Clive Owen plays the role of carefree Australian sports writer, Joe Warr in this emotionally heavy drama about parenthood and rediscovering youth.

When the tragic death of his wife leaves him in the shoes of a single parent with two rebellious kids, Joe goes about trying to raise his boys the sensible way, and failing miserably. There’s only one thing a man can do in Joe’s situation. Say Yes.

Director Scott Hicks and Miramax bring you a touching story about growing up, no matter how old you are. Family chaos meets living in dad’s house for a fuzzy film suited to  those who are probably sick of children and/or life…

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Derek Thomson is what you’d call an asshole.

As a hard-hitting hockey pro and full-time meathead, Derek (Played by Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson) rules his life and family with a massive ego and an extra dose of spite.

What goes around, comes around…

After ruining childhood dreams and generally being a knob, Derek gets a summons from the dream police and suddenly he’s stuck with a fate worse than death – He’s punished with community service… as a tooth fairy. Swapping hockey pads for spandex and girly wings, Derek fits in at his new job like a meatloaf in tights and blunders hilariously through the film. Tooth-splitting laughter ensues as Derek abuses his new-found powers and uses them in the NHL.

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So much for a Boyzone reunion folks.

Stephen Gately is busy working his boyish charms on St Peter while the rest of us bicker over puke, speculative evidence and an oddly-placed Bulgarian.

The Majorca Press recently felt the need to suggest that Steve was smoking ‘cannabis’ the night before he died and ‘knew that was not the cause of his death’. Now there’s a strange breed of paparazzo: ‘I know amigos, let’s take the bastard out of the death-crouch and crucify him, never mind relevance! Por Favor! We’re the Spanish Inquisition, and by the way, we’re trained doctors too.’

Smoking ‘cannabis’ in your own home isn’t illegal in Spain and probably isn’t newsworthy, but as you can see – some people will do anything for a scoop. An autopsy revealed that Gately choked on his own vomit and tissue samples were sent to a Barcelona lab for further tests.

“The autopsy revealed Stephen had taken cannabis, and his husband and another man present on the night he died have confirmed this in interviews,” said reporters to The Sun. “They have said Stephen did not take any other drugs, but the toxicology tests are being carried out to confirm this.”

Not a happy day for the Boyzone enthusiasts out there, especially as the boy-band were set for a comeback. Like em or not, there’s no denying that the babyfaced Irish foursome and their ‘nice-guy’ manager Louis Walsh had a massive impact on European pop and even paved the way for a handful of equally irritating clones.

Walsh and bandmates were said to be ‘shocked’ and ‘devastated’ by the loss of their friend and a slew of celebrities including Brian McFadden, Stephen Fry and Emma Bunton mourned his loss via Twitter. 2009 looks like a morbid little year for packaged popstars – aren’t we lucky there’s a televised machine to replace our fallen heroes. Here’s to X Factor!

Simon Cowell paid tribute to the singer in front of X Factor finalists by saying Stephen’s death was ‘really, really tragic’ while fellow judge Dannii Minogue tweeted: ‘R.I.P. STEVEN GATELY’. Louis Walsh did not appear on the show and was clearly very upset.

Walsh was responsible for creating Boyzone in the 90s and managed them for seven years, achieving 16 top-three singles and six number ones. He recently told the Irish Times that he would have thought twice about auditioning Gately if he’d known he was gay.

“It wasn’t cool then to have a gay guy in the band,” he said. “I think people are racist and homophobic. They just pretend they’re not. It’s the way we’re brought up.”

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Here’s a drama for the ‘thinking man’.

The type of thinker who spends most of his life in an office cubicle or the business class lounge. If you can bear to watch this trailer then your boredom threshold is astounding. George Clooney stars in this depressing corporate slog as a faceless American bureaucrat doing God knows what and travelling God knows where. God knows who this sort of rubbish would appeal to, but maybe we’re wrong. Maybe some fantastic moral message (or plot) is stapled to the back of a 90-page report or hidden at the bottom of a frothy cafe latte…

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What’s that smell?

