Savannah Wise. (Andrew Toth/PatrickMcMullan.com)

Director Craig Zobel doesn’t look like the kind of man capable of making a movie so disturbing and uncomfortable that it would drive people from the theater. He’s lanky, sweet and unassuming. Hell, he was a co-founder of millennial Flash sensation Homestar Runner! But at last night's Psychology Today and Peggy Siegal Company screening of Mr. Zobel’s latest film at the IFC Center, Compliance, all that seemed secondary.

No fewer than eight people walked out. One woman across the aisle from us shouted, “Give me a fucking break! This is a fucking joke!” before indignantly slinging her tote bag over an irate shoulder and storming out.

During Compliance’s grueling 90 minutes, Becky, a 19-year-old "Chick-Wich" fast food worker is stripped nude, debased for hours, and ultimately sexually assaulted. It’s a lot to deal with. Folks laughed incredulously and shifted uncomfortably in their seats, all of which was in keeping with Compliance’s tense Sundance reception. Pre-screening, Mr. Zobel told us, “I was very scared about the movie, I think as much as an actor who would want to do any of the roles. It did not come easy to me, but I felt like there was so much to talk about.”

The film is based on a real string of scam calls made to fast food restaurants across the country. A caller posing as a police officer directed managers to strip-search employees suspected of theft. Most directly the film draws on one such incident in Kentucky.

The Observer couldn't imagine a more horrifying summer job experience than what we witnessed onscreen, so we probed Todd Oldham to name his worst summer gig, expecting a suburban yarn about mowing lawns for some crotchety neighbor in his native Texas. “I worked at a Pizza Hut in 10th grade,” he said. "I got held up at gunpoint and locked in the freezer. I think that’s the worst." Well-played, Mr. Oldham.

Smash star Savannah Wise told us, “My first job was Les Mis on Broadway, but my first gig for the summer was working at a jazz festival, serving alligator sausage. I was their top seller. I was like 12 or 13, and I was like, ‘Heyyyyyy!’" She went on, "People don’t trust alligator sausage."

Stumbling shell-shocked out of the theater after the screening and a brief panel discussion between Psychology Today bigwigs, we were delighted to run in to Chris Matthews. The Hardball host, in attendance with his son (The Newsroom’s Thomas Matthews) was positively animated. “It drove me crazy that those people kept [taking orders from the prank caller]. Don’t people have any inner direction? Is everybody other-directed? They do what everybody else does. They think that’s objective reality! Nobody just says ‘No!’"

He went on, "I love it when people stand up to that kind of presumed authority. The movie reminded me of the war in Iraq, how the neo-cons got us into it. Just think about how it was done. ‘Oh, they have weapons of mass destruction, we have to go to war.’ It’s so much like this film!”

We caught up again with a slightly shaken Ms. Wise outside under the marquee.  “It wouldn’t be a movie that I would suggest to many people," she told us.

She continued, noting the film's great irony: "Everybody found it very uncomfortable, but everybody stayed and watched it anyway. What does that say about how we feel socially about authority?"

Can you spot Audrey Gelman?

By evening’s end, Dustin Yellin was shirtless, grooving pretty heartily to the tunes of friend Adam Green (formerly of the anti-folk band the Moldy Peaches), in Yellin’s lately acquired 24,000 square foot Red Hook warehouse arts complex called the Intercourse. He looked to be enjoying himself.

The occasion was the first night of Downtown for Democracy’s (alias D4D) foodie fundraiser series, the aptly named Dining for Democracy. D4D crystallized in 2003 on the eve of the Bush/Kerry election. Since then they’ve served as the crossroads of hip, creative types, progressive politics, and parties. And this year, the organization takes on what they refer to as the "Tea Party 10," ten of the most radical (and per a D4D affiliate, the most vulnerable) members with a hand in the upcoming election.

For a $50 entry fee, Mr. Yellin had offered up the Intercourse to a bevy of diners, Mr. Green and a handful of Brooklyn eateries. The vibe was not unlike any typical backyard barbecue—albeit with more maxi dresses and stilettos. Outside a dog ran around, and guests negotiated melting ice cream cones and reclined in the grass. Others stood in the Intercourse’s main gallery space (currently occupied by Mr. Green’s series “Cartoon and Complaint"), necks craning for a look at the space’s lofted studios.

