According to a Fandango.com poll conducted this weekend, 64 percent of people who saw The Dark Knight would see it again in the theater, making it even more impossible for the rest of us to see it just once. THANKS A LOT.

The movie I saw the most in a theater was American Beauty. I was a freshman in college and terrified that I wouldn't make any friends, so I just kept saying yes to new people who wanted to go. (Um, there was a Ground Round right next to the theater and we inexplicably went there, too.) I think I saw it four times, maybe seven. Since 1999, I've spoken to those movie companions zero times, yet almost always watch part or all of American Beauty when it's on HBO even though I'm sick of it by now. Priorities, I guess. You know what those dorm mates would say to me today? "It's okay, Annie. I wouldn't remember me either." JK people!

Anyhow, back to the subject at hand: Would you go to see The Dark Knight again, already? And which other movies have you repeat-theater'ed? (Oh, and if you haven't read Benjamin Svetkey's recent EW feature on the current box-office champ, by all means click here.)

Bravo has picked up a Sarah Jessica Parker-produced art-competition reality show, American Artist. Contestants will compete in various styles like painting, sculpting -- and, with any luck, the manipulation of food into adorable animals (pictured). We're honestly not sure how many people will tune in to watch paint dry, but as long as casting finds the most pretentious people possible (they should try spinning around in a circle anywhere in NYC and see who they hit -- oh look, it worked!), the series could be awesome.

In any case, hooray for SJP! She must have gotten the job because she totally dated installation artist Aleksandr Petrovsky on the teevee. On that note, if anything on American Artist resembles a sad woman sitting on a pedestal and not eating, I most certainly will not watch what happens -- because "Sad Woman Sitting On A Pedestal, Not Eating" could, and possibly should, serve as an alternate title for about 50% of current shows. Otherwise, count me in. You too?

Well, it was only a matter of time. One New York minute after word spread that fans of the Sex and the City movie were logging onto Amazon.com in hopes of purchasing Love Letters of Great Men - the fake book highlighted in the film - publisher Pan MacMillan announced that on Aug. 15, they're planning to release a book with the same title in the U.K., to include "all of the letters referenced in the film."

Now, I have no doubts that Love Letters will sell boatloads of books - He's Just Not That Into You, for example, became a phenomenon thanks to rabid fans of the show - but considering only a few poems were referenced in the film, I'm not sure how Pan MacMillan plans on filling out the rest of the book (hopefully with pieces from poets more adept than Chris Noth's Mr. Big). A forward by Evan Handler (hey, he needed something to do while the movie's writers were busy giving him no lines)? A guide to bad bathroom-related puns by Sarah Jessica Parker? Or a letter to the producers from one angry, poor peacock whose feather was sacrificed in the name of tacky wedding fashion? Personally, I'm a bit SATCed out, and will likely save my money in protest of the fact that my favorite fake prop - buddy bands - still somehow doesn't exist (not to mention all the brilliant fake products you all expressed your love for in the comment boards - hello The Man Inside Me!).

So, PopWatchers, what, or who, would you like to see in the book? Will you order a copy? Or do you, like me, plan on avoiding it like a tempting buff, naked neighbor in a steamy shower?

I struggled all night trying to find the right words to articulate how I felt about Monday's episode of High School Musical: Get In The Picture. So many things defied my admittedly modest skill as a wordsmith, including:

--My eye-rolling reaction to Brooke, aka "Miss Positive," who humbly revealed to the judges that should she win this competition (prize: a role in a music video that will play over the credits of the upcoming movie High School Musical 3), she just might save the planet!!!! "I am just genuinely a nice girl. I just love everyone, I love inspiring everyone. Singing, dancing and acting is my way of conveying happiness in the world." (Even the impossibly upbeat judges were left speechless by that one.) 

--My head-shakery at host Nick Lachey, who drew upon his voluminous experience as a pop star to impart wisdom concerning the management of jittery nerves (serious entertainers should ALWAYS have them--just convert them into energizing adrenaline) and masking bad dance moves (just keep smiling; that way, the audience keeps looking at your face instead of looking "down there") (Must... resist... tasteless... sarcastic.... comment); and who claimed that Isaiah and Sierra's performance of "I Want It That Way" finally made him a fan of the song, because "as a member of 98 Degrees, I wasn't allowed to like Backstreet Boys." And the deprogramming of an ex-boybander continues...

--My joy that lovable lug Anthony, possibly the closest thing to a genuine human being on this show, was tapped to be among the 12 finalists-and my utter disgust that total Tracy Flick wannabe Bailey Purvis joined him. 'I'm an overachiever!' 'I bring 1000% to everything!' 'I have a 4.4. GPA!' OH SHUT UP!

Perhaps the best way to sum up my complicated reactions to these developments and more (please, fill in my blanks below) is to take a cue from my favorite "faculty member," Montre (loved the green striped polo and purple tie), who extolled the virtues of humming, "because when you start humming, it releases the pressure of words, and you really get into it!"  In that spirit, I offer these concluding thoughts:

Hmmmmmmmmmmm? HMMMMMMMMMMM! (Hmm?!)

