Something you should know: Showgirls is one of our favorite films. It isn’t a cinematic masterpiece, but it’s always fun to watch and count how many times Elizabeth Berkley storms out of the room flailing. Should you choose to watch the new Tom Cruise vehicle Rock of Ages adapted from the Tony-winning musical of the same name, I highly suggest having similar expectations.
Last night The Observer headed to the Landmark Theaters Sunshine Cinema for the New York premiere of the film, attended by leading lady Julianne Hough and director Adam Shankman.
Mr. Shankman made the following pronouncement before the film rolled: “I just want to let you all know that this movie was made all out of fun. Everyone sing along! Please, dance in the aisles! The theater is going to kill me for saying this, but someone pull a chair out of the ground and throw it at the screen in true rock and roll style!”
Ms. Hough explained further, ”We were actually paid shit [to make the film], but it really was all made out of fun.”
Immediately after their introduction, Mr. Shankman and Ms. Hough ran up the stairs to greet John Waters who sat directly behind us.
“I can’t believe you actually came! Oh my god! This is so great! This is John Waters!”
A publicist ran over to Mr. Shankman and pried the still-on microphone from his hands.
We had previously scoped the bizarre W magazine cover featuring Tom Cruise flaunting his Stacee Jaxx tattoos and reemergent six pack, and were deeply disappointed to discover that appeared to be nothing more than a careful Photoshop job. Throughout the film Mr. Cruise’s mildly protruding stomach was more of a distraction than his monkey sidekick (whom the woman seated next to us loved so much that she insisted on slapping her knee and then grabbing our knee with glee every time the little guy appeared on screen.)
Other highlights: Paul Giamatti reprised his role as what another reporter on the carpet described as “that creepy entertainment business guy from that Frankie Muniz movie where he’s blue.” We refrained from telling her that was another of our other favorite bad films to watch. Catherine Zeta-Jones thrusts in a Nancy Regan style pantsuit. During the end credits there was more applause for the monkey then for Ms. Hough.
But overall, the film is fun and we’ll probably end up buying the soundtrack. Mary J. Blige was the musical highlight, and also rocked approximately thirty different weaves in her role as the owner of a Sunset Strip strip club. But remember: go to the theater in the mood to watch monkey sidekicks and hear Journey songs and you won’t be disappointed.
The evening, sponsored by the Venetian in Las Vegas, continued at an afterparty at Sons of Essex. We helped ourselves to a combination pizza salad and a dangerously delicious Red Bull cocktail and were approached by a waiter who leaned over to ask if any big names were attending that weren’t involved with the film. I mentioned that the girl from the T-Mobile commercials was there, and a girl who may or may not be Ali Lohan. He wasn’t pleased to hear that. Later, a man walked in and a woman standing next to us insisted that he was Alec Baldwin.
It wasn’t Alec Baldwin.
Follow Spencer Rothman via RSS.