Sunday, October 17

Cooking With Paris review – Hilton in the kitchen? Prepare to let your mind blow | TV


CAnd anyone will be really taken aback by chives, you wonder. Wouldn’t anyone really know what a whisk looks like? Or “a clamp”? Would someone rinse a turkey in bottled water? Or should it all be part of the carefully curated act of the idiotic rich girl that the presenter has been performing for the past 20 years?

All of these problems and more come from watching Paris Hilton prepare basic meals, if we use the word “food” in its loosest sense, to include cereal, marshmallows and caviar, in her new Netflix series. Cooking with Paris. “I love to cook, but I am not a trained chef,” she explains at the beginning. One of these things is true. But I bet Hilton, who clearly believes that edible glitter is a food group, doesn’t love cooking any more than I would love for rat puppies to shit in my bags.

This reference may need to be explained to younger readers, now that the early 2000s are nearly two decades ago instead of 10 minutes. Socialite Hilton, part of the family of hospitality moguls, took advantage of a stint as a model at Donald Trump’s agency and a leaked sex tape to world fame as a reality star. She and her then-friend Nicole Richie made a name for themselves with The Simple Life, in which they tried low-paying menial jobs to show that they weren’t very good at it and were very happy they weren’t the type of people to do it. that. Hilton went to every party, was in every newspaper, decked out in pink accessories and accompanied by at least one little Chihuahua in a small tote bag. She was a Barbie fan’s fever dream, a brand magnet and made millions. She was quiet for a while (there was a musical interlude that we will skip) but now she’s back.

She thinks edible glitter is a food group ... Cooking with Paris.
He clearly thinks edible glitter is a food group … Cooking With Paris. Photograph: Kit Karzen / Netflix

After testing the waters with some cooking videos on YouTube, a series was duly commissioned in which Hilton invites friends, from the inimitable Kim Kardashian and Demi Lovato (“We met 13 years ago at Ellen’s birthday party”) even the lesser known. like comedian Nikki Glaser, to join her in the kitchen. The second group of guests is there to flatter Hilton and express their disbelief that they were allowed into her home for the privilege of making her “unicorn-oli” (edible glitter cannoli – enjoy) and have someone else do it. place on an appropriately dressed table.

Everything gets stranger as it goes on. It’s not (just) that Hilton has just four phrases at her disposal (“So good,” “So bombshell,” “Crazy,” “So cute”), but that she is such a muffling presence. The monotonous voice, the immobile face, the careful movements developed over a lifetime of not wanting to alter the hair or the outfit, filters vitality from the entire show. Kardashian, simply by virtue of being recognizably human and willing to laugh, rescues her episode and Lovato, although almost as baffled as Hilton by the ingredients in the kitchen, does too.

The final episode, in which Paris’s sister Nicky and mother Kathy are her guests, is a study in everything. In money (at one point Kathy eats gold and I can only applaud everyone’s decision to quit); in celebrity (the sisters gasp in horror when Kathy tries to bend over Y talking with your mouth full instead of always looking sexier on camera); in mothers and daughters; in sibling rivalry, and all the points in between. Interestingly, Paris’s signature breathy voice disappears when distracted, but where real and fake Paris begins and ends remains a question for the ages.

At least some of its parisity, like the voice, must be put in. But what are we going to do with the moment she takes the tip of a blender in such a way that the plug is clearly going to twist, as it actually does, and almost gouges out one eye? Is this Stanislavski in action or a sign of a profound misunderstanding of the world? Genius-level acting, or just how do you become when you’ve been insulated by such a thick layer of money since the day you were born, like generations of your family before you? Has the mask eaten your face, or was a more nonsensical question never asked? Tune in to find out less, but marvel either way.


www.theguardian.com

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