Wow! Who knew writing could be so easy!

Still no Vanessa Hudgeons. Hmmmmm....

Few things were certain when I was growing up, but The Golden Girls was one of them. More Saturday nights than I care to admit were spent in the company of four plucky gals: Dorothy, Rose, Blanche, and Sophia, a diminutive Sicilian firebrand who was infamous for her Tourette-like zingers and no BS 'tude. Golden Girls went on to win four Golden Globes and numerous Emmys, including, for Getty, in 1988, one for outstanding supporting actress in a comedy series.

Getty, who suffered from advanced dementia and died on July 22 at the age of 84, wasn't always a sitcom queen. She got her start in Yiddish theater, but didn't break out until 1981, when she played Harvey Fierstein's mother in the Broadway play Torch Song Trilogy. She also had small roles in Tootsie (1982) and Mask (1985). In 1985 she started on The Golden Girls, which was an instant hit and quickly became a staple of NBC's Saturday night lineup. Getty later reprised the role of Sophia on The Golden Girls spinoff The Golden Palace (1992), and played the part of Grandma Estelle Little in the film Stuart Little (1999).

Visit our Golden Girls 20th anniversary tribute, as well as our New TV Classics gallery, check out some classic Getty YouTube clips after the jump, and feel free to share your memories -- and favorite Golden Girl moments -- below.

I like to think I'm a good mom. I know that my eight-year-old son, Dylan, takes ballroom dancing and piano lessons in large part because it makes me happy. (OK, if he really hated them, I would let him do something else). So when a friend of mine heard about a wrestling extravaganza called The Great American Bash, I figured it was time to do something that would make Dylan really happy - and I knew I would score some major cool mom points by taking him, his seven-year-old buddy Edward, and Edward's mom, to the show.

The Bash, held at the Nassau Coliseum on Sunday, was definitely a hot ticket, selling out 14,000 seats in just 45 minutes back in May. Never mind that all I know about wrestling could fit on the head of a pin. And never mind that I'm pretty much on the prim side of, say, Charlotte from Sex and the City. I could do this, I told myself. I could totally hang with the boys and not seem like the Church Lady from SNL.

As we were waiting on the security line, I noticed there were some clearly defined groups. About five or six young men had caps and T-shirts with the words "Cena Sucks" on it. After a few minutes, an older man came up to them smiling, holding the sign "JBL Sucks." They eyeballed each other for a few seconds, nodding and smiling warily, but no verbal smackdowns ensued. That was quite a civil exchange, I thought. I was encouraged.

The show, which featured stars from RAW, ECW, and Smackdown (and aired on Pay-Per-View), started off with the standard wackiness I expected from wrestling: really loud heavy metal music; lots of posing and sinister-looking soap-opera faces; and a politically incorrect use of midgets (this would be the Irish wrestler Finlay's tag team partner, who was mainly there for comic relief, and yes, everybody laughed).

More Bash after the jump...

I do have to say there were some truly spectacular physical stunts: backwards flips off the top rope, lots of Cirque du Soleil-style contortioning, with a crowd appreciative of everything. (Even those who couldn't tell a moonsault from a Brazilian Heel Hook if their lives depended on it. Ahem.) Could I have done without seeing all the blood that spewed forth from Shawn Michaels at the hands of Chris Jericho? Yep. The latter boasted that his opponent had had his last match, since he was now suffering from... dramatic pause here... a detached retina. And the pre-taped segment that showed John Cena and JBL battling it out in a parking lot, with Cena attaching jumper cables to JBL's crotch and JBL in turn gassing a car and lighting it on fire with an unconscious Cena inside? A bit over the top, to put it mildly.

But I've passed over my favorite match of the event, and no, it wasn't the love triangle involving Edge and Vickie Guerrero and the wedding planner (though I do secretly adore the fact that the featured match was based on a timeless story of a cheater and a woman done wrong, plus the ensuing catfight). It was the match between CM Punk and Batista, a fellow known as the Animal. Batista, with none of the obvious mugging for the camera that the other Superstars employed, had a quiet yet forceful presence, and was clearly the classiest wrestler of the whole bunch. No matter that his match ended in a disappointing double disqualification. He performed his classic move (I'm told), the Batista Bomb, which has to do with getting your opponent face-forward on your shoulders and promptly dropping him to the mat (and yes, I learned the mat is mic'ed to heighten the sound so folks in the rafters can hear it). He didn't say much, but he didn't have to. One look at the dragon tattoo on his back and the six-pack on the flip side and oh my, is it getting a little warm here in the Coliseum? I'm thinking he could be the next big crossover wrestling star, like the Rock. And look, he's the thinking woman's wrestler -- he's already written an autobiography detailing his hardscrabble background. It's enough to make the Church Lady stand up and start whooping it up with the rest of the crowd.

