely different acts, so it wouldn’t feel like we were competing against each other.”
Not for you, maybe. But for your mums it could be. There will be T-shirts…
Let’s bemoan the state of education that allows the Daily Mail’s Julian Robinson to miss up his seas:
A luxury Mediterranean winery that produces Sir Cliff Richard’s own brand of plonk has been put on the market – for more than £7.5million. Quinta do Miradouro and neighbouring winery Adega do Cantor in Albufeira in Portugal’s Algarve are up for grabs after 15 years of producing the singer’s wine, Vida and Onda Nova.
Anyone keen on inspecting the place should now that The Algarve is on the Atlantic Ocean.
David Gest has died and he’s all over the tabloids. The Mail invites its readers to pull up an armchair and look for clues. It is “The mystery death Liza Minnelli’s ex in London hotel”.
Yep, poor old Dave doesn’t even get name-checked in his final moment in the light. The Mail‘s mystery seems to finding out who he was. Over page 6 and 7 Gest is “Michael jackson’s friend”. The “62-year-old entertainer” (Express) is notable for being “Mr Minnelli”, which he was, albeit for just 16 months of his existence.
Sticking with the Express we learn that the “reality TV star” (I’m a Celebrity…, Celebrity Big Brother, Celebrity Window Shopping (call me ITV2, I have ideas)) died in a “riddle”. Only it isn’t one because police say there are no suspicious circumstance.
On page 19, Virginia Blackburn says Gest was “one half of one of the oddest odd couples”. Indeed. His marriage to Minnelli was odd, not least of all because it gave us the most bizarre showbiz photos of all time: the one in which Gest, Liza, Michael Jackson and Liz Taylor appear to be melting.
“Gest in peace,” says the Sun. “Friends say he died naturally”. So much for mysteries and riddles, then – unless the Express and Mail see Gest’s passing as the chance to debate the meaning of life?
But hold on a moment – the Mirror smells scandal and leads with news of Gest’s “sleeping pill torment”. In “Gest Pills Hell” – how tasteful of the Mirror to invoke Satan’s afterlife den in the tale of a man’s demise – we hear of “friends” saying Gest was “strung out” on pills.
And then this: “The star had been planning a UK tour called David Gest is not Dead Alive with Soul.” That title was based on a moment in the Big Brother house when the announcement to housemate Angie Bowie that David Bowie was dead became truncated to ‘David is dead’. Gest was ill at the time in one of the celebrity silo’s beds. Housemate Tiffany Pollard thought Gest was the dead David. Cue much shocked faces and hand fanning.
And now David Gest really is dead. Or ‘resting’ as fellow CBB housemates call it…
Paris Lees is talking about free speech in the Guardian. Stephen Fry has something so say about therapy and victims being defined by their ordeal:
“It’s a great shame and we’re all very sorry that your uncle touched you in that nasty place – you get some of my sympathy – but your self-pity gets none of my sympathy…. Self-pity is the ugliest emotion in humanity. Get rid of it, because no one’s going to like you if you feel sorry for yourself. The irony is, we’ll feel sorry for you if you stop feeling sorry for yourself. Grow up.”
He is allowed to, of course, because of free speech: for in 2016, an absolutist interpretation of free speech has become popular among the chattering classes. If only the overwhelmingly white, middle-class, Oxbridge-educated, male-dominated commentariat would take “freedom from prejudice” as seriously as it takes “freedom of expression”.
Beau Dermott is Britain’s Got Talent’s “sensation” (The Sun). West End musical Wicked has “reached out to her”. Beau, 12, is on the celebrity treadmill. Beau says that on an excitement scale of of ten, she is “TEN!”
Beau Dermott might be less excited at her appearance on the Star’s front page, where the headline labels her a “CHEAT”. How? Is she a 29-year-old professional opera singer? Was she miming over a backing tape? The Star soon tells us: “Star wannabe, 12, a stage school veteran.”
Can you be a veteran of anything at 12 – jelly, maybe, and burping? The Star thinks so, telling us that Beau has had singing lessons at “top arts school – despite her mum saying it was a big thing to perform”. The Star soon realises its scoop holds less water than Simon Cowell’s hairnet, continuing the story on Page 18.
The Star says “no reference was made to the fact, Beau, from Widnes, Cheshire, has had vocal training at the StagePro Academy in Warrington for five years”.
Other things not referenced on the show: pictures are manipulated; Amanda Holden is an actress; making Beau cry is ‘good telly’.”
Jailed in the US in 1990 after being convicted of smuggling cannabis, he recalled his exploits in a best-selling autobiography, Mr Nice, which was later made into a film starring Rhys Ifans. The father of four stood for election to Parliament in 1997 on a single-issue ticket of reforming cannabis laws… His drug smuggling began in the 1970s after he graduated from Oxford University with a degree in physics. In 1988, he was arrested in Spain as part of a US Drug Enforcement Agency-led operation and extradited to Florida. He was sentenced to 25 years in prison and released on parole in 1995 for good behaviour.
