Sigourney Weaver (Patrick McMullan)

Cursing the heavens Monday, The Observer spent the day sitting inside, watching from our window as the urban dwellers below suffered the unwanted ablutions of a peripatetic summer storm.

What to do on such a waterlogged evening? We brainstormed two rainy-day pursuits and resolved to both before the day was through. A movie and a museum, it was to be, though not in traditional fashion.

First, we traipsed to the Lower East Side for the premiere of Red Lights, a new psychological, paranormal thriller starring a clairvoyant

Robert De Niro, Cillian Murphy and Sigourney Weaver—who was to become a theme of our outing. As haphazard cloudbursts continued to dampen spirits and sidewalks outside, we spoke with the assembled moviegoers.

Rodrigo Cortes, who wrote and directed the movie, has not personally experienced the paranormal. "I’m afraid my life is exemplary boring. I’ve never lived any of those things," he explained. "I’m interested them as background, especially as the way they affect people’s psychologies and beliefs."

Neither is Mr. Murphy a great believer in the supernatural. "I’m definitely a skeptic, you know, but I’m not a cynic. I’m curious, but I’ve never seen anything that I can’t really explain," he said.

Evidently, he had not yet seen Ezra Miller, who inexplicably entered the theater with a plastic toad in his breast pocket, an antler protruding from his pants and a book of Aristotle’s poetry.

He offered the following as an explanation: "You know, the first imperialist Western white people in the Americas, we killed all the fur animals. We killed like wolves, foxes, coyotes. So now, things like deer and elk and bucks, they have no natural predators," he said. "So, sometimes a vegetarian will be like, ‘You shouldn’t’ hunt,’ or ‘ You shouldn’t kill,’ but its actually like, I think, it’s kind of moral to kill a deer or to kill one of these frogs," he said, pointing to his anuran companion. The toad is an invasive species wreaking havoc on Australian wildlife, we soon learned.

Mr. Miller went on to express his sympathy for Aristotelian economic philosophy. "Aristotle opposed central banking. And he’s one of the main people like Julius Caesar, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, Madison, who thought that the worst thing that could possibly happen in a republic, a democracy, a plutocracy, anything, was there would become like an issue of a ruling central bank, which is of course now the Federal Reserve."

Hannah Bronfman, however, was much less loquacious. Has she ever had a paranormal experience? "I have not," she replied. Is she afraid of the paranormal? "No." Does she believe in the supernatural? "Possibly."

Having enjoyed the film, and a massive bag of popcorn, we headed to the second stop on our rainy-day docket, the tropically humid Morgan Library and Museum.

Ms. Weaver, who hadn’t been at the Red Lights event, deigned to stop by this premiere—for her new USA television series, Political Animals, in which she plays a power-brokering, ambitious U.S. secretary of state who was married to a popular, philandering southern president. (In the fictional version, the Clintons—we mean the Hammonds!—are divorced.)

However, she shied away from the press, weaving her way past reporters on the red carpet and at the afterparty for the series, during which she sat on a couch, protected like a rare artifact by maroon-suited Morgan Library guards.

Linda Powell, who plays the national security advisor on Political Animals, said that her father had offered his services on interpreting the role. Dads always want to get involved, but especially when they’re former Secretary of State Colin Powell. "He was like, ‘I was also national security advisor.’ Like I’ve forgotten! I was like, ‘I know!’"

Ms. Powell called her father "my biggest fan," though he was not as supportive of her research methods. "I read Condoleezza Rice’s book, which I don’t think sat so well with him." We chuckled as Ms. Powell then walked back any insinuation of intra-Bush administration rivalries. "I didn’t go to my personal source!" she explained.

Willie Garson, longtime Carrie Bradshaw-confidante on Sex and the City and current star of USA’s White Collar, reached across the red carpet to adjust our collar. "You’re a frickin’ mess," he muttered, tugging at our rain-dappled ensemble. So much for our notion that we’d dressed up for the evening!

Did Mr. Garson consider himself a fashionisto? "I never was! And then I became this weird sort of fashion icon. I was wearing $80,000 worth of clothing every time I walked out the door. And now I know every designer on the planet!"

Who is his favorite designer? He leaned in confidentially. "Actually," he whispered, "I wear the most of Hugo Boss." He used the same tone to tell us his favorite power-bitch in politics: "Other than that she plays for the wrong team, I love Mary Matalin."

Political Animals costar Ellen Burstyn explained the series’ relevance to the current election. "I think it shows the way the controlled face of politics affects the authenticity of people—the price you pay for having to hide your true self," she expounded.