All right, you wrestling fanatics, what did you think of the Great American Bash? Do you think Edge will reunite with Vickie? Who was your favorite? Have at it.

Saturday night, I caught Keith Urban and Kenny Chesney on Chesney's Poets and Pirates Tour at Lincoln Financial Field in Philadelphia. It was the day I'd been waiting for since February, when, after seeing Urban rock Madison Square Garden, I found myself wondering how, year after year, Chesney could manage to win Entertainer of the Year. I understand it now, but I still don't agree with it...

My sister, a longtime Chesney fan, had always raved about Kenny's crowd control, and it's true: the people love him. They sing every word to every song, pausing only to say that they love him (my sister) or to curse when they spill their beer or fruity beverages (the people seated behind us). Chesney works the stage so hard, in fact, that he starts sweating through his T-shirt during the opening song - which you've got to respect. And he clearly wants you to feel as though he's partying with you (I'm sure the people who joined him in multiple renditions of the Eagles' fight song believed that he was).

I sang along to "Living in Fast Forward" and "Anything But Mine" as loudly as the next person, but if you told me that I could only see one of them, Kenny or Keith, in concert again, I'd choose Keith. Not all of the songs I listen to have to mention sand and some kind of fruit wine. (Okay, only three-quarters of Kenny's songs do that.) And I love watching Keith play the guitar. He actually picked up a gift from a fan with his teeth so that he didn't miss a note. (You've got to respect that as much, or more.)

Luckily, country fans don't have to choose between the two. But if you did, who would it be?

So Robert Downey Jr. is gonna play Sherlock Holmes, eh? This, of course, comes just over a week after it got out that Sacha Baron Cohen is starring as Sherlock Holmes in a totally different upcoming movie. Which brings me to two important questions. One: Can RDJ please lobby Guy Ritchie (who is directing his Sherlock flick) to take a look at Gary Susman's spec script? Two: What's with all the Sherlock Holmes movies? Don't get me wrong, I love me some Holmes. The original Arthur Conan Doyle stories and novels are total classics, obvs. The master deducer has been played by lots of actors in lots of productions, many of them awesome. I even started digging Fox's House more when I got clued into its Holmesy paralells. But isn't this a slightly random time for there to be some sudden run on the property?

Well, whatever. Both of these movies actually sound like they could be great. The leading men are two of my favorite contemporary actors, and the projects are different enough - the Ritchie/RDJ one's an action-y drama, while the SBC one is a comedy that will reunite him with Will Ferrell as Doctor Watson (!). And what with production schedules and existing commitments, who knows if they'll even end up in theaters anywhere near the same time. (I'll take this as an opportunity to note quietly that early reports on Baron Cohen's Bruno movie make it sound like it might - might - be more about exposing homophobic prejudices than reveling in them, as I'd worried last year.) So forget my carping! Why don't you take over here: Which of Sherlock's new adventures are you most looking forward to?

I thought I knew plenty about how the movie ratings board operates, but this interview in the Stanford alumni magazine with ratings board chair Joan Graves featured some admissions about board policy that were news to me, and that do not paint the system in a flattering light. Graves offers the usual disclaimers that the board is not about censorship (though when filmmakers and studios rely on your leniency in order to release and market their movies, that excuse rings hollow), but she does acknowledge for the first time that I've seen that there is "ratings creep" (that is, that the board has become more lax over the years about certain content, notably, gross-out humor), and that the board now looks at screenplays and tells filmmakers and studios what will and will not pass muster before even a single frame of film is shot. How does that differ at all from the censorship of the pre-1968 Production Code, when studios had to submit scripts to the Code censors before they could shoot? Graves does not say (and the interviewer* does not ask her).

Graves also implicitly acknowledges the longstanding complaint that the board is friendlier to studio films than to indie films by suggesting that the studios are better at gaming the system because they have full-time liaisons in place to deal with the board. She does say, however, that the board is now more likely to talk directly to the filmmakers than to go through a studio intermediary, so that's a positive step.

Another interesting tidbit: Graves notes that people in different parts of the country find different types of content objectionable. Left unasked and unanswered: how, then, are its content recommendations useful to the whole country? And how does a group do justice to the geographic diversity of the nation when all its members presumably come from southern California?

The ratings board, as Graves describes it, is all about the judgment of the parents who are its members, and that judgment is sometimes fallible, she implies, citing herself as an example. Her now-grown daughter told her her life had been "ruined" because Graves let her watch Poltergeist (pictured) as a child. Not sure how this anecdote helps her case: it suggests that either the judgment of the board is questionable, or else that its recommendations to parents are useless if parents disregard them.

Tell us, PopWatchers, how do you think the current ratings system could be improved? Do you know of anyone who was scarred for life by seeing an inappropriate movie as a child?

*Funny side note: Graves is so notoriously press-shy that Los Angeles Times movie columnist Patrick Goldstein was astonished to learn that the Stanford mag reporter who scooped him with the Graves "get" was... his own wife.