The Awful Truth

Are Jon Voight and his estranged daughter, Angelina, really making up after all this time? Where was Tyra Banks during the BET Awards? Plus, which set of Tinseltown exes have actually stayed civil and supportive? Find out... Regarding things sticky-poo and Brad 'n' Ang (I know you're on the edge of your johns for that one), I asked Jolie's estranged pops, Jon Voight, at the Tranformers premiere here in Hell-Ay if it was looking like reunion time for daughter 'n' daddy. This is a most pertinent query, due to the fact that A.J.'s all bent to saintly hell and back 'cause Jen Aniston's still hangin' with Brad's mama—a sitch A.J. does not like. So, is Voight gonna do his best to try and help Angelina start acting more familial and outreaching in her own clan (since she can't seem to do so with hers or Brad's)? "I hope so," was Jon's simple answer, regarding whether or not there'd be any upcoming Voight-Jolie bear hugs. Give him a call, already, Ang, and let him meet Shiloh! It'll do more for ya than adopting a whole nunnery filled with orphans, promise. More from the T. flick opening latuh in the week, including hot dish with the too lick-a-lish Megan Fox, promise. So, back to the BET Awards, where byoot African-American artists, actors and athletes stomped down the red carpet with an energy that made the whole thing feel more like a celebration than the other countless stale, cookie-cutter awards shows this year. Well, everyone but Beyoncé—who, like I said, could hardly stomp her sex-ay booty for fans and photogs, seeing as she was apparently made of wax. Someone who was more than willing to play with the paps was Michelle Williams, one-third of Destiny's Child and current Broadway broad. After repeated attempts from her pompous PR pro to steer her rear down the carpet and toward the more reputable media, Ms. Williams protested, "But this group hasn't gotten their shots!" to the delight of my camera company. What a sweetheart.
Also struttin' her stick figure down the red carpet runway was Eva "the Diva" Pigford, one of the 658,000 winners of America's Next Top Model, and intern Merritt's personal fave, so we had to ask: Who would win the All-Stars edition of America's Next Top Model? "Besides me?" laughed the gorgeous gal. "Jaslene! I loved watching Jaslene this season!" Would have loved to ask Tyra, too—who, despite being scheduled to present an award, was completely MIA from the event. Wonder if now that she's landed a man, all those messages of female empowerment went out her newly upholstered NYC penthouse window? Totally girl-power proper—well, kinda—was two-time Academy Award nominee Brenda Blethyn, who attended the H'wood premiere of her new entertainer-fam-in-crisis movie, Introducing the Dwights, at the Directors Guild, hosted by the fab Australians in Film. B2, who made it famous as the Brit babe all too willing to let herself be photographed fat, wrinkled and sexy (most notably in Little Voice and Secrets & Lies), does it again—and then supercurvy-corpulent some—in Dwights, the story of a fiftyish comic (Blethyn) who's trying to stage a comeback despite having two very horny teens to care for. They all live Down Under, by the by.

There's an exquisitely painful scene in which three Entourage-esque exec-dudes demean Blethyn, as they deem her pitiable. And, natch, these jokers are nubile pricks-in-power types rife with smelly self-importance.

"Did you see a parallel between your character and how women are treated in Hollywood?" I asked the slimmed down, breasty 'n' good-lookin' gal, who has no kids herself.

"You windin' me up?" B.B. shot back, in what sounded like a Cockney accent that most certainly wouldn't go over well at Buckingham Palace.

"No, it's just I saw an apt comparison," I explained, "between that audition you did in the movie and how women are treated here."

"Well, I've never auditioned for a Hollywood movie, Ted," the self-effacing babe blurted sweetly. "I still say you're windin' me up!" 

Guilty as charged. I just want the chicks to be as peeved as I am! I'll try and calm it down a tad...maybe. Speaking of ageism in H'wood, just finished sitting for a few A&E Biography shows—can't tell you who all the subjects are, but I will fess that a certain Rob Lowe kept coming up during one of the interviews. Skanky sex, Snow White at the Oscars—yes, Robbie-baby, it'll all come back to haunt you shortly, sorry.

But the good news (or not) is these producer types are callin' ya a "middle-aged heartthrob." I went off for, like, 10 minutes on that one. Nope, not to defend your ass, but to denounce the term itself. 

Like such a description exists for a woman in this business. T-town, thy name is, per usual, sexist. Brandon Davis, grabbing grub at Subway in South Beach. Wonder if the overweight oily heir is on the Jared diet? Gawd knows he needs to do something. Brandon was wearing black pants, a white long-sleeve shirt and a cap "that didn't hide his thinning hair," pooped Desk Follicle. Mister Dee has also been spotted stuffing his face at the Shore Club, where he's staying. "Surprising, since the last time he stayed there with Nicky Hilton, he pretty much blew through the room," said my source. Guess the hotel has a short memory for bad boys freshly laundered with deep pockets, huh? Party peeps who make me wanna wash my hands elsewhere included... Wilmer Valderrama, peekin' ex-g-f Mandy Moore's show. The Roxy on Wednesday night. Mandy was previewing songs from her new album, Wild Hope. Also in the audience that night were Emmy Rossum and Heidi Montag with her fug fiancé. Wonder if Emmy and Heidi were hopin' to pick up inspiration for their own musical careers? Both girls are recording albums of their own. While we know Emmy has pipes from her turn in Phantom of the Opera, I suggest having earplugs handy when Heidi's debut drops. Far more pleasant was Heroes hon and Lindsay Lohan's Just My Luck costar... Missi Pyle, perambulating in Hancock Park with an equally gorgeous gal-pal. M.P., more sensuous and attractive than her comic persona sometimes lets on, was adorably low-key. Heed on this par-tick note, Ms. Lohan, please.