Harry Potter supporting player David Thewlis recently had a bodyguard guide him through six hours at Disneyland because he was certain he'd be swarmed by overanxious kiddies who'd recognize him from the magical franchise. But as Thewlis freely admits, he was never approached once! Even by haters! Similarly, the other day, Daniel Radcliffe told the New York Post that he has total anonymity in Gotham and can freely roam the streets without anyone even recognizing him! The reason for that, said Radcliffe, is that he's so darned short that no one even notices him. That's one theory. Another one is WE DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT HARRY POTTER!!!

I am always riveted when a squeaky clean sitcom star turns out to have spiraled into decay and despair. Who can ever forget that Eight is Enough starlet who found herself escaping the set of snuff films in Korea only to end up selling her body for vials of crack? (I can. What was her name again?)

Anyway, Maureen McCormick is the latest such star to reveal the dark side of the pop-culture glitterdome. Known for playing The Brady Bunch's Marcia Brady--the flaxen-haired Brady that every girl and gay boy wanted to be--McCormick spills it all in her new memoir (see above), and as a result, your image of that plucky bunch with ruddy cheeks and cracking voices will curdle like a bowl of cheese fondue that's been left in the attic since the '70s.

image lovingly borrowed from Clare and Dave's flickr photostream

With every step forward, Jennifer Hudson is slapping the world in the face—or at least those fucked-up occupants who didn't vote for her on American Idol. The only reality show loser to become an Oscar winner--I swear--Hudson keeps on trucking, having released a song, "Spotlight," which is getting some play in various New York gay bars, at the very least. Here's the first of Jen's webisodes in which she talks on the set of the song's video, musing about success, realness, and, naturally, our great big God. Most of what she says could be platituded right onto a greeting card, but it's all totally true so I say keep shining a spotlight on my girl! And next time get her a better song!

View the video here.

Don't read this if you're under 92 years old: Ernest Borgnine has an autobiography coming out in August called, aptly enough, Ernie. Who the fuck is Ernest Borgnine? Well, to my bad movie club that meets every two weeks even if we're busy, he'll always be best known as the star of Bunny O'Hare, in which he and old Bette Davis dress up like hippies—you must believe me—and try to rob banks. Of course to normal people—and even animals--Bunny O'Hare might not be at the very top of Borgnine's body of work. He also won an Oscar for Marty, killed Sinatra in From Here To Eternity, and married Broadway belter Ethel Merman for 32 excruciating yet historic days that every gay of a certain age considers either the golden era of show biz or "the Hitler years." Merman's own memoir famously had a chapter titled "My Marriage to Ernest Borgnine" which deftly consisted of one blank page, but Ernie's book, they swear, will fill in some of the blanks—along with those of his other four marriages. Presumably his version of the Merman stint will be different than the last one I read in a book about the Merm: That they got smashed on their wedding night and he couldn't get it up, so she sent him packing! And by he, I mean Borgnine, not Merman. And by packing, I don't think I mean fudgepacking, hello!

This week's YouTube treasure is a pop culture horror that bears repeat viewing, and not just to punish yourself for not caring if Hillary beats Obama. A version of the Dreamgirls song "We are a Family" by various NBC stars on a 1986 special to commemorate the network's 60th anniversary, it's a slow moving trainwreck of bad casting, fake feeling, and scary singing, but somehow utterly delightful. As the song drones on and the performers fuss with various household chores, take note of (1)Nell Carter's insistence on singing "fee-mily" (2) Charlotte Rae's off kilter delivery, culminating with a surprisingly bright finish (3) Bea Arthur's mannishly Maude-like lack of soul (though she has no lack of shoulderpads) (4) Alfonso Ribeiro's cringing when his equally soul-free solo flops (5) Marla Gibbs's Star-Trek-via-Labelle outfit and idle chatter with Nell to fill a dead patch and (6) Soleil Moon Frye's awkward mugging and sprecht-singing of her cameo role, unable to even TRY to make music out of three little words. Still, this Dreamgirls is a scream, girl, and I live for these B stars—they're truly my fee-mily.