Money Balks

Paris' presence in our collective consciousness is getting awfully ker-ching—or is it?  Plus, Lindsay opens her mouth and something awful comes out—we ain't talkin' vomit from one too many relapses. Oh, and Jess Simpson discovers a simpler way to shop (by sending some poor schmuck), and Beyoncé is nowhere near irreplaceable on the red carpet.

Suppose it had to happen. We must discuss. The Hottie and the Nottie (it pains me to even acknowledge that rip-off title, I’ll expect residual checks, babes!) is Paris Hilton’s new theatrically released movie. Seriously, it’ll be up there on the big marquee at your local multiplex with actual works of cinematic achievement. Quite unlike Pare-poo getting the Doggy Owner of the Year Award, along with Brit-Brit and Rebecca Romijn, huh?

The existence of this flick is (deliciously, admittedly) mind-numbing enough, but it’s the giant billboards that I have no say in seeing—the ones that turn my brain to pulp. Ridiculous as casting Princess Paris in a movie and expecting it to make oodles.

Let’s have a look-see at darling P’s filmography, shall we? House of Wax, Hilton’s ho-hum horror job, had a budget of $30 mil, and it landed an opening of $12 million, earning $32 mil total. Guess splashing Paris’ face with slimy wax on the movie’s poster (at least I hope that was wax, ew) and killing her off was a big enough draw to get at least a few people in the seats, most who applauded when she died. Parey, I feel your pain—the hate mail in my in-box lately, after discussing Heath Ledger’s drug habits in last week's columns, has surely been eviscerating. Yo, what did folks do to vent prior to emails, just flog their dogs and neighbors?

Back to P.H.: Then there’s her straight-to-DVDisasters Bottom’s Up and Pledge This!, which barely inspired ironic viewing. Now, in all my days of patrolling the H-town alleys, I still cannot comprehend how questionable actors and singers—and those who pretend to be both—keep getting cast in lead roles or release studio albums when their past efforts are giant failed flops. Case in point: Lindsay's making another album? Who bought, or will admit to buying, the first two Lohan albums? Are these people in the same eight-year-old/pedophile demographic buying up li'l Ali’s Lohan Holiday Christmas CD? LiLo’s first album, Speak, opened at number four on the charts with 261,000 copies. Not too shabby, but these are hardly numbers to justify her second album release, A Little More Personal (and A Whole Lot More Mediocre), which peaked at—gulp—number 20 with 82,000 copies. Lindsay’s had more success in rehab, fer sure.

Why aren’t these grabbin’ gals sticking to what got ‘em to become household names in the first place? Don’t punish the world with your smoker’s-cough singing, Linds. Find a good part in a great film, already. Not to mention a better 12-step sponsor. As for Paris, unless Hottie spectacularly surprises—and it might—she should stick to the merchandising and the porn (is there a difference, really?). That’s where all the real money is, not like she needs any more of it.

Once a struggling actor makes it to the faraway land of Cha-ching-ville and becomes a bona fide celeb, normal day-to-day life is thrown out with yesterday’s Jimmy Choos. And you can bet someone’s hired to toss those suckers out for the newly minted celeb! On a historical, slightly more emotional and dramatic scale of passing the proverbial task buck, Tori Spelling notoriously split from hubby number one, Charlie Shanian, by having her therapist break up with him. And let’s not forget Julia Roberts, who broke off her engagement to Kiefer Sutherland via her agent, who definitely earned his 10 percent that time.

But this par-tick story concerns something slightly more mundane in a famous person’s annoying tasks at hand. Our divine source at Saks Fifth Avenue—Beverly Hills, darlings—snits to us that Jessica Simpson has her very own employee who tries on swimsuits for her. And that’s the full job description right there. Why? ‘Cause Jessy still has Newlyweds money to burn, and she can’t be bothered, apparently. She’s too busy hawing hair extensions and tackling Tony to find the time to even shop for herself anymore. (Now, if only Winona Ryder had the same arrangement at Saks, her notorious shoplifting life might be far diff right about now.)

I dunno. Maybe J.S. is very busy these days, what with defending herself from rabid, wrathful Cowboys fans, guess that’s a damn full-time gig. Those Texans can be such bitches.