Per Mr. Yellin himself, “We’ve got a bunch of artists and stuff upstairs. We’ve got a geneticist!” (Professor and neighborhood guy Andrew Kern is by his own admission merely a “computational biologist.”) Mr. Yellin was nothing if not effusive about his plans for the Intercourse, the project he referred to as “a sort of cultural think-tank/museum/school/experiment where we give artists and scientists a free space to do their thing. We have exhibitions, concerts, a school starting, a sculpture garden, and a lot of other strange things.” While your humble reporter could not entice Yellin to divulge his favorite Brooklyn eateries beyond those represented at the event—“I like them under the radar”—we pressed him to reveal his dream celebrity chef deathmatch. Mr. Yellin fell silent, his gaze landing on some nearby mung bean pancakes. “Oh man… I’m a lover, not a fighter.” We assured the artist that the hypothetical pitting of skills would be a non-violent lovefest. “My mom and Mario Batali, then. My mom cooks the best steaks. And Batali is such a sweetheart.” For $2,000 come September donors can enjoy a three-course meal cooked by said sweetheart, benefitting Downtown for Democracy.

Restaurants represented at Tuesday’s event were a Brooklyn-centric group. Fort Defiance brought marinated shrimp and scallops in a cucumber gazpacho, the Good Fork produced the aforementioned mung bean pancakes with spicy braised squid, and Home/Made served up grilled flatbread with fresh mozzarella and toy box tomatoes—to name but a few. Colin Spoelman of King’s County Distillery was on hand with moonshine, and kind enough to let us sample his wares. He filled us in on the company’s recent move to the Brooklyn Navy Yards, where they’re growing their own corn and barley. Guests cooled off with Vinegar Hill House’s artisanal ice creams in chamomile, tutti frutti and—our favorite—fresh mint with cacao nibs.

Glenn O’Brien, newly returned from a month-long sojourn to Italy, attended with his wife, Gina Nanni, a D4D co-founder, 12-year-old son. Audrey Gelman, Girls guest star, press secretary to Scott Stringer, and D4D affiliate called the evening a “who’s who of Brooklyn food.” Ms. Gelman had been heartened to learn that the currently in-progress Stringer town hall meeting in the East Village was, in a word, “packed.” Of the mayoral campaign, she told us “Scott’s a great guy, and I think it’s going to be a really fun race.” And fans hoping for more of Gelman’s character on Girls are in luck: “I am going to be on it next year—several episodes. I’m a recurring character.”

When Mr. Green took the stage, it was not a stage at all but a wooden box. Later we couldn't help noting that he had performed atop a literal soapbox. Mr. Green would not cop to it, though we had our suspicions. The musician debriefed us on plans to add a recording studio to the spate of Intercourse ventures, among other varied projects, including a possible lecture by his astrophysicist brother. "That’s what’s cool about this place," he said. "This is basically like the first day, and it’s going to turn into something else.”

Paul Dano and Zoe Kazan. (Andrew Toth/PatrickMcMullan.com)

Wednesday night at Sunshine Cinemas was another of the indie lovefests we’ve come to look forward to (and only partially thanks to the apple cinnamon popcorn dust they have at the concession stand). This time it was for Ruby Sparks, the latest from Valerie Faris and Jonathan Dayton, the husband and wife director team behind our favorite cuteferno Little Miss Sunshine. Ruby Sparks is the story of a creatively anguished young writer (Paul Dano) who physically manifests and falls in love with one of his characters, the Manic Pixie Dream Girl of the title, played by Dano’s real life squeeze Zoe Kazan. Ms. Kazan also wrote the screenplay. Of its inception, Ms. Kazan (in a peekaboo Dolce & Gabbana number) told The Observer, “I was walking home from work one night, and there was a mannequin discarded in a trash can in our neighborhood. I thought it was a person, and it scared me! And I thought of the Pygmalion myth about the sculptor who falls in love with his statue. I had a flash of the sculptor alone in his studio, turning his head and thinking he sees the statue move. I thought, ‘Oh, I bet that’s sort of how that myth came to be!’” Per Mr. Dano, “When [Zoe] was about five pages in, she showed it to me, and I said ‘Is this for us?’"

Post-screening we stalked over to the Vault at Pfaff’s, murmuring ‘Pfaff’s’ to ourself all the way. There were sliders. More than once we were asked if it was an open bar. Parents-about-town Cynthia Rowley and Bill Powers were on hand, later seen zipping away on their Vespa.

Charmed by the fondness he had professed earlier for Richard Brautigan and Flannery O’Connor, we were compelled to catch up with Paul Dano again. Ruby Sparks is a generally adorable film; it features a token ethereal underwater swimming sequence. But it also features a disarmingly dark scene in which, to demonstrate his control over her, Mr. Dano’s character makes Ruby convulse, crawl around on all fours barking, snap her fingers, and scream that she loves him, and will never leave him, that he is a genius. It’s…dark. Did Mr. Dano ever feel as if he had been dropped into a horror movie?