It was hard to escape the notion that she, like everyone, was really talking about Hillary Clinton. We asked Chris McCumber, co-president of USA, whether Elaine Barrish Hammond, Ms. Weaver’s character, had been based upon Hillary Clinton. "How could she be?" he replied. "She’s a secretary of state who was married to a two-time president with a problem with philandering but a world profile—she’s not like anyone we’ve ever met!"

Of course, we wanted to ask Ms. Weaver the Hillary question, but she was posing, silently, away from our recorder, with the two actors who play her sons—looking at once content, unruffled by the weather and more powerful than anyone in the room she surveyed.

Robin Meltzer and Nina Garcia. (Will Ragozzino/BFAnyc.com)

Amidst colorful summer shoes, carefully displayed handbags and country club ensembles at the Reed Krakoff boutique, a bevy of uptown ladies gathered for a somber cause. Nina Garcia had rounded up a collection of friends and philanthropists to shop, sip champagne and solicit support for the Alzheimer’s Association.

“Yes, you know it something that touched my family,” Ms. Garcia said of the disease. Over the past several years, the feared Project Runway judge has been increasingly involved in the organization, and has been “trying slowly but surely to get some of the fashion community involved.”  Still, she faces challenges when discussing the unpleasant subject. “I don’t think everybody talks about it so openly,” she told The Observer.

On a lighter note, Ms. Garcia discussed the upcoming season of Project Runway, set to be filmed this summer. She said that while the show is already on its tenth cycle, the wellspring of young talent makes it easy to keep the material fresh. “There’s a lot of creative people out there. And I think that fashion is a business where is a lot about creativity and with that creativity comes a lot of personalities. So it’s all about change,” she said. She was tightlipped on the details of the new season, however, stating only that viewers should expect “lots of surprises.”

After an intimate conversation with Ms. Garcia, Muffie Potter Aston shared her own summer schedule. “We’re going to move out to Long Island,” she revealed. Ms. Potter Aston won’t be frequenting the Hamptons party circuit, however. “When I do get out there I am off duty. I’m in total mom mode, wearing a pony-tail, no make up. It’s all about the kids. In fact I have a friend who used to say, ‘What, you get behind those gates and build bombs back there? We never see you!’” she joked. “It’s about hanging out with the kids and having those long lazy summer days.”

Fair-skinned Melissa Berkelhammer bemoaned her predisposition to sunburn. “Oh, I burn so easily. I'm one of those people. I burn and then it turns white the next day,” she told The Observer. “By the end of the summer I’ve built the base everyone else has after a week!” she said.

Robin Meltzer, the chair of this year’s Rita Hayworth Gala to benefit the Alzheimer’s Association, was all business when we inquired about her upcoming social plans. “Funny you should ask! We are hosting, my husband and I, a cocktail party in the Hamptons where we have a home.” The Long Island reception will benefit the Association as well, she proudly proclaimed.

And so it goes! Another summer kicks off, another round of charity fetes, another season of benevolent soirees.

Fetching our long-hibernating car, we were pleased to find it still filled with the detritus of last summer. A slightly deflated sunhat, a beloved pair of flip-flops, a tube of now suspect sunscreen. We smiled, remembering with sandy fondness of our time Out East. Yes, while the city has its undeniable boons, nothing can quite compare to the Talkhouse late, late on a Saturday night, nor the peculiar shock of seeing endless George Hamilton clones strolling the bucolic streets.
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Sleep No More castmember Omagbitse Omagbemi before the dirty, sexy carnage. (Robin Roemer Photography)

Rounding the corner of 27th street last night, a spectral scene materialized. Droves of revelers, all clad in white, were awaiting entrance to the McKittrick Hotel, the unlikely site of Sleep No More, the orgy-enactment of Macbeth, where we also spent New Year's Eve. The phalynx of colorless merrymakers, a boisterous, poltergeist crew, was gathering for the theater’s one-night-only post-performance May Fair bash.

Inside, the masses congregated around a bar in what was once the hotel’s lobby. Bartenders, also wearing white, attempted to make do with a single, very slow credit card processor, as thirsty guests crowded the space.

With drink finally in hand, we noticed an empty chair beside the McKittrick’s abandoned mailboxes. Making ourself comfortable, we listened to the live English folk music and watched scores ghostly guests enter the space.

Soon, The Observer headed downstairs to the ballroom, which had been covered in real sod for the evening’s May Fair celebration. Stashing our boots in a corner, we walked around the freshly rolled grass barefoot, noting the freshly trimmed May pole.

In every corner, some whimsical debauchery was transpiring. A ménage-a-trois make-out session; sets of limbs sticking out conspicuously from behind a pine tree; macabre masked faces hovering throughout; and everywhere, punch-drunk carousers stumbling around the manufactured forest.

