Some Heartfelt Advice for Lindsay Lohan

From the Department of Oh, Don't Even Try to Act Surprised comes this news:

Lohan plays a stripper in her next film

Lindsay Lohan made David Letterman's heart beat faster when she told him she plays a stripper in her next film, "I Know Who Killed Me."

"You're just gonna kill me, you know I have a heart condition. You're just gonna kill me," the CBS' "Late Show" host said Wednesday night.

The 20-year-old actress said the audience will be seeing "a lot" of her in the "really dark, scary film."
(editors note: Jessica Biel just joined the stripper party too)

(Oh, hon-eeee, who needs a hug? C'mere, sweetie...)

Lindsay, honey, you know how hard it is for women over 35 in Hollywood, don't you? Do you realize you already look 35?

Look. Take a break. Go to school for a while. And not a party school. Read some Jane Austen. Chill out, relax ... not the nose-candy-out-till-7am kind of relaxing, either. Get a dog ... a bandana-wearing, Frisbee-on-the-beach mutt, not a tiara-wearing fashion accessory. Learn how to breathe again.

When you've smartened up a bit, come back. You'll know, then, to avoid movies with titles like I Know Who Killed Me that sound like bad Lifetime go-girl exploitation and are actually destined to be cheesy "psychological suspense." (Unless you're trying to be Halle Berry, but you've seen Gothika and Perfect Stranger, haven't you? You don't wanna go there, do you?) You'll know, then to run from directors like I Know's Chris Sivertson As. Fast. As. You. Can. Have you seen his credits? Toolbox Murders? All Cheerleaders Die? Unless you want to write the Lindsay Lohan jokes yourself.

Cuz that's what you've become, honey. But it's not too late to redeem yourself, artistically as well as, you know, just as a human being. You've got scads of talent. Even in the dumbest flick -- hello, Herbie: Fully Loaded! -- you've got a glow and a spirit that is irresistible. Work it. You could be huge, instead of merely a huge embarrassment to yourself and to, well, the human race.

This is what you do. You beg, with all the honest humility you can muster, for a role with a director who matters. Martin Scorsese. Steven Soderbergh. It doesn't matter how small a role it is. (Your work in Bobby last year? Smart. Do more like that.) You wanna do a horror flick? Think David: Cronenberg or Lynch. You wanna do comedy? Think Coen Brothers. Get Michael Winterbottom to cast you in one of his funky historical flicks. Work for scale for Wes Anderson or Spike Jonze.

The important thing is to do real work. (And to show up on time sober and alert, of course.) It doesn't have to be Shakespeare, but it has to be more that a pseudofeminist stripper in a dumb serial-killer flick. Because you're worth more than that. Even if you don't think so right now.


MaryAnn Johanson (email me)

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