So the notorious tiny-tot is back knocking on our doors.
While I was watching these outtakes, all I could think of is how long it must have taken them to edit "The Landlord." Well, kudos to them. They got a few more laughs out of me. And for all those haters out there, as Pearl would say, "Hit the bricks!"
Will Ferrell’s Web short "The Landlord" has been online for less than a week (PopWatch linked to it on Monday), but it’s already made a breakout star out of two-year-old Pearl McKay. And no wonder: not only does she have a distinguished Hollywood pedigree (her uncle is Jeremy Piven, and her dad is Adam McKay, Ferrell’s writing/directing partner on such movies as Anchorman and Talladega Nights and the writer/director/costar of "Landlord"), but she’s also clearly talented and photogenic. During her weeklong crawl from the playpen to worldwide notoriety, Pearl has been the subject of several profiles in major newspapers and has even been interviewed (sorta) by People magazine.
Unfortunately, wee Pearl has also become the most controversial celebrity offspring since Jane Fonda. Lots of folks, including many of you who commented on Monday’s post, have accused the elder McKay of bad parenting, suggesting that by teaching Pearl some risqué lines of dialogue, he’s setting her up for years of psychotherapy and deprogramming. (C’mon, it’s not as if she were Suri Cruise.) But it’s not Pearl I’m worried about; rather, it’s the rest of us. The precocious Pearl is getting a head start that will leave her underachieving contemporaries — Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt, Apple and Moses Paltrow-Martin, and Cheeto and Poptart Spears-Federline — in the dust. By the time she’s as old as, say, Elle Fanning, she’ll have won an Oscar; by the time she’s Dakota’s age, she’ll be running her own studio. Soon she’ll own us all. She’ll be our landlord for real, and it’ll be our door she knocks on when she wants to get her drink on.
Remember those stories last week about paparazzi in Vietnam throwing things under Brangelina’s car? Well, similarly orphan-fond mom Madonna appears to have taken steps to avoid a similar situation: When she visited her kid’s Malawian orphanage yesterday, the building was circled by schoolchildren who threw rocks at the paparazzi to keep them away.
I’m not sure if this constitutes an official response on my part, but: hahahahahahahahahaha.
Okay, there is no way to know if Madonna had a hand in organizing that army of rock-pelting kids, but I sure as hell like her better if she did. Not that I’m advocating violence. And not that Madonna doesn’t actively cultivate publicity through her actions. Honestly, I’m not sure anyone’s innocent in this scenario. Maybe we should blame the gossip rags that pay top dollar for grainy photographs of famous people in private situations? Or maybe we should blame ourselves for caring in the first place? (Wait. Am I part of the problem? Quick! Pretend this post doesn’t exist!)
Weigh in, PopWatchers: You’re in a glass house and you each get one stone to throw. Where’s it going?
I’m worried that the forthcoming Anna Nicole Smith biopic, whose backers announced today the casting of Dancing With the Stars alumna and noted hockey expert Willa Ford (pictured) in the title role, might never see the inside of a multiplex. Producer Jack Nasser has said that the project might become a TV movie instead of a theatrical feature, and given the TV movie/straight-to-video oeuvre of director Keoni Waxman, that wouldn’t be out of line. Which would be a tragedy for Ford, who deserves her shot at joining Helen Mirren and Reese Witherspoon in the pantheon of Oscar-winning biopic actresses.
The solution, of course, is to surround her with a sterling supporting cast. Here’s where you come in, PopWatchers, with your casting suggestions. I’ll start you off: As newly-confirmed babydaddy Larry Birkhead, why not real-life Ford ex Nick Carter? Hurry and help cast this movie, PopWatchers; it starts shooting next week.
So Gwyneth Paltrow’s revelation in Spanish Vogue that her son and daughter, Moses and Apple, have regular playdates with the children of Stella McCartney and Madonna got us thinking: What would the conversation at one of these get-togethers sound like? Since we have yet to receive a proper invite, we decided to do the next best thing and make something up:
Madonna: Here, Apple, would you like a digestive biscuit?
Gwyneth: Wait, are they macrobiotic?
Madonna: Of course.
Stella: And vegetarian?
Madonna: They’re even kosher. Pareve. Dairy free.
Gwyneth: I know what "Pareve" means. I’m Jewish.
Madonna: Well, your dad was Jewish but not your mum, so technically, you’re not Jewish.
Gwyneth: For your information, my mother was in Brighton Beach Memoirs.
Stella: Hard to say, Gwynnie, but wait a minute, Madge, weren’t you born Catholic?
Madonna: Yes, but now Guy and I and the kids are Kabbalists. We…
Gwyneth: Apple! Don’t touch the Fabergé egg! How many times does Mommy have to tell you?
Madonna: [Raises eyebrow.] Ahem.
Gwyneth: What? It’s not a toy. It’s expensive.
Madonna: It’s not that.
Stella: You said, "Mommy."
Gwyneth: I did? Are you most certain?
Stella: Gwyneth, you silly slag, for the second time today, it’s "Mummy!"
Madonna: Do we have to drag you into the loo and wash out your mouth with the new soap I just bought at Marks & Spencer? I stood in the queue forever to pay for it, then I had to bring it to the car and put it in the boot.
Stella: [Rolls eyes.] Madge, don’t push it.
Gwyneth: I, I, I…
Stella: And last week, when you sent that evite to Moses’ birthday party, you spelled colour without the "u."
Madonna: [Gasps.] God save the Queen!
Dear Felicity,
Hey there. How are you? Ugh, I’m just gonna cut to the chase. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little upset that I had to hear from a friend of a friend that you’re pregnant. I mean, that’s HUGE news. Did our four years as BFFs at the University of New York not count for anything? One minute I find out that you’re armed, possibly dangerous, and with, like, a bomb in your brain, the next minute I find out you’re with child! What’s next? Taking up the cello? Cannibalism? Okay, now I sound bitchy. And I don’t mean to sound bitchy. I just want to know one thing: WHO’S THE BABY DADDY? IS IT NOEL? OR IS IT BEN? OMG, FELICITY WRITE ME BACK RIGHT AWAY!!! I AM DYING TO FIND OUT.
(Oh, and congratulations.)
Love,
Slezak
Julia Roberts and husband Danny Moder are expecting their third child, the Oscar winner’s publicist tells People magazine, and I got inspired to write a celebratory haiku. Won’t you cook one up, too?Midnight at Julia’sShe whispers “Mary Reilly“New baby goes zzzzzzzz