“It was a long, hard night, and yeah, it does have that element of horror. That felt like the only place we could go to truly explore what it might be like to control somebody. It was scary, but I think it was worth going there,” he told us.

The Observer learned that Dano was poised to start filming (misleadingly-named Shame director) Steve McQueen’s upcoming Twelve Years a Slave. But had he stuck around for the screening earlier that evening? “No, my family was there, I was too nervous. I went and drank.” Cheers to that.

The lovely waitresses at Pfaff’s were wearing their everyday uniform of—brace yourself—bloomers, silver corsets out of some wildly inaccurate Colonial recreation, and shiny black coattails, all designed by Project Runway alum Christian Siriano. It was a lot to take in, which might explain how we found ourself holding a "Ruby Spark," the film’s signature cocktail of UV vodka, lemonade and grenadine. The Manic Pixie Dream Girl of drinks, deceivingly innocent looking, but surely capable of wreaking a whole lotta havoc. We passed it off to a colleague. Some things, gentle reader, are just too, too sweet.

Michelle Williams and Luke Kirby, stars of Take This Waltz.

Thursday night’s Sunshine Cinema screening of Sarah Polley’s film Take This Waltz was sponsored by Forevermark and Crystal Head vodka. A romantic tale of infidelity and emotional rubble sponsored by diamonds and booze? By that same token, does there somewhere exist an all-you-can-eat pig roast underwritten by wet naps and burning shame? It all seemed a heartbreakingly serendipitous manifestation of the universe’s fuzzy feelings for humanity.

The film, Ms. Polley’s sophomore effort, tells the story of a young wife (Michelle Williams), lured away from her happy marriage to cookbook writer Seth Rogen by a rickshaw driver (Luke Kirby). We won’t spoil the ending for you, but Michelle Williams really is terrific, and we’re pretty sure there exists an entire market of people wanting to see Mr. Rogen emotionally decimated.

Ms. Williams looked stunning in a fitted black Altuzarra dress and white Givenchy stilettos. Disturbingly vivid thoughts of footwear theft banished, The Observer asked if she thought Take This Waltz shared a bloodline with classic romance movies. “I don’t think it’s up to me to decide. I make it, and I love it, and I invest in it, but it’s up to other people to figure out where it fits in their hearts.”

The director, Ms. Polley, summed up her celluloid inspirations for the film thusly: “A lot of early Woody Allen movies. They’re not exactly romance movies but they talk about relationships in a way that feels authentic and yet a little bit fantastical. I find it really hard for films to feel genuinely romantic.”

Ms. Polley’s fellow Canadian and leading man Mr. Kirby swung by briefly on his way to Georgia where he’ll be shooting the Sundance Channel legal drama Rectify. While Mr. Kirby was spirited away before the film started, The Observer was able to secure a post-screening moment with Griffin Dunne while ascending the Sunshine’s staircase. “I thought Michelle was just amazing, just a fearless actress. It was very complicated and sad, ” he told us. We concurred. Of shooting Martin Scorsese’s dark 1985 comedy After Hours, we asked Mr. Dunne if he had then an inkling of what the relatively desolate SoHo would become. “Not a clue. I live there now and I don’t recognize it. There’s not one person who lives there, it’s all tourists.” Mr. Dunne unchained his bicycle. We were sufficiently impressed. “Essex is that way, right?” he inquired, pointing eastward. Indeed. “Maybe I’ll see you over there!”

The ‘there’ to which Mr. Dunne referred was hipster citadel Sons of Essex, to which guests were making their collective way. The Observer hoofed it over, feeling only a bit slighted when Mr. Dunne breezed past us at a stoplight.

Sons of Essex was already buzzing upon our arrival. Michelle Williams and squeeze Jason Segel sat with friends in a corner banquette. Mr. Segel, looking both dapper and jovial, maintained the lowest profile possible for a man of 6’ 4”. He confessed to us that he had not seen Take This Waltz yet, before politely slipping outside. When he returned, it was with a series of gift bags from Brooklyn toy store Acorn, later spotted on Ms. Polley’s arm.

Of assuaging her nerves, the director told us, “I actually didn’t stay for the screening. You suffer too much from the things you would do differently. Plus, it’s my second film, so I’m still learning a lot.”

