Paris Hilton is No Mother Theresa

When I read that an Indian filmmaker wanted to cast Paris Hilton as Mother Theresa, I thought it made sense. Neither ate much, and both led a lifestyle that could have ended in disease.



A story in the AFP, which apparently stands for “Are you Freaking Plastered?” said that filmmaker T. Rajeevnath saw a computer-generated match between the saint and the sinner. So now the award winning director is looking to cast Paris in the springtime, meeting with her to discuss the movie.



“So, like, I’m playing a nun or something?”



“Yes.”



“And I, like, help lepers and stuff?”



“Yes.”



“That’s hot.”



The story, which came out of Thiruvananthapuram, is harder to swallow than your tongue while pronouncing “Thiruvananthapuram.”



All jokes about a greenish night vision version of Mother Theresa’s life story aside (okay, not aside, but postponed a few paragraphs) I need to address the fact that Paris Hilton can’t act. A 54-year-old director renowned for Malayalam-language films, best known for his touching story of seven nuns who care for an abandoned baby, is looking to cast the slut from House of Wax. You’d think anyone smart enough to correctly pronounce Thiruvananthapuram would know better.



House of Wax was a great movie. It involved otherwise wax creatures coming to life briefly. Pretty much the same plot as her sex tape.



I can’t imagine this film turning out well. Mother Theresa’s hunger strike wasn’t so she could fit into a pair of Seven jeans. I would be shocked if Paris Hilton even knew who Mother Theresa was. When she first got that phone call, she had to have said, “what? My mother’s name isn’t Theresa! Nicole, is this you?”



T. Rjeenath, who is such a good filmmaker that he doesn’t need a first name, has got to be doing this for publicity. Or maybe his name is Thiruvananthapuram, and he abbreviated to save valuable column space. Either way, he can’t be serious about this. I just don’t want to live in a world where Paris Hilton can be Mother Theresa.



I don’t want to see Gary Busey as John F. Kennedy. I don’t want to see Son of Sam as Mahatma Gandhi. And I don’t want to see a racist bimbo playing one of the kindest people in world history. I probably wouldn’t watch the movie anyway. But this is all the more reason.



I don’t understand how Paris could look like a young Mother Theresa. Mother Theresa had a glow in her eyes that comes from hope and compassion. Paris has a glow in her eyes that comes from herpes. Okay, I don’t know if she has herpes. But would you be surprised?



“Paris Hilton has herpes? No! Really? No! There’s no way! Did she get it while caring for those orphans?”



It is T.‘s prerogative to cast who he wants in his films. And while I wouldn’t watch the movie, I would like to see some clips. I’d be interested to see Paris try an Albanian accent.



“What do you mean, like Albany?”



That’s hot.



Steve Hofstetter is a nationally touring comedian. His new album, Cure for the Cable Guy,” is in stores everywhere. For tour dates, tickets, or to send him poorly-worded hatemail, email steve@stevehofstetter.com