Manchester United’s Anthony Martial is no longer with his wife. The Sun says the “French ace romped with X Factor wannabe Emily Wademan in Paris while his wife Samantha was at home.”
This is Marital, who was quoted in the Mail, “After training, I like to come home and find my wife. I am very homely.” Possibly to check she’s there before he nips out. The Sun now says:
The couple, who have eight-month-old daughter Peyton, put on a united front after our revelations. But last week Samantha stopped following the £58million striker on Instagram, and he did likewise. She has continued to update her 82,000 followers with images of Peyton but the French international, 20, has not been seen in a snap for two weeks.
Maybe she’s following him on the place, train and bus instead? And when he signed for United, the Mail said the child was called “Toto”.
The star’s agent confirmed their separation and said no one else was involved.
This story first aired in January, when the Sun boomed: “Married Anthony Martial’s romps with X Factor beauty: Man U ace flew model for sex in Paris.”
The Mail called it a “romantic break”. And Emily – now reduced from “beauty” to “wannabe” (and did she used to be called Emily Dyson?) – told us:
“When we got to Paris he was happy to openly parade me in public in front of French fans on the Champs Elysees.”
A parade on an open-top bus, or is Emily saving that for any sex tape?
Do not tell us the name of the celebrity in the sex injunction case. We can’t afford the libel bills. Just know that the injunction involving celebrity ‘PJS’ and his partner ‘YMA’ is not in the British newspapers. You can read about it all in America, however.
Ridiculous, of course. And just as mad is the Sun and Mail featuring the story on their front pages. We love the tabloids, but someone needs to tell the editorial staff about the thing called the internet and telephones.
Vernon Kaye is the bland, too-tall presenter of bland TV shows. He’s in the news. OK! magazine says:
Who is Rhian Sugdon? Everything we know about glamour model accused of texting married Vernon Kay
But the Mirror says it’s all the other way around. And everything we know about Rhian can be distilled into two bullet points, literally.
Vernon Kay ‘sending flirty texts to model Rhian Sugden AGAIN behind Tess Daly’s back’
Both versions are rooted in the Sun’s story:
Vernon’s rat it again: Married telly host’s flirty messages to Page 3 girl Rhian revealed – EXCLUSIVE: Star risks relationship once more after sex texts almost ruined marriage to Tess Daly back in 2010
Former porn tar Bree Olson is upset. Says Bree in a video for something called, rather oddly, Real Women, Real Stories, as if all other stories about women and told by women are unreal, inauthentic and unshaped by scripting, narrative and the camera. Says Bree:
“When I go out I feel as if I’m wearing ‘slut’ across my forehead.”
Bree was a porn star who slept with lots of partners on camera, earning up to $60,000 a month for on-cue sex. She adds:
“I have really gotten to the point where there are days to weeks at a time where I don’t leave my house because I don’t feel like facing the world of what has been created out there for me. I get so disappointed when I go out and I meet a new friend and it turns out they don’t want to be my friend anymore…People treat me as if I am a pedophile. They don’t treat me like an ex sex worker. They treat me like I would somehow be damaging to children.
“Every time I consider going back to school, I Google sex workers experience and am so discouraged. Back to the drawing board.”
It’s hard to see smart and ambitious Bree as a victim. Her misfortune and fortune are two sides of the same coin: the popularity of porn.
The Court of Appeal has allowed a well-known entertainer to keep his extra-marital “threesome” secret in a move which heralds the return of the court injunction.
Are all three parties gagged?
Judges said the man, who can only be named by the initials PJS, was entitled to secure a legal ban on a tabloid newspaper which wanted to report the “open relationship” enjoyed by him and his wife, known as YMA.
As we wonder if PJS wear pjs in bed and ho anyone can be married to Yamaha Motor’s Australia, you also wonder how something open can remain closed?
To Massachusetts, where police are searching for two men challenging passers-by to rap battles.
Charlton police said a black SUV with two or three men in their late teens or early 20s inside, pulled up to three young teenage boys on Dresser Hill Road at about 3pm on Saturday.
One of the men, described as having brown hair and a pale complexion, wearing a grey T-shirt, gray pants and open-toed sandals, got out of the vehicle and started rapping while the other men asked the boys if they wanted to “spit some bars” with them.
When the boys declined, the SUV drove off.
Open-toed sandals. Singing. Brown hair… pale. Hanging out with other men. It’s the second coming!
How do you trail the new series of BBC TV show Top Gear? Easy. You allow the BBC to shut roads in central London so that Matt LeBlanc can wheel spin around The Cenotaph in a Ford Mustang. Then you get the Sun to quote a few old duffers, like Col Richard Kemp – “It’s worse than doing a stunt in a cemetery” – and mop up the outrage with a syndication chitty from US telly.