Servers made their way through the now-packed space, ferrying nouveau comfort cuisine to the farthest corners. Pork belly sliders and truffled pizza were on everyone’s lips, in more ways than one. Guest sipped Stella Artois and Crystal Head signature cocktails (dishearteningly light on the Crystal Head, we might add), some flocking to watch the NBA game being projected at the back of the room. Models-cum-tourists posed listlessly for friends’ iPhones, all pouts and tanned limbs.

Philanthropist/socialite/headband enthusiast Arden Wohl was on hand, too, in a white Donna Karan dress dappled with red kisses. Her two cents on the film? “I thought it was really great. Sarah Polley’s really talented, and she has a really true friendship with Michelle Williams. You can really sense that... It’s so nice to see women directors.”

PR tycoon and Take This Waltz publicist Peggy Siegal filled us in on her busy summer plans (promoting a roster of films concerning both Diana Vreeland and Katy Perry) and her thoughts on Ms. William’s personal life. “I’m very happy she’s dating someone named ‘Segel.’ I keep telling him we’re related.” But are they even spelled the same, we inquired humbly? “No, but it doesn’t matter. I keep telling him that in the ancient Hebraic religion, the Cohens were the rabbis, and the Siegals were the cantors. So somewhere, way back when, thousands of years ago, I am related to Jason Segel. And he knows that!” Mr. Segel was unavailable for comment.

Host Beth Ostrosky Stern and a friend are interviewed on the red carpet. (Owen Hoffmann/PatrickMcMullan.com)

At great personal peril, last night The Observer headed to cavernous Gotham Hall t­­o raise a glass at the Bideawee 2012 Gala. It is a rare occasion that your humble reporter has to be mindful of a melee of dog leashes around our pumps, or the all-too-real possibility of squashing a dachshund. But, being gonzo reporters in the tradition of Hunter S. Thompson, we were ready to rub elbows with whatever the Bideawee Board of Directors could throw at us.

The New York-based humane organization has existed for over a century, and Monday’s gala celebrated a hundred years at Bideawee’s 38^th Street headquarters. For still obscure reasons, host Adrian Grenier dropped out at the last moment leaving animal lover Beth Ostrosky Stern to present in his stead—a move that upset her husband Howard Stern, who took to the airwaves this morning to excoriate the Entourage actor.

Pet attendance was de rigeur. Owners and their animals enjoyed wine and dog biscuits, both served from silver trays. Browsing the silent auction, guests could bid on items—ranging from a wine refrigerator to Colbert Report passes—using specially outfitted iPods. Whoever won those Neil Diamond tickets, we hope you’ll be in touch.

“If I were young and single, I would want to be here. I like being with dog lovers,” we heard one grey-haired gentleman note.

Bideawee board member Pam Laudenslager and cockapoo Lucy both seemed to be enjoying the fracas of guests furry and slightly-less-furry. Of Lucy, who was sporting an LED light on her collar, Ms. Laudenslager told us, “She’s definitely a party girl.” We only wondered if Lucy might say the same for Ms. Laudenslager.

We were pondering a second adult beverage when our gaze was caught by a vision in white, a heady confection of sequins and brocade. It was Bogie, a 10-month-old chihuahua sporting a striking cape and matching top hat. Bogie was accompanied by Anthony Rubio, animal activist and creator of Bandit Rubio pet couture. “I design all his clothing. He just learned how to wear the hats. See the Velcro? And there’s Velcro here.” Mr. Rubio directed our gaze to the back of Bogie’s collar and top hat. “I usually attach the hats to the collars as an illusion. But today he wore the hat.” For the past three years, Mr. Rubio has designed bespoke clothing for the well-heeled, four-legged set. “It’s not something you buy on a rack, it’s all made to measure,” he told us. And what does the face of the pet couture market look like these days? “Anybody and everybody. For weddings, special occasions. That’s another one of my designs, on Sadie.” The spaniel on the receiving end of Mr. Rubio’s gesture was wearing a gown equal parts Dynasty and Edwardian madame.

Stacy McCosky, Sadie’s owner, told us about the gown’s inception. “I let Anthony design it 100% percent, because he is amazing and every time I say, ‘Go for it,’ he comes out with a spectacular design!”

Our only regret of the evening? We had to head to the Q train before—as promised by our press release—a human/animal dance to the tune of “Who Let the Dogs Out.” Or should we say, ‘whom?’

