Archive for the ‘celeb worship’ Category

Is Nicole Kidman kidding about her kid’s origin? Sunday Rose knows

July 8, 2008

OK, so Will Smith had another July 4 blockbuster with Hancock. Is that news? I mean, in these troubled times, do most people truly care about per-screen averages or a percent of the gross? And does it really matter if one studio’s production and marketing budget virtually requires them to have a blockbuster or risk going out of business? I mean, is that our problem, too, along with sky-high gas and all the rest?

No, what people care more about — as a distraction, a diversion — are the celebs themselves: their lives, their loves and their livers, if they’re hard drinkers (and who isn’t?). That’s why this week’s biggest news isn’t – yawn – Smith scores yet again, but rather:

Christie Brinkley’s nightmare in divorce court. Well, what did she think would happen if she didn’t settle quietly?

Scarlett Johansson declaring that “monogamy is hard.” Actually, Scarlett, believing that you’re monogamous is what’s really hard. Monogamy itself, for some people — those who love each other truly, madly and deeply — isn’t hard at all. It depends on the persons.

Paris Hilton wants to team with Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan for a reality show. Uh, Paris, the purgatory of reality TV is your day job, not theirs. At least, it shouldn’t be their gig, though at this point anything’s possible in the career spirals of BS and LL.

And, finally, Oscar-winning actress Nicole Kidman gives birth, in Nashville, to a daughter, Sunday Rose Kidman Urban, with country kicker hubby Keith Urban at her side.

Now that’s the biggest news of all. And don’t get me wrong — I’m not a baby freak. In fact, all those baby stories in People magazine make me want to get myself fixed. Know of a good vet who’ll do it cheap?

But I digress: What’s truly amazing is that Kidman had a kid. I mean, this rail-thin woman is forever fixated on her figure and her appearance. What’s more, Kidman has hardly been “showing” at all, even up until recently. And just imagine what havoc childbirth would play on her trim frame. Why, that’s just not acceptable. In fact, I would not have blamed Kidman if she’d pulled a Bree from Desperate Housewives and faked the whole thing, getting a surrogate mother to take the pregnancy to full term in secret, while she wore a prosthetic in her few public appearances and kept looking beautiful despite the indignity of allegedly impending birth. Then in a short time — voila! — she can be back in movie-star mode, and without any noticeable signs of a true mother’s ordeal.

Now, I’m not saying she did this. But I am saying she could have — and isn’t any conspiracy theory worth entertaining, however briefly?

After all, actors like her are paid enormous sums for their ability to lie — to sell a character or a situation and make us believe it — and they’re all about wardrobe tricks and masquerades, too, including Kidman’s own fake nose in The Hours. So why not extend that to your personal life? I mean, the entertainment media is all too willing and gullible to lap it up. Just ask the third wife of Kidman’s ex-husband. Does she have anything to hide or to fake? If so, you won’t know from watching Entertainment Tonight.

I even happen to know, first-hand, that those pregnancy prosthetics work quite well.

Back when Drew Barrymore was shooting Home Fries in Central Texas, I visited the set for a story. This wasn’t long after Drew had bared her bosom for Dave Letterman on national TV, and so my wife was a little — well, apprehensive.

“Bruce, be careful of her. She might flash you — or do anything!”

“Now honey, don’t be silly. This is a professional film shoot, and I’ll just be doing my job, as I’m sure she will be, too.”

Flash-forward to a winding dirt road near a filming location in wintry Centex, where a trusting Bruce rendezvous with a van carrying Drew and climbs aboard. Gushy if not giddy, she welcomes her visitor while wearing a prosthetic beneath her dress in order to play a pregnant character.

As I sit down, Drew instantly turns talk to her fake belly, which, she insists, “smells like pancakes.” Then, without a wink or a blink, she raises her dress and insists I check it out.

And so, within a minute of entering The Van With The Wanton Woman, Drew was, indeed, exposing herself — sort of, she also wore pants — while your friendly neighborhood trusting journalist leaned down to her midriff and had a good whiff of her smelly belly.