Suddenly, turning toward the stage, our blurry vision refocused upon several bodies dancing on the stage, entirely naked. Fake (we really, desperately hope) blood appeared from somewhere and was, naturally, poured over the nude, gyrating appendages, and flung onto the audience. A girl to our left was ambushed by two blood-slinging bacchants and emerged from the fray moments later with a large redbrown handprint on her white dress. A house manager gave her a white lab coat as compensation.

Late, too late, we stumbled out of the surreal hotel, our white shirt splattered with bodily fluid.

Benjamin Millepied, Natalie Portman

“Vive la France!” Jamee Gregory triumphantly declared last Thursday night. Ms. Gregory, and an army of uptown sophistiquées stormed Lincoln Center for the New York City Ballet’s Spring Gala. With black-tie battle wear, the decidedly avec-culottes crowd celebrated La Republique, the evening’s theme and leitmotif. “As a Vassar French major it’s my favorite thing.” Ms. Gregory said of the country. “And I’ve loved everything French all my life.”

Indeed, Ms. Gregory’s sunny sentiment seemed to pervade the crowd. Enjoying the balmy spring conditions, several guests enjoyed cocktail hour dehors, sipping French wine and champagne on the balcony of the Lincoln Center promenade. Many took liberties à la francaise, dragging casually on cigarettes and looking down upon the rank-and-file attendees entering downstairs.

Inside, clusters of grapes hung from cross-hatched frames, beneath which a latter-day court was gathering. Natalie Portman, Alexandra Kerry, Carol Mack, Grace Coddington, Catherine Malandrino and Olivia Chantecaille mingled in the fanciful cru.

Like many guests appreciating the festive scene, Waris Ahluwalia warbled admiration for Paris. “It’s a gorgeous city. I’m a huge believer in history and romance— t’s my world. So that’s, like, the center. That and Rome. But we’re not talking about Rome,” he said. Hoping Mr. Ahluwalia would delve deeper into his love of French history (waxing lyrical about left-wing bourgeois and champagne socialists, perhaps), we pressed him.Seeing his friend Jamie Johnson, however, he demurred. “The history of this man is what appeals to me,” he proclaimed collegially.

Mr. Johnson was one of the few non-francophiles in the room. Indeed, it seems he has veritably neglected the country, vis-à-vis his vacation schedule. “I don’t spend a great deal of time in France. I haven’t visited France in at least two years,” he explained.

Still, he has many memories, good and bad, from le pays. “I’ve had a lot of fun in Paris. I’ve had fun in Normandy,” he shared. “I don’t think I’ve had that much fun in the south of France, although I’ve been there at the wrong time of year when it’s a little too crowded.”

Quelle horreur!

The filmmaker’s taste in French cinema, however, is surprisingly canonical. “Favorite French film, I don’t know? 400 Blows probably is up there on the list,” he said.

Designer Gilles Mendel appeared on the scene with not one, but two, towering Mariannes at his sides. Mr. Mendel had crafted the costumes for one of the evening’s numbers, and shared his thoughts on the experience. “When you design for ballet, or any kind of performing art you don’t have to look so close to the details,” he explained, though a heavy French accent. “It’s a very big challenge, mostly for a company like mine, and my aesthetics that are usually very, very keen to the details.” Still and all, Mr. Mendel relished his part in the production. “I am just an extension of the beautiful art,” he said, waving his hand with singularly French nonchalance.

Soon, bells were ringing and attendants were ushering people to their seats. As the lights dimmed, a symphony of spring-time sniffles and coughs erupted, while the offending consumptives searched desperately in handbags for cough-drops and tissues.

After Peter Martin’s “Mes Oiseaux,” a modern ballet created exclusively for the evening, the audience watched fourteen dancers deftly execute Benjamin Millepied’s “Two Hearts.” The piece ended with a duet, danced to a northern European folksong “Lord Thomas and Fair Eleanor,” which details the fateful affaire de coeur among the two titular characters and an otherwise unnamed “brown girl.” The song, sung by Dawn Landes with Appalachian intonation, ends in a double-murder suicide.

The dance earned rave, if slightly confused, reviews form the open-minded audience at intermission.

“It’s about a Caucasian woman and an African-American woman,” one guest whispered theatrically to her neighbor, apparently hoping that her liberal ethnological determination would be overheard.

Others, however, were preoccupied with the visual spectacle. “It’s my favorite piece now, the last one,” Fe Fendi gushed at intermission. “I love these costumes so much. I love them. Everything was magnificent,” she said.

Ms. Fendi loves France, like the ballet, and drops by often. “I love Paris!” she said. “Last year I went a lot because my daughter was studying at La Sorbonne, so it was a great excuse. I took that plane every month!” She maintained diplomatic poised, however, when asked about the recent French election. “How can we say?” she wondered. “Let’s hope for the best.”