Susan Rockefeller and David Rockefeller, Jr. (Photo by Shaun Vakil)

Top-billed guest Wendi Murdoch was notably absent from last night’s Mission of Mermaids film premiere/pre-World Oceans Day celebration at MoMA. Whatever engagement precluded her attendance (intercepting another airborne pie, perhaps), the evening went on mostly unhampered. Guests still turned out to celebrate the 19-minute self-proclaimed “love letter to the ocean,” written, directed and narrated by Susan Rockefeller.

The evening, hosted by Ms. Rockefeller and her husband, David Rockefeller, Jr., was sponsored by luxury Swiss watchmakers Girard-Perregaux. Their former motto: “Watches for the few since 1791.” In honor of Ms. Rockefeller’s film and her husband’s nautical charity, Sailors for the Sea, the aforementioned few will have the opportunity to pick up a limited edition marine blue Girard-Perregaux Sea Hawk 1000m timepiece at an eco-friendly $10,900 price tag.

Hostess Ms. Rockefeller made her way breezily down the blue carpet in an abstract print shift. “I actually was inspired by the photographs of Ricardo Cisneros, who’ll be showing his photographs at the after-party,” she told us. “They’re so beautiful—they represent all the mystery of the ocean. So I went downtown and found this fabric and I had it made myself. The fabric is really soft and it feels like I’m in the water.”

Sowind Group (Girard-Perregaux’s parent company) CEO Michele Sofisti did not appear to feel like he was in water of any kind, but assured us he would be soon: ”In the summer I go to the ocean, but normally in the Mediterranean. Ocean water is always beautiful when it’s green, and when it’s protected.” Your move, Mrs. Murdoch.

IMAX CEO Richard Gelfond and wife Peggy Bonapace were also in attendance “We’re dedicated every year to coming out with an environmental movie, and saving the planet,” Ms. Bonapace told us.

From across the space we caught a glimpse of Bill Cunningham, camera in hand, but by the time we made it through the throng the beloved photographer was nowhere to be found. At 7:00, guests were corralled toward the theatre for the evening’s screening. The Observer was impressed by the unfaltering efforts of many to bring their beverages into the theatre, despite the steady stream of those being sent back to dispose of the offending drinks. We ditched our own wine (with minimal skulking, to our credit) and filed in. As the dim theatre filled with guests searching out seats near their friends, we couldn’t help but think of a high school assembly. But was anyone cutting?

To our right was George Frampton, Jr., former Chairman of the White House Council on Environmental Quality, who had recently returned from an Al Gore-helmed trip to Antarctica alongside the corporate Chuck Norris, Sir Richard Branson. Of the outing Mr. Frampton told us, “It’s amazing how narrow the ecosystem it is, but how rich. And it’s all about the ocean, because once you go a hundred yards inland in Antarctica, there’s nothing.”

And what was it like to travel with Sir Richard? “He’s involved in this deep dive thing, so he talked a lot about that. He seems a lot more interested in that than he is in running his company. But probably he can afford to be at this point,” he laughed.

Though our mind danced with visions of Virgin-branded emperor penguins and polar bears, model/actress Jo Champa soon purred a “Good evening,” and introduced the film.

Mission of Mermaids is equal parts marine love letter and plea to the viewer to do their part (eating sustainable seafood, refusing single-use plastic). In an effort to be as carbon-neutral as possible, the film is comprised mainly of found footage culled from YouTube and other sources, as well as footage shot by Ms. Rockefeller on the beaches of Long Island. She hopes to make the film available in its entirety on YouTube once it’s finished the festival circuit. Her husband mused in the post-screening Q&A, “I was just thinking there should be a YouSale, as well as a YouTube…” There was some laughter.

Guests trickled out of the theatre and into a waiting cache of statuesque women in gowns, each bearing a tray of stainless steel straws. “To re-use instead of plastic,” one woman instructed us. On the neck of each straw were the words “Protect what is precious.” Like one’s stainless steel straw, perhaps. Model Nina Manuel was seen popping hers into a blood orange daiquiri.

We caught up with Chip Henderson, manager of Girard-Perregaux’s Madison Avenue boutique. Had the limited edition Sea Hawk 1000m been flying off the shelves? “We’ve sold two through the boutique, we donated the two tonight [that were given to Mr. and Ms. Rockefeller], and the run is a total of fifteen pieces.” The Observer crossed paths with one partygoer who was so taken with the piece that he had already arranged to pick one up the next morning as a fifteenth anniversary present.

A History of Violence producer and entertainment lawyer Roger Kass echoed the sentiments of many in his praise for Mission of Mermaids: “I thought it really delivered on a really important message in a succinct way,” he told us.

