Gina Gershon (Patrick McMullan)

At Monday night's Killer Joe screening at the Tribeca Grand, hosted by The the Cinema Society and Bally, Gina Gershon went into detail about her preparations for the film--in which she plays an uncharacteristically zaftig victim of violence. Of the filming location in Louisiana (the film's set in Texas), Ms. Gershon told us: "I love New Orleans, it's my favorite place--lucky for me, I wanted to gain a bunch of weight, so I went to my favorite breakfast joint every day, I could eat whatever I wanted."

"I thought she needed to be a little bit heavier," she noted. Was it a note from director William Friedkin? "He didn't care. But I'm living in a trailer--she's not gonna be a skinny Minny. She felt tough, so I wanted a belly. A muffin!"

Mr. Friedkin has directed such classics as The Exorcist and The French Connection, but refused to place Killer Joe in comparison to the rest of his oeuvre. "I have no idea, you have to ask somebody else. I don't criticize my films--I don't like one better than another. Some have done better, financially, than others. They become like your children, even with all the mistakes--and I tend to only see the mistakes."

Mr. Friedkin had a mixed experience in Louisiana, which he described as "very hot, very uncomfortable--but they have great crews down there. It's the new Hollywood." Not that Mr. Friedkin needs the trappings of Hollywood: "I've made a film in Mosul, Iraq!" he told us, before lamenting the outcome of the past decade's war in Iraq.

Screenwriter Tracy Letts is moonlighting as an actor for the revival of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, previously staged in Washington and Chicago--and Mr. Letts has been gathering the cast for impromptu rehearsals. "We closed production about 18 months ago and we knew at the time, 18 months is a long time... get together over at my house so that when we go back into rehearsals in September, we won't be starting from scratch."

Mr. Letts, as well, spoke to the film's Southern setting: "Well, I'm from Oklahoma and I live in Chicago. The flyover states. I mean, aren't you sick of things set in New York and Los Angeles? There's a great big world out there that doesn't live in the entertainment capitals of the world!"

Freida Pinto, on the red carpet. (Nicholas Hunt/PatrickMcMullan.com)

Last night's Cinema Society screening of Trishna at the IFC Center began with the usual glimpses of celebrity—Meg Ryan swooped past in her hat and sunglasses, and Billy Connolly slipped by with his wife.

But actress and heroine of the film Freida Pinto took her time sauntering down the red carpet, glowing in a white Rachel Roy creation, and shared that she is currently reading the Tom Hardy classic Tess of the d’Urbervilles, of which Trishna is a modern adaptation, for the second time. “The first time I read the book, I never thought that India would be such a great setting for it,” she said. “And the second time, I was like, ‘Oh my God, I am such an idiot.' It is so perfect!”

Fashion designer and philanthropist Rachel Roy, on the other hand, grinned when The Observer asked her if she’d read the book.

“Of course I have!” she laughed. “Can’t you tell I’m a romantic? I’ve married twice!”

But the darker and more serious side of Trishna could not be ignored even in the middle of Greenwich Village. The film follows an ultimately tragic relationship between a woman ill-equipped to defend herself because of her social status and lack of education and a well-to-do young man who fails to understand that gap between them.

Ms. Pinto commented that making the film was a stressful experience because of the harsh environment where they filmed and the thought she put into her character. “I was quite surprised that I had the strength to do it,” she said. “When you go home you have to be, ‘Okay, I’m not Trishna, I’m Freida.’ You’ve got to tell yourself that a couple of times.”

She also noted the unusual exercise she got playing a hotel worker in the movie. “A lot of carrying the trays built my arm muscles. I literally had one large bicep,” she laughed.

She hastened to add that she was eager to make the film. “The things we are talking about this film apply to a lot of places," including America, she said. “I read about one of the churches where this man had 80 wives…It applies to every place and any place that understands what sexual double standards mean.”

Woody Allen (Patrick McMullan)

Last night, Woody Allen and wife Soon-Yi Previn arrived promptly for the The Cinema Society, Piaget, and Hollywood Reporter-hosted screening of Mr. Allen's new European romp, To Rome With Love; while star Penelope Cruz sipped a soda nearby and paparazzi-embattled star Alec Baldwin breezed past the press into the theater, Mr. Allen walked the rope line of journalists, Ms. Previn trailing closely behind.