Could it be the subtle scent of talentless TV exploitation, the overwhelming fragrance of WAG or the clover-hinted odour of small-man’s syndrome? Freshen up like a pointless media middleman with four new fragrances from X Factor. You’re bound to get lucky if you smell like a TV talent show judge, and nothing says ‘I love you’ like rating your partner’s performance in the sack.

No, really, the X Factor judges are all getting their own perfumes. You’ll be able to buy them in time for Christmas and everything.

The personality cult has hit an all-time low. Forget about the talent, it’s all about the talent-show judge: Someone who can’t sing… but knows what good singing sounds like. “What about Cheryl Cole?” you ask. Yeah OK, she’s behind a desk and she’s not paid to think. She’s paid to endorse products, like Geordie handbags, crap shampoo or TV show perfumes. Cheryl and the other panel members each reportedly earnt £250,000 for selling their smells. We thought we’d give you an idea of what’s in store:

Eau de Simon Cowell: Crisp banknotes blended with petals of egomania and the backside of Sharon Osbourne, this fragrance suits a particularly useless breed of human being, but one with character. Loaded with special pheromones that attract gold-diggers and industry psychopaths.

Essence of Walsh: Irish bog-water and Kensington High Street combine for a special one-off whiff of Louis, designed for two-faced nice guy types who ‘just wanna help you out’. Wearing the Essence of Walsh will get you out of anything. Anything.

Cole 187: A lovely mix of Byker Grove, girl-band knickers and cyanide that changes your voice and somehow makes you less attractive, especially if you’re married. Want to put a stop to those pesky one-liners? Go for Cole 187, it’s absolutely lethal.

Dannii Miasma: Smell like your sister with this refreshing and flirty outback musk. Made from ethically sourced children and crocodile oil, Dannii Miasma can summon your siblings at will. Especially useful when you need a second opinion or some backup in a scrap.

After meeting with experts to discuss their odours this week, the four will release fragrances under the X Factor brand name in time for Christmas, parting thousands of idiots with their money. Simon Cowell is rumoured to be smug about his man-smell, as one source revealed:

“Simon says his will be the top-seller – he’s already winding the other three up.”

Jade Goody musicals, X Factor fragrances… What’s next? We think that saving money has never been more attractive.

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Michael Caine is the original British badass…

The 73-year-old legend isn’t getting any softer with age, especially when a gang of anti-social yobs murders his best friend. Harry Brown is an OAP on the warpath in a tale of urban misery and gang-related violence. The painful realism of Daniel Barber‘s Britain will give you the shivers as you watch Harry buy a gun, punish wayward youngsters and throw his conscience to the lions as he walks a path of murder and revenge. Want to see the real England? Harry Brown gives you a beating, throws you in the gutter and shows you the failed society that lingers beyond your door. Open it if you dare…

THE Final Destination FINALLY tops off a pointless trilogy of “Oh my God! I escaped death and now it wants to kill me” films and in 3D, no less.

There is absolutely no change to the plot from the original three films. Four teens escape a racecourse holocaust after one of them has a vision of the catastrophe, moments before it happens.

Soon enough, death is on their doorstep, threatening to claim their lives with a series of ridiculous mishaps and accidents. Enough to make you paranoid.

The end of the world is here.

Random cataclysms and natural disasters have punished the earth and humanity are all but extinct. But never fear, Viggo Mortensen survives, and he’s looking to to get to the coast with his son, except a bloodthirsty gang of rednecks decides to hound him every step of the way. Based on Cormac McCarthy‘s Pulitzer Prize novel, The Road.

With a pistol, two bullets and a handful of possessions, Viggo and son fight for a new life in post-apocalyptic America, haunted by visions of his dead wife. Will persistence be enough to survive the empty wilds? Will life be any different on the other side? Watch, and hope.