When at last we were able to grab co-host David Rockefeller, Jr. he was every bit the supportive husband. “I was so proud of Susan and her film. I think any time an artist puts their work into what might be an intellectual community, you fear that things that are messages to the heart won’t be messages to the mind. But I feel she touched a lot today.”

And what does the future hold for Mr. Rockefeller’s steel straw? “Oh, sipping ice tea...”

Eventually the crowd thinned, the dulcet tones of Fatboy Slim’s “Praise You,” punctuated by the occasional clink of a straw falling to the floor. We overheard one waiter proudly tell a guest of the paper goods, “And did you know the napkins are actually biodegradable?”

Push Girls: Mia Schaikewitz, Tiphany Adams, Angela Rockwood and Auti Angel. (Amanda Schwab/Starpix)

During yesterday's rainy afternoon, guests trundled (damp, but stoic) into elevators and up to Robert, the Museum of Arts and Design’s in-house bistro. The restaurant, a pink pop-modernist confection on the ninth floor, was playing host to a luncheon fête for the Sundance Channel’s latest, Push Girls, which premiered last night. The docu-series, which airs Mondays at 10:00 PM, tells the stories of four paralyzed women—with professional glories amongst them ranging from competitive swimming, to professional dancing, to a bit part in The Fast and the Furious—and their lives in Hollywood.

Improbably early arrivals, we grabbed a glass of pinot grigio and staked out a spot by one of Robert’s enormous windows. From across the room we spotted Beth Ostrosky-Stern looking preternaturally summery in a fitted peach Dolce & Gabbana dress and cream Louboutins. Had Mrs. Shock Jock herself seen the pilot of Push Girls yet? “No! I’m a little disappointed, I thought they were going to be screening it today. I guess I’ll have to wait ‘til tonight.” Feeling more than a little as though we might be depriving the far corners of the room of Ms. Ostrosky-Stern’s brand of bronzed, leggy radiance, The Observer thanked her and moved along. In one such corner was goddess of gossip Liz Smith herself, presiding over a view of Columbus Circle that Cynthia McFadden very accurately described as seeming “astride the colossus.”

After a moment of sartorial envy in the face of Ms. Smith’s red-fringed bandana and matching leather jacket, we took the seat she had kindly offered us. Juju Chang and her Nightline executive producer Jeanmarie Condon soon stopped by, bringing the table’s media wattage to a humbling high. “The only model I can think of who ever posed nude that was really shocking was Burt Reynolds when I was the entertainment editor for Cosmopolitan,” Ms. Smith told Ms. Condon laughingly when discussion turned to models. “We had him on the couch, just covering his privates. People were so shocked!”

But all good and racy things must come to an end, and soon we were shepherded to our respective tables for lunch. Guests nibbled at mushroom ravioli with parmesan foam as Sundance’s general manger/executive VP Sarah Barnett introduced Push Girls with a teaser. As second courses were ferried around the room, Alexandra Reeve Givens spoke on behalf of her famed father’s charity, the Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation, and shared an anecdote of the vivid green ‘eject’ button glued to the arm of his wheelchair. “There’s an entire generation of reporters out there who have been emotionally scarred from sitting through an interview with my dad, trying to figure out why he might have an eject button! But the reason that he loved it was because it was a visible reminder that the wheelchair was just a piece of equipment, like anything else. That he was a regular person sitting in it, the same as he always had been.”

The four Push Girls themselves (Angela Rockwood, Auti Angel, Tiphany Adams, and Mia Schaikewitz) made their way to the front of the room for a Q&A session. They fielded questions about the show’s origins, their injuries, and their friendship asked by audience members in between bites of chicken paillard. Ms. Schaikewitz talked about sacrificing some of life’s normalcy in the face of a camera crew: “I’m a really private person, so when the opportunity came up and we were talking about doing a reality show, it was like ‘Oh my gosh, my friends are going to know what’s going on in my life now!’ It felt really daunting, but on the other hand, this work is so important. What we’re doing collectively and how we’re changing society with this show—of course I’m going to trade that for that!”

“Are you prepared for fame?” inquired one woman.

“Were we prepared for paralysis?” Ms. Rockwood quipped.

Iris Apfel and Dara Caponigro, Veranda editor-in-chief. (Photo by Annie Watt)

At 90 years old, Iris Apfel has not gone gentle, as Dylan Thomas (nearly) put it, into that good night of pastels, luxe but innocuous suits, and orthopedically correct shoes. At Sotheby’s Wednesday night for the Kips Bay Boys & Girls Club “Best Of” design lecture series, she wore a slate grey knee-length leather coat drenched in embroidery, ombre slacks, a taupe Mongolian lambskin wrap, and a froth of turquoise necklaces at her throat. But we only saw, at least initially, those glossy black fishbowl glasses and the crimson lips that have become her signature.