You then get Chis Evans, show’s main presenter – there are hundreds of them in every conceivable demographic – to say, “If it was my decision I would say that scene shouldn’t be shown… We’re all mortified by it, so absolutely, one hundred per cent, it should not be shown.”
This will prove that whoever the presenters, the old formula of in-yer-face grunt remains undiminished.
Complete tosh, of course, something Evans pretty much admits: “The images on the front pages of the papers today – it doesn’t matter what actually happened – what is important is what these images look like.”
They look like PR bullshit, which is what they are. you can ever see the skid marks.
For those of you with slow broadband, unable to see pictures of Kim Kardashian naked, and for whom footage of the reality TV star’s porn movie is available on VHS, there is the analogue Kim. In Melbourne, Australia, a graffiti artist has daubed a likeness of the family porn star on a wall.
The artist, one “Mark Walls”, aka lushsux, says, “[It was] quite hard to turn an archived screenshot from my phone into a three story nude figure painting.”
But considerably faster than trying to download Kim’s dirty pictures in the countryside.
Investigators say the deaths of all four members of British band Viola Beach was an “accident”. The driver “did not intend to kill himself or the group” from Warrington. As the Times reports:
Kris Leonard, River Reeves, Tomas Lowe, Jack Dakin and Craig Tarry, the manager who is thought to have been driving, died when the vehicle plunged off a bridge, 18 miles from Sweden’s capital Stockholm early on February 13. A preliminary post-mortem examination found that the driver did not have drugs or alcohol in his body. Detectives believe the driver did not intend to kill himself or the band. The crash was due to unfortunate circumstances, they said.
Lars Berglund, of the Swedish police, says: “It looks like the drive acted deliberately… There is no suggestion that it was intended to kill himself or the band.”
And how does the Star report on the tragedy? It yells: “Brit Band Bridge Plunge: It Was Deliberate.”
“Robbie Williams’ wife Ayda Field has been on ITV’s Loose Women. The paper tuned in and tells readers, “Robbie’s never been to a supermarket”.
Says Anya: “Rob is now 42 – for the first time I took him to the supermarket.”
Really? Is that what he told you? Because in Robbie by Sean Smith, we learn:
A supermarket manager once closed the story so that Robbie Williams and his mother could buy their groceries not get hassled by the public… Robbie found it funny, “It was hysterical because it was a Monday morning and there wasn’t a soul in there anyway.”
Or as the papers put it: “Robbie Williams has gone to the supermarket for the first time aged 42” – Daily Star.
High-Rise is a vision of hell set in the 1970s. It’s a bit like the EastEnders omnibus, only without the nightmarish Shane Ritchie. In the Creative Review, Mark Sinclair interviews graphic artists Michael Eaton and Felicity Hickson:
Ben Wheatley’s High-Rise, looks at mid-70s Britain through the prism of an ultra-modern tower block. Adapted from JG Ballard’s 1975 nove by Amy Jump, the film follows Dr Robert Laing (played by Tom Hiddleston) as he adjusts to his new life as a tenant on the 25th floor and explores the relationships between the building’s various social groups and the tribal mentalities that emerge as the tower gradually descends into chaos. While working families live on its lower levels and aspirant professionals reside halfway up, a wealthy elite is confined to the uppermost floors – a structure that does not last long.
To help realise this unique world, envisioned by production designer Mark Tildesley, graphic artists Michael Eaton and Felicity Hickson created a legion of objects and products and several type treatments for the film’s locations: one for the high-rise itself, with its supermarket, gym, spa and swimming pool; a house font for the building’s architect, Anthony Royal; and signage for Laing’s place of work, the School of Physiology.
Bill Wyman is not dead. The former Rolling Stone’s been to the wedding to Rupert Murdoch and Jerry Hall. The Sunday Times featured him in an article on the “stars aligning for Rupert and Jerry”.
Today the Express leads with news that Bill Wyman, 79, is unwell. He is battling prostate cancer. In paragraph 14 on the paper’s Page 3, we wear that “his life has not been without controversy… There was an outcry in 1989 when after divorcing his first wife he married his 18-year-old girlfriend, the model Mandy Smith, who had had been dating since she was 14. He was 52 at the time.”
Bill Wyman is not dead. In life he’s invited to all the best parties.
The Mirror wants us to be more like “Brave Bill”:
Today the BBC reports:
In recent years, as the Jimmy Savile scandal unfolded, he approached police to ask whether they wanted to question him about their relationship. “I went to the police and I went to the public prosecutor and said, ‘Do you want to talk to me? Do you want to meet up with me, or anything like that?’ and I got a message back, ‘No,'” he said. “I was totally open about it.”
The Press and the BBC love Bill. Last season he was on a BBC sports show predicting the weekend’s Premier League results.
Get well soon, Bill. Don’t die. Because when you do, it’ll be open season on your past exploits. (Unless you’re David Bowie, John Peel or anyone else the BBC and mainstream media likes.)