Given the sheer volume of stars with whom Mr. Allen has worked--in this film alone, Mr. Baldwin, Ellen Page, Jesse Eisenberg, Greta Gerwig, and Ms. Cruz--we asked Mr. Allen who'd done the best job of playing "the Woody Allen part." You know, the shy young nebbish Owen Wilson played in Midnight in Paris or that Mr. Eisenberg played in this film? Mr. Allen demurred: "They're very different! Owen Wilson is a sweet kid from Texas, speaks slowly, serves my script great! I would have played that part, but Owen played it better than I ever could have. Jesse Eisenberg is a fast mover, talks kind of like me--and he was great!

"The truth is they're both better actors than me. I'm a writer who can play his own material. They're actors who can play Chekhov."

Mr. Eisenberg is a new casting call for Mr. Allen, but this is the director's second film with Penelope Cruz (and the first, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, won her an Oscar.) Is she his latest "muse"?

"She called me before I went to Barcelona and said, 'If you're making a movie in Barcelona, I want to be in it.' So I said 'Great!' Then she called me and said 'I speak Italian perfectly.' So I wrote this part for her." He mused that Ms. Cruz speaks French perfectly, too--perhaps a return to Paris, with Ms. Cruz in tow, is in the future.

We'd have asked, finally, where Mr. Allen keeps his recently procured Oscar, for writing Midnight in Paris, but we weren't even sure he had it--as is his wont, the director skipped the ceremony. "They mailed it to me! You can't avoid them."

Mr. Allen's star, Ms. Gerwig, told us that she'd made unnecessary preparations for the part: "Well, I'm a nerd--sort of professionally. It was originally called The Bop Decameron, so I read The Decameron. No relation! Didn't need to do that. That was unnecessarily dorky. I got those audio book on tapes to learn Italian, and I'd repeat the phrases while on the elliptical machine. I looked insane!"

The screening (to be followed by a party, held, less-than-fortuituously given the heat, in the sweltering Casa Lever Gardens, though guests remarked how preternaturally cool Julianna Margulies looked in the air-conditioned indoors) began with Letty Aronson, producer, thanking the cast by name. "Am I forgetting anyone?" she asked.

"Woody!" an attendee shouted.

Ms. Aronson noted that she'd thanked Woody effusively.

"Woody Harrelson!" the attendee rebutted.

Woody Harrelson is one of the few stars not in To Rome With Love.

Obviously, we couldn't make such a tough call. So we chose both!

After sitting in the back of the theater at Sunshine Cinema, where Hysteria made for a pleasant ( if slightly precious) diversion from the wet weekday. Maggie Gyllenhaal and Mr. Dancy starred in Tanya Wexler's period piece about the invention of the vibrator. We stuck with the crowd to the Hotel Chantelle on Ludlow, where we were greeted by champagne and Red Bull cocktails--which look dangerously like regular bubbly--leading to an accidental overdose of taurine that kept us vibrating the rest of the evening.

Then it was over to the Crosby, where the party for Dustin Lance Black's Virginia was still in full swing. Celebrities seemed to have a similar game plan, as we saw several of the night's A-listers attending both events. Busy, busy, busy!

(Photos via Patrick McMullan)

With pockets too shallow for his $7,500 bail, the equally diminutive De Silva was forced to spend his last weeks leading up to trial behind bars. SCENE contacted the Manhattan District Attorney’s office, who was more than happy to provide us with Priyantha’s most recent misdeeds:

1. PL170.25    Criminal Possession of a Forged Instrument in the Second Degree
(1 count)
2. PL155.30 (1) Grand Larceny in the Fourth Degree
(1 count)

But how does one man go from annoying social gnat to convicted felon? As it turns out, the acceleration was rather exponential.