The grand dame of eclectic style was immortalized in “Rara Avis (Rare Bird),” a 2005 show of selections from her wardrobe at the Met. Recently she’s collaborated with HSN on a line of accessories, and with MAC Cosmetics on her namesake beauty collection (we may even own one of the more brilliant fuchsia lipsticks…). But on Wednesday night the inimitable Iris was scheduled to speak to a small group on Sotheby’s eight floor in conversation with Veranda editor-in-chief Dara Caponigro. Despite some trepidation about our own humble ensemble, we trekked out to York Avenue in time to sit down with Ms. Caponigro as well-heeled guests began to trickle in.

A formidable voice of style, Ms. Caponigro offered us her explanation of Apfel’s strikingly intergenerational appeal:  “I think Iris is a breath of fresh air in terms of being her own person, and not really caring what people think about her. That comes through on all levels. She just is who she is. I think that’s unusual in this day and age, and I think people are responding to it,” she told us. “She’s so funny; last night she said, ‘What should I wear?’ She said she might be wearing jeans. We’ll see…”

But lo, Iris Apfel entered moments later sans denim. The Observer doesn’t care to entertain cheap hyperbole here, but we would be remiss not to mention the dramatic shift in attention upon her arrival. Perhaps Ms. Apfel herself—of all people—is least concerned with her clothes. Later in the evening she told us wryly, “People should put more things in their heads than on their heads.”

It was no surprise then, to inquire about her recent donation of 600 pieces (with another 300 still to come) to the Salem, Massachusetts, Peabody Essex Museum and find her holding up well. Was it difficult to say au revoir to Dior, McQueen and rarer flea market treasures, like sending away a child? “It was not quite as bad as saying goodbye to a child. Maybe long-lost relatives.”

Ms. Apfel was also kind enough to shed light on the hotly anticipated, still-nebulous Albert Maysles documentary of which she is the subject. “Well I didn’t want to do it,” she said. “Originally, I refused, and he asked me again, and people said to me ‘You must be crazy. He’s such an important person and if he wants to do it, you should think about it.’ So I went up to Harlem and visited their studio, and we all kind of fell in love and decided to do it. I haven’t got a clue as to what it’s going to be, because he doesn’t work with a script. He just takes pictures of whatever it is we’re doing.” We hear that Mr. Maysles (another iconic pair of spectacles) and his crew were shooting at Veranda’s 25^th anniversary bash in March at the Four Seasons.

Before hurrying off to find a seat, we asked Ms. Apfel that most pressing of questions: What shade of lipstick are you wearing? Although the name escaped her, it was a striking coral fuchsia from her MAC collection (Our guess? “Scarlet Ibis.”)

The audience was an intimate and intergenerational fifty or so, equal parts ladies who lunch and ladies whose mothers lunch. Mr. Carl Apfel, Iris’ husband of sixty-four years, sat in the front row in blue-black metallic brocade flares and a black blazer. Infinitely quotable, Ms. Apfel for an hour imparted anecdotes and nuggets of wisdom that had the woman next to us feeling positively vocal. “She’s such a pistol!” she apprised us periodically. Ms. Apfel spoke on being one of the first women in America to wear jeans, in 1940 (she was hell-bent on finding a pair to wear with hoop earrings and a turban), on what she wore when she met Duke Ellington (grey flannel trousers with a matching cashmere sweater, paired with a former beau’s Cornell blazer), and on aging (“For God’s sake, the alternative is very unpleasant!”) “Wow, she is really something else,” the woman next to us murmured. Of course, we had to agree.

The extra small wunderkammer bankrolled by Andy Spade. (Photo by Kristin Anderson)

When we read on our invitation that former New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani would be cutting the ribbon at the inaugural evening of Museum, a mysterious new downtown venture, we confess we felt a certain degree of perplexity. And so, armed only with the knowledge that the evening’s main attraction somehow involved an old freight elevator, last night we headed down to lower Manhattan’s Cortlandt Alley.

Museum, a non-profit venture from Red Bucket Films impresarios Alex Kalman and Josh and Benny Safdie, represents, in their words, “an amalgamation of collections” and found objects. When at last the padlock was undone with a ceremonious clang, we craned as best we could to see without disturbing the red ribbon across the doorway or the imposing-looking security guard. The 80-square-foot, fluorescent-lit wunderkammer boasts an array of artifacts: one lonely-looking cockroach leg, a roll of luxury hotel toilet paper from India, a box of something called “menopuse release tea.” Guests can call a 1-800 number and enter the digits corresponding with each item to hear its story.