Psychosis, horror and conspiracy are rife in this Martin Scorsese thriller, where U.S. Marshalls Teddy Daniels (Leonardo Di Caprio) and Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo) find themselves investigating an escape from an institute for the criminally insane.

Something unnatural is happening in the Massachusetts prison, a literal fortress in the coastal wilderness. The prisoners whisper of spirits and a 67th prisoner, though there are cells for only 66.

Di Caprio is on brilliant form through his investigation uncovering a series of dark and sinister secrets which may lead him down a path of no return. Someone knows what’s going on – but no-one wants to talk.

Mmmm, nothing beats the food at Wormwood Scrubs.

Comfortable living facilities, a ready supply of pharmaceuticals and a quaint, gangland atmosphere make the place first choice for musicians on the downward spiral. It’s like the priory, but better!

If you don’t mind people stealing your chocolate pudding or being gutted with a fork, it’s a fine and friendly place, like Disneyland for petty gangsters. Solitary confinement can only be a laugh when you’ve got 12 personalities, a catalogue of wussy tunes and a lot of time to kill.

We think that only death could keep Pete Doherty out of prison. He clearly loves the jingle-jangle of jailhouse rock, maybe why he was charged with carrying class A drugs and driving drunk after his arrest in Switzerland three days ago. You can’t blame the guy for not having any sense, he spends most of his time listening to Joy Division in a parallel universe inspired by crack.

The Babyshambles singer was arrested in Gloucestershire last night for ‘driving erratically’ along with a 30-year-old woman, who was released without charge. He was remanded in custody and appeared before magistrates in Stroud this morning. He was scheduled to play at the Derby Rockhouse tonight, but the gig has since been cancelled.

A spokesman said:

“He’s been charged with dangerous driving, possession of Class A drugs, drink driving and driving without a valid license and insurance.”

Tempting as it is to rip into Pete, we’ll leave that to the rest of you celebrity cannibals. We’ve decided to fool you all with a rare moment of journalistic and moral integrity (here today, gone tomorrow) and briefly elevate ourselves above the other scum that share our trade.

Pete Doherty is a drug addict. He’s a laughable anti-social mess, lost to a world of hedonism, self-indulgence and chemical ecstasy, a poster-boy for humanity gone wrong.  But still, we laugh, glad that we aren’t him. Addicts can’t be people – they’re guilty sacks of walking flesh, victim to their own incurable weakness.

What’s sad is that nobody asks why. They look on at the neverending spectacle and beg for more while someone with genuine talent, vision and something to say pumps poison through their veins. We love it, we can’t get enough and soon we can’t live without it, that wonderful floating eye that allows us to pass judgement on socialites and fools. We are the addicts. Doherty may be a smackhead, but we are far, far worse, for our addiction is abuse.

Wormwood Scrubs may be the answer, at least behind those massive concrete walls no camera-wielding maniac can steal your likeness so others can frown and say we told you so.

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Think of the most boring script you could ever come up with…

No? Can’t do it? Sam Mendes can. In fact, he’s made a film that just about takes the cake when it comes to mind-numbing tedium and films that make you want to die. Away We Go is about a couple of losers expecting a child. They need to start a new life, so off they go to brighter places to see relatives you’d generally want to shoot. It’s a sentimental story that might appeal to unmarried couples who think their lives are over and there’s even a few laughs if you like neurotic, American humour.

Otherwise, it’s a clanger of a film played to the depressive drone of roots music by Alexi Murdoch. We think that th- YAWNNNNN. And away we go.

Have you ever looked around and thought the whole world was fake?

Well it is, at least if you’re Bruce Willis. Everyone is hooked up to a robot, called a surrogate, and lives life from the comfort of a home computer. It’s a great solution to the boring trawl of the life, except one day, someone gets whacked and dies online. Bruce Willis plays Agent Greer, a surrogate cop investigating the deaths. As he delves into a futuristic murder mystery, he starts to question the life he lives and pulls the plug, going AWOL in the process.

If you like Asimov-style science fiction, then this is your stop. Get off an explore a universe where technology threatens the very purpose of our existence.