De Silva took to the streets in 2006 after registering the surprisingly clever domain name www.CondeNastOnline.com, which, as any coffee addled, sleep deprived PR intern can attest, might allow a phony RSVP to sneak by the virtual velvet rope on its way to a guest list database, granting De Silva unfettered access to those gilded elbows that he so desperately wanted to rub against. PR veteran Cristina Civetta had more than one of his business cards thrust at her. “Each time was a different story, once he was a music industry executive, next time it was a talent agent, then the inevitable magazine editor. We caught on to the guy pretty early on and put his picture on every clipboard in sight.”

Nadine Johnson, one of the most powerful publicists and event planners on the planet, echoed Civetta's strategy. “We all have guests' photos on iPads. We had the ‘Zkipster’ programmer build a special field for this. They peek at the list and try to read a name aloud which is very hard to do with iPads. A big favorite is ‘I work with Russell Simmons' or that notorious RSVP that comes from a fake LVMH address in Paris.”

Gawker managed to wrangle a first hand account from a savvy bartender at the after party of the New York Surf Film Festival in 2008: “He drank vodka straight all night like it was water, and sweat like he was on fire. After learning that I was an actress, he gave me a professionally printed business card claiming him a Managing Partner of Red Wagon Films and said, ‘We can get you a SAG award, you're very pretty.’ Several vodkas later, he asked for my email address so that he could take me to the premiere of Changeling on Wednesday.”

As most guys will admit, drunkenly scamming on pretty girls doesn’t exactly qualify as a game changer. What does set De Silva apart however, is his almost sloppy The Talented Mr. Ripley meets Catch Me If You Can's bombed Frank Abagnale Jr.'s ability to assume new identities, a talent that caught the attention of actor/legend Tony Danza at a recent cocktail party SCENE attended. “I love guys like this, they fascinate me—it’s almost a perverted art form,” he began, instantly remembering a tale from his past. “There was this shmuck running around town for years pretending to be my brother. He would use it everywhere, you name it: nightclubs, cocktail parties, industry stuff, he even used it to get into a hospital I was in just to say he did it! The best part though, he called himself Jeffrey Danza. I mean, come on, Jeffrey Danza? I think they locked the guy up years ago.”

It’s pretty ballsy to strut up to an event uninvited, it’s really ballsy to strut up to an event uninvited and pretend that you’re a loved one of someone inside, or in Cinema Society founder Andrew Saffir’s case, the partner of the guy throwing the party: “A really swift crasher came to the door and told my team, who have heard it all, that he was Daniel Benedict [Saffir’s longtime partner]. They looked at him and laughed and basically said, ‘You picked the wrong name to crash with.’”

When an invented title failed to pass the litmus test, De Silva would often result to brute force: “Do you know who I am? I could destroy you!” Journalist Jennifer Wright would recall in an exchange she overheard between De Silva and an unassuming door girl, adding, “I used to run into him occasionally at parties and he would mention that he made Slumdog Millionaire. For a second I always paused and wondered ‘Is this what Jay Gatsby would do? Is this the 21st century equivalent of saying you hunt tigers on the Bois de Boulogne?’”

It would make sense that De Silva would seek out the Jay Gatsby model of the American dream: create your own myth, and then become it. But where Gatsby succeeds, De Silva fails. Gatsby is a lovable character that fills his summer evenings with fascinatingly beautiful people eager to be in his presence; he is charming, graceful, and yes, a bit mysterious. De Silva, on the other hand, is a man incapable of having a good time even at the parties he crashes. “They found him asleep on a table, somewhat disoriented. The guards offered him medical assistance, which was refused, and he was helped into a taxi,” a rep for the American Antiques Gala Preview told the gossip column “Page Six.”

So why even bother? What’s the point of sneaking into a bigwig party if only to pass out next to Martha Stewart? To help us put De Silva into perspective, we must turn our attention to an even more legendary party crasher: Steve Kaplan, aka “Shaggy.”

"Shaggy"

Hiding behind a massive mop of curly blond hair, Shaggy has been a fixture on the party circuit for more than a decade. The guy is rarely officially invited, with more than one press outlet labeling him the “world’s most famous party crasher,” a title he seems to wear with pride. One thing is for sure, when you saw Shaggy, he was there for a good time. Society publicist R. Couri Hay recalled one of the many, many interactions he had with the blond bombard: “Oh God, he was getting so bold. I remember one time he rolled up to a party, surely not invited, with three girls on his arm and a huge grin on his face, his hair a total mess.”