With the alleged ribbon cutting drawing near, Cortlandt Alley soon swelled with guests that reclined against scaffolding and graffitied garage doors. The Observer noticed among male attendees a certain visible comfort telegraphed by their flannel shirts. Writer Glenn O’Brien passed us, looking dapper in a leather jacket and wide-brimmed hat. A woman in a Charles Barkley jersey and knee-high athletic socks wove deftly through the throng on roller blades, and a hot dog cart was wheeled into the alley. It was not long before guests sipped Cokes and Fantas, pretzels in hand.

But what was the impetus for assembling a collection as sundry as Museum’s? “It’s just been sort of this lifelong thing that we’ve been doing ourselves, and then we reached out to other people, who just have their collections in their homes. We decided to give it the proper space to breathe,” Red Bucket’s Benny Safdie told us.

We were fortunate to run into the proud owner of one such collection, venerated industrial designer Tucker Viemeister. Thirty tubes (we counted) of toothpaste from around the globe are on display, representing only a fraction of his collection. Though the numbers are ever expanding, we pressed Mr. Viemeister for some quantifiable amount of his minty freshness. “Maybe 115 tubes now?” he replied. The toothpaste specimens featured in Museum were culled personally by Mr. Kalman, who assures us, “It was very serious. It wasn’t, like, a funny thing.”

Also on hand—in his signature spectacles and a lemon-and-white striped shirt—was Kate Spade co-founder Andy Spade, now of Partners & Spade. Having collaborated on films with Red Bucket, he and his family have been an active force in Museum since its conception. Mr. Spade’s own collection was represented (catalogue numbers 7029-7033, for your reference) and consisted of photographs ripped out of scrapbooks and displayed face down, showing Rorschach-like blots left where the paper was peeled away.

The Observer asked if there was a piece in the exhibit particularly near to his heart? “The shoe that was thrown at George Bush,” Mr. Spade replied. Though we were abashed to admit it, we had missed the infamous footwear in question. Mr. Spade was kind enough to escort us back into the space, directing our attention to the shoe lobbed at the then-President by an Iraqi journalist in 2008, ensconced in a small glass case. And while he was not willing to swear to its authenticity, he told us he “looked at the video over and over again, and it looks exactly like it.”

Standing in the doorway, Mr. Spade became a de facto docent, telling queuing visitors about everything from a barnacle-encrusted cell phone (imported from Hawaii) to Museum’s carpeting (sisal, he suspected).

Through the now-packed alley we spotted Sonic Youth co-founder and guitarist Lee Ranaldo and sauntered over to get his take on Manhattan’s newest museum. Moments after we caught his ear, a black car arrived, parting the crowd unceremoniously with several horn blasts. We waited with bated breath. From the guests came a smattering of boos and some cheers. The car pulled up to the curb in front of Museum, and emerging into the waiting clutches of the security guard came Rudy Giuliani—sort of. In truth, it was a gifted Giuliani impersonator, but even we paused for a moment in the face of that distinctive Giuliani smile. After cutting the ribbon and saying a few words, he flashed the crowd two victorious “V” signs, and was whisked off into the night. We couldn’t help but wonder if the “mayor” would be making any other appearances that evening.

The Observer reconvened with Mr. Ranaldo, curious if the special guest had lived up to his expectations. “Yes! I loved that he was doing the Nixon thing.” After a moment, he inquired laughingly, “You’re not an imposter, are you?” We assured him we were the real thing before he was swept off by another guest.

As we mingled near the throng awaiting entry to the museum, a woman sporting a smart white cocktail dress joked, “I was inspired to use the dirty toothpaste, because I forgot to brush my teeth before I came here.” From a few feet away, we heard the familiar pop of a bottle of Veuve Clicquot in the hands of Museum co-founder Josh Safdie. He swigged from the bottle before passing it off to fellow curator Mr. Kalman. We asked if the fizz tasted of anything. Victory, perhaps? “No,” Mr. Kalman pondered. “It kind of tastes weird.”

When the crowd had thinned to a mere lingering few, and a drained bottle of Cook’s Brut sat lonely by a folding chair, The Observer headed off to appreciate the Museum’s toll-free catalogue in the solitude of our apartment. Of said catalogue, an excited Mr. Ranaldo told us, “It’s supposed to be pretty critical.”

And it was.