Following the intermission, the audience enjoyed George Balanchine’s classical and deeply conservative Symphony in C. After rich rose bouquets were distributed to the performers, guests returned to the promenade for dinner.

Drew Barrymore and fiancé Will Kopelman greeted friends as they found their table. Ms. Barrymore, who strategically obfuscated her blossoming midsection beneath a white Chanel gown, extolled the performance. “Oh! I thought it was just so beautiful! I loved Benjamin Millepied’s piece, and I loved the last piece, and I loved looking at the costumes.” So much love! As for France, Ms. Barrymore explained that the country is, or soon will be, in her blood. “My mother-in-law is French,” she said, anticipating her upcoming nuptials, “and she loves the ballet. So it’s very near and dear to my heart.”

As guests were settling into their seats, we spotted Dimitri Karageorgevich, Yugoslav Prince and jewelry designer, ogling a friend’s feather-shaped diamond earrings. We asked his professional opinion on the piece. “Fa-bu-lous! It doesn’t get any better!”

Soon, we were eating poussin beneath a soaring bouquet of hydrangeas. Sadly, however, we were divested of our red wine, as an already over-served neighbor purloined our glass, immediately pretending the incident had not occurred.

Finally, we found the man of the hour, Mr. Millepied. Naturally, we asked about the final, haunting folk song. “The idea was to really go through all the movements and end up in this very pure place.” But, what of the brown girl? Was he striving for an elaborate Faulknerian racial undercurrent? Mais non. “No, well the song is really a tragic love story, a triangle love story,” he said, rebuffing the antebellum connotations.

With love, wine, and ballet (and a faint shadow of political provocation) the evening was indeed, perfectly French.

Ivanka Trump, Donald Trump, Chiu-Ti Jansen and Jared Kushner

Last night, friends and supporters of YUE Magazine descended the escalator at Trump Tower to fête the publication. With the classical strains of a live ensemble echoing throughout the atrium, guests toasted the official launch of the The Observer Media Group’s quarterly bilingual venture.

Chiu–Ti Jansen, the magazine’s co-publisher, played gracious hostess throughout the entire evening, welcoming guests (in both Chinese and English) and making introductions.

“A lot of people really appreciate that we’ve represented the new image of China,” Ms. Jansen told The Observer.  “It’s not just about Chinese shopping, it’s much more sophisticated. We’ve created a forum that allows our advertisers to have a dialogue and understand the Chinese taste,” she said.

Business cards were aflutter, as erstwhile strangers discussed the influx of Chinese capital to New York and the strength of the yuan. Aside from advertisers, luxury brand executives and cross-continental businessmen, many of Ms. Jansen’s contemporaries and friends showed their support for the magazine as well. Jean Shafiroff, Liz Peek, Eleanora Kennedy, Lucia Hwong Gordon and Lady Liliana Cavendish congratulated their friend on her publishing success.

Several subjects of YUE’s early articles surfaced amongst the crowd, creating a sort of living tableau of the publication’s glossy pages. Philanthropist Dame Jillian Sackler, who appeared in the magazine’s first issue, discussed her longstanding interest in China. “I’ve been involved with China for many years—since 1980—and I go nearly every year. That’s a long time before most Americans or westerners were involved,” she said. Ms. Sackler and her late husband are responsible for Washington, D.C.’s Sackler Gallery at the Smithsonian, a collection dedicated entirely to Asian art.  Although she rarely sits for interviews, the timing for the YUE article was propitious, so she agreed to it. “I just thought that it was appropriate at this time particularly for the Sackler Wing’s 25th anniversary. So that was the impetus,” she said.

Hearing a commotion behind us, we turned around and saw a sea of outstretched iPhones pointed toward the step-and-repeat where Donald Trump, Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner had just arrived.

Though the threesome’s appearance sparked a photo-snapping fever pitch, the already riotous crowd went into raptures when famed pianist (and onetime YUE coverboy) Lang Lang appeared. Groups of giggling friends and admirers rushed toward the virtuoso, hoping he’d agree to pose for photos. Mr. Lang obliged, a hundredfold, patiently appeasing each and every starry-eyed fan.

During an ever-so-brief break in the action, we asked Mr. Lang his thoughts on YUE Magazine. “I think it’s amazing that we have a magazine like this. Before, either we had the Chinese ones or the English ones. The Chinese magazines in the U.S. are only for Chinese readers, so it’s nice that this one combines the two worlds,” he said.

Hardly had he finished his sentence when another blushing fan approached, asking for a photograph. “Sure,” he nodded kindly, as the enthusiast handed her camera to a friend with an ill-disguised giddy grin.