Rush Hour 3

I'm fascinated by a couple of things this weekend, and neither of them are this week's movies.

For example, here's some breaking news: Cate Blanchett has stopped washing her hair. This is not something I made up. She just told the press. It's serious and personal. I know that Cate isn't in any of the movies being released this week, so it's not like I have a good reason to be writing about her or her hair, but still, it's a more compelling topic than Rush Hour 3. See it, and then try to deny that I'm right.

Anyway, she stopped washing her hair to save the planet's precious water supply, a move that now pits her in a heated death match-level "Top This!" contest with Jennifer Aniston, another concerned star, who recently bragged in print about her own water-saving life sacrifices and how she manages to clean all of her size-0 self in under three minutes a day.



But now Cate has thrown down the gauntlet and claimed that her own showering ritual takes two — TWO! — minutes a day, thanks to her new dreadlock-creating nonhabit of avoiding a clean scalp.

I think every person in Hollywood who makes too much money and lives in a too-big, too-much-energy-using house should be forced to participate in this contest of self-denial. And we'll start with the stars of Rush Hour 3. Jackie Chan could commit to being driven in a Hummer limo around his estate compound, barking orders at servants only once each day. And Chris Tucker singing one less high-pitched pop-song cover version each day would drastically reduce carbon dioxide emissions.

The other entertainment news item I'm really into right now is Mia Farrow's offer to swap places in a Sudanese prison with one of Darfur's Sudan Liberation Army members. The prisoner in question needs medical attention, so Mia wants to take his place while he gets life-saving treatment. I'm suspecting this will not come to pass, but I say, send Cuba Gooding Jr., star of Daddy Day Camp, instead (because, years later, I'm still in pain over Boat Trip). Or maybe the people responsible for marketing Stardust.

Stardust is a good movie with terrible trailers, icky magical Doug Henning-y billboards and posters — and no one in it that can guarantee a big opening weekend at the box office. Neil Gaiman fan-geeks may guiltily buy a ticket this weekend, but that's not enough to get you the big numbers you need to avoid Monday's bloodletting. How difficult can it be to successfully sell an oddball fantasy adult-ish fairy-tale love story that features glowing star-people, haggy animal-sacrificing witches, magical flowers and space pirates in drag?

OK, maybe it's a little difficult. Still, though, I blame the Suits. So, for the cause of peace in Darfur, I say send them in Mia's place. Or better yet, send Cate. They probably wouldn't even allow her to shower at all.

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