Will Ferrell is back for more.

The master of stupidity returns to play misguided scientist Rick Marshall in a bid to break the laws of space and time. Rick claims to have discovered time travel with his Tachyon Amplifier, only to be ridiculed by scientists, the media and everyone who isn’t dog-barking mad. The amplifier works, transporting Marshall, his sexy research assistant Holly (Anna Friel) and redneck buddy Will (Danny McBride) to a post apocalyptic world of aliens, dinosaurs and freaks.

Giant crabs, UFOs and little hairy men are encountered by the group, along with ‘grumpy’ a T-Rex that takes a particular dislike to Marhsall and chases him all over the film. If the group can somehow get home, they’ll be heroes. If they can’t, they’re dinner. Will Ferrell is guaranteed to break your back with laughter in this ridiculous sci-fi comedy. Don’t miss it!

This is Britain, can’t you see? We love reality TV… Like animals we hoot and jeer, with gobs of marmite, chips and beer…

Now think of everything at stake, You’d think there were complaints to make… of scandal-ridden politicians, ID cards and gas emissions…

But oh we love our talent shows, the dancing freaks that Simon chose, we laugh but then we pick our brains,

the circus-goer soon complains… Sod elections! Stuff the Queen! This talent show is really mean! We take offence! You made her cry…

Now all of ITV must DIE!

A torrent of complaints were made to TV watchdog OFCOM in the wake of children appearing on ITV variety show Britain’s Got Talent, sparking interest from the The Department for Children, Schools and Families. Now in talks with BGT producers TalkbackTHAMES, the Department are preparing to review Children’s Entertainment Regulations, which cover under-16s in TV, film, theatre and modelling. The DCSF also spoke to Love Productions, after receiving complaints about children fighting and crying were shown on Channel 4 show Boys and Girls.

TalkbackTHAMES defended their treatment of child performers:

“Parents, guardians or chaperones accompany the children throughout the process and we work very closely with them to ensure that they have all the support they need.”

We don’t see what all the fuss is about, really.

You wanted talent. You clapped your hands for singing kiddies and egged them on in front of cameras but still, someone else is to blame for making them cry. Now that the government is on a moral crusade, we feel that other changes should be made based on OFCOM complaints:

1,671 complaints were made about KFC’s Zinger Crunch Salad in 2005. Down with fried chicken. There were 45,000 complaints about Big Brother in 2007 – laws on cameras, communal housing and people should also be reviewed. Mazda, Ryanair, Pot Noodle, Jerry Springer, Phones 4U, Kiss FM and Jonathan Ross are also culprits: That means cars, airplanes, phones, musicals, r&b and speech impediments have to go. Where is Jacqui Smith when you need her?

“Look what they’re doing on the telly! Never mind that London’s burning,” say the politicians. “Don’t worry about the economy, worry about 10-year-old Hollie Steel and her performance of Edelweiss. Aww look, you made her cry.” Our congratulations, Mr Brown. If there was an award for priorities we’d pin it to your forehead.

Britain’s Got Issues, ladies and gentlemen. Foul and reeking problems that are someone else’s fault.

Call OFCOM and get them sorted.

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Director Guido Contini lives a life defined by glamour, excess and the attention of a thousand beautiful women…

In this Hollywood remake of the Broadway musical Nine, you’ll wonder how the Italian, played by Daniel Day Lewis, doesn’t wake up castrated… hell hath no fury, after all. Set in Venice circa 1960, the award winning musical throws you into Contini’s chaotic world: after his 40th birthday, the film director thinks it’s all downhill. He has a midlife crisis and suffers from a creative blank while the women around him – Nicole Kidman, Kate Hudson and Penelope Cruz (to mention just a few) – dance scantily clad to the music of his demise.

Nine is about reaching your peak, falling off the top and finding yourself in the brothel of life. Music, Romance and decadence are abundant in this tri-coloured Italian extravaganza, get ready for a mouth-watering sing-song from the city of masks.