It would seem however, that a non-invited Shaggy has become the exception, not the rule. He’s been around for so long now that people look to him as something of a party barometer, and as writer George Gurley would describe; a good omen. “Shaggy slipped into my book launch party without us noticing, and all of a sudden the PR girl we had working the event ran over and picked him out of the crowd in disgust: ‘Do you want us to throw him out? He clearly wasn’t invited.' I immediately recognized who it was, and informed the girl: ‘Shaggy can stay—if he’s crashing my book party, it’s somewhat of an honor!’” Gurley’s tale of pseudo-admiration for Shaggy is not unique; by all accounts our feather-haired friend is actually a fun party guest, exceptionally gracious, quick with a joke, even going so far as to be humble when being asked to vacate the premises.

SCENE wanted to like Shaggy as the somewhat lesser of two evils that he and De Silva represent, but the deeper we dug into the Internet gossip grave, the more skeletons we found. Shaggy, it would seem, has a thing for food: “He was devouring gnocchi with truffles at such a rate that the waiters could not keep up with him,” said a witness at the opening of La Masseria. “If Shaggy was at the party, he was there to eat. I remember catching him gorging himself at a buffet, practically lining his pockets with food, it was incredible how much this guy would try to eat in one sitting,” remembered Hay, who’d reminded The New York Times years ago: “There’s a very famous saying: Put out a lamb chop and they’ll all come.”

Gastronomic grievances aside, it’s not hard to wonder why the Elizabeth Seton Pediatric Center would have preferred Shaggy to Priyantha De Silva as designated crasher on the evening of November 11, 2010. The event was slated to be a grand fundraiser to aid the rehabilitation programs for gravely ill children throughout the hospital network. The location was set at the luxurious Harold Pratt House at 68th Street and Park Avenue. The theme: Going Gatsby.

November 10th was a gusty day, high 40’s—stay-inside weather.

One could almost picture a slovenly De Silva in a dark apartment, brooding over an ancient laptop, party photographer Patrick McMullan's website flickering across his screen. He looks down, dozens of crumpled business cards across the table, tiny trophies of evenings past. Back to the computer he digs through the online repository of pomp and circumstance, scouting potential guests, quickly scrawling out talking points, sketching together a spider web of social networks he’s all too eager to infiltrate.

He pauses to take a swig from a flask of bargain basement vodka; closing his eyes he briefly recalls a seminal Nick Carraway quote that he reads as directive:  “I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house I was one of the few guests who had actually been invited. People were not invited—they went there.” He reaches into his pocket, running his fingers over the surreptitiously obtained Bank of America debit card, exhaling deeply. On November 11th, Priyantha De Silva would not be invited to the Harold Pratt House, but he would go there.

After a late lunch, Priyantha would return home to prepare for the evening. He would feverishly through his closet before settling on a red velvet smoking jacket. Reaching for a nearby lint roller he begins his ritual, pulse quickening with every caress of the sticky wand. Donning his velveteen casing he cracks open his laptop, remembering to scout the silent auction items online before heading out the door—and there it was: the leather Prada bag that was overheard to be destined for one of his many, many, young girlfriends. The very same leather Prada bag that would land De Silva behind bars, where he will remain for up to three years.

Female Friend: "So wait...you had the chance to squeeze his butt, and you didn't?"

Velvet Roper: "The timing was off; it wasn't meant to be."

FF: "That's like saying you had a gun to Hitler's head, but forgot to pull the trigger."

VR: "Hang on, you're equating Zac Efron's butt - to Hitler?"

FF: "Yeah but in like, the hottest way possible"

Reflecting on our inability to execute, it was time for a drink—something we could have used during the shower sex scenes recently endured during the screening (Spoiler: They gave Efron a back tattoo. Sorry ladies)

Drink in hand we back away from the bar, landing ourselves right in the court of the king: Tony Freakin' Danza.

Having skipped the movie for a night class he's been taking, The Brooklyn Bomber pleaded with us for a brief synopsis, which we all too happily obliged:

VR: "Ok, so look, all you really need to know is: marine, shower scene, dogs, dickhead sheriff."