The moment was frozen in time as my life flashed before me — the indignity of second grade! — and then it struck me: “You know, my wife was right!” And then: “But her fake belly does smell like pancakes!”

So perhaps you can understand why I’m not so trusting now, and why wild thoughts whip up a whirlwind in my head when I see a too-thin and too-beautiful Nicole Kidman not long before she supposedly delivers a bouncing baby girl.

You know, it just makes you think — and, as Arsenio Hall used to do, stroke your chin and go “Hmmmmmm.” After all, we have no more reason to believe and know that Nicole was preggers than to believe and know that she wasn’t.

That leaves us with doubt and disbelief — and Hollywood types have it coming. From fanciful characters to overhyped ad campaigns, from “reality” shows that are scripted to celebs who insist they hate paparazzi while announcing their meals at The Ivy, show-biz folks can’t keep selling us lies without expecting us somehow, some way, sometime, to disbelieve. At least, I do — and it’s healthy.

You prefer a steady diet of baloney? I’ll take the pancakes. At least they smell real enough.

Miley’s ‘nude’ photos are getting the job done — already!

April 29, 2008

Has no one else figured out what’s clearly going on with this Miley Cyrus “picture flap,” as calls it, while USA Today worries if her upcoming Vanity Fair spread will be “artsy or embarrassing?” And that’s just the tip of the media gorge-fest.

Uh, can you spell “free publicity”? This is cost-conscious marketing at its finest! Heck, the magazine’s website even crashed Monday after getting 4 million hits to see a 15-year-old wrapped in a blanket and seeming to be topless (though she wasn’t).

Start by declaring how suddenly chagrined and embarrassed you are about photos YOU CLEARLY SAW DIGITALLY DURING THE SHOOT and to which YOU HAD NO OBJECTION. Then watch the media feeding frenzy begin! “You say Miley shows a little skin? And the photos are ‘controversial’ (our favorite five-syllable word)? That’s news, baby!”

No, that’s hype — and why buy into it? If Miley or her family or her handlers in Mousketeer suits truly were embarassed about these reasonably chaste photos (as they sound to me), then why would they draw attention and heat and spotlights to them? Three guesses, and they all start with a big “M” for Money. “Just wait till that issue hits the stands! And did we mention Miley’s show airs at . . . ”

But while America holds its breath for a look-see at Miley (hey, I’m there, if only as props to photographer Annie Leibovitz), I’m left to ponder a too easily successful marketing blitz which seems based on stone cold lies that the media is buying and ballyhooing without asking a question — or at least not asking the right ones.

At such times, I imagine I’m the one interviewing Miley and her hillbilly daddy, and not some hypefest enabler. As we make nice with small talk and sip iced teas, I imagine they’re explaining all this fuss to me. Or trying to.

“Those photos are embarassing!”

 “Which photos?”

 “Uh, the ones running in the June issue of Vanity Fair, on sale Wednesday at newstands, but at first only in New York and Los Angeles, then on May 6 in the rest of America. Those photos.”

 “Which ones again?”

 “The ones in Vanity Fair. Did we forget to mention the name of the magazine? Ohmygod. And it’s on sale everywhere — soon. Anyway, those photos. In that magazine. On sale soon.”

“Ohhhhh,” I say, all interested like. “OK . . . well, thanks for the tip!”

And so it goes.

Sorry, but I’m not buying this too typical show-biz prank for pub. Why typical? Because entertainment as a craft — while often rich with creative juices — is also rich financially because it’s built on lies, or at least false claims to reality.

Actors pretend to be someone else. Miley pretends to be Hannah Montana. And too often the pretending and posturing spill over into self-serving stories like this one. And why not lie? It almost always works!

Well, not if you listen to me, but then, what do I know? Surely the truth is closer to what my former collegues in entertainment journalism are telling you. I’m just being cynical, I guess.

Besides, look how sloppy I am. Did I forget to write about DVD this time — a topic I originally promised to cover? Oops. Hey, you’ve got a 27 Dresses review hot off the pressed laptop keys. But sometimes, some things — as with my American Idol rant — need to be said. By someone. Somewhere. And there — I’ve said it, and have this off my chest.

Now, don’t we all feel better?