Tony Danza: "Ok, ok. Gotta make it seem like I was there. What do you think of Zac?"

VR: "The guy seems to be beating women off with a stick"

TD: "Hey man, you might not know this but there was a time when I was beating women off with a stick." As he said this, two women walk over to Danza, hands extended, giggling with excitement—the dude still has it. "It was different back then though," he continues, "Nobody had AIDS, everyone was on the pill...man it was a total free-for-all."

Hold us closer, Tony Danza.

By comparison, Sean Bean--fellow action star--dies on screen once every 1.24 years (statistically speaking), but as The Observer witnessed in last nights world premiere of Safe, if you try to kill Jason Statham (or his loved ones), you're gonna have a bad time.

Writer/Director Boaz Yakin put together 94 minutes of nonstop badassery that had the star studded crowd exploding with macho appreciation. Andrew Saffir, typically known for his intimate screenings with hollywood power players, teamed up with Lionsgate and TW Steel to host an over-the-top screening at Chelsea Clearview cinemas, inviting a handful of dudes (and the sexpots that love them) along for the ride.

Olympic snowboarder Shaun "Flying Tomato" White was seated towards the front of the theater, right by Stephen Baldwin - the two had apparently crossed paths a few times prior, and decided to seal the friendship by quickly exchanging iPhone contacts. Luckily for us, we knew where they'd be after-partying.

Mr. Statham brought along his annoyingly perfect English model GF Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, whom he was confirmed dating at last year's annual Coachella Music Festival currently taking place in Indo California.

At the after party we intended to approach Statham to confirm that this was their one year anniversary, but reconsidered after we'd just finished watching him decimate a cadre of multi-generational crime families with his bare hands.

DJ Brendan Fallis put needle to vinyl in the pulpit at PH-D on top of the Dream Hotel Downtown, but sadly we weren't able to stay long enough to hear if he would serenade Backstreet Sibling Aaron Carter with any of his brother's hits.

One last note for those who might be wondering--Ice-T most definitely loves Coco.

Click through the gallery if you think you're man enough.

In what might be his most adorably manipulative move yet, Cinema Society’s Andrew Saffir brought in a pack of highly adoptable furry friends from the North Shore Animal League to cohost a screening of “Darling Companion” successfully hitting everyone’s AUGGGHHHHHWWWWWW button in exactly the right way.

Co-host and animal hero Beth Ostrosky Stern was on hand to work the carpet, spending a fair amount of time on the floor engaged in full embrace with Kasey, the canine star of the flick (read: not adoptable) whose handler admitted to us that the Collie mutt commanded an impressive salary.

Time ticked on, and before we knew it we were standing face to face with Dianne Wiest who revealed her co-star Kevin Kline’s biting sense of humor without breaking her signature smile: “Yeah, Kevin just told me I’m really bad in the movie, he said to tell you guys to ready for a snoozer!” She leered playfully at Mr. Kline cradling a spotty bundle of fur.

While on the subject of pups, Dianne revealed she had one of her own:

“Oh he’s this big old German Shepherd, such a sweetheart,” waxed Wiest

“Did you lobby hard to get him in the film?” we asked

“God no, I doubt he could cut the hours—they really work those dogs. Kasey was a true professional.”

“He certainly appears to be – would you be surprised to hear that he’s not a SAG member?”

“HAH! Look at the sweetheart..”

We looked at the sweetheart.

Stocking up on popcorn and some complicated cocktails, we snagged a seat in the screening room for what promised to be a dog lover's delight.

Click through the gallery for a bite of the evening.

Last night The Cinema Society, (along with co-sponsors Town & Country and Brook Brothers) toasted Whit Stillman's latest success, Damsels in Distress. Though the screening at Tribeca Grand Hotel began a half hour late and the room was packed to the gills, no one seemed to mind.

Later, stars mingled over at the Soho Grand Hotel's Club Room, where they sipped from specialty cocktails provided by Woodbridge Sparkling Wine.It was just like Mr. Stillman's Metropolitan...but with half the cast of Gossip Girl.

(Photos via Patrick McMullan)

Opium Yves Saint Laurent