“To call the remake of Total Recall a movie is like saying that watching your brother play Call of Duty qualifies as a cinematic experience,” The Observer preached to a small cluster of friends as we made our way from the Chelsea Cinema screening to No. 8 for the after party.
In fact, the movie had been one of the worst things we’d ever seen…to call it a film is really giving it too much justice; the entire 118 minutes was made up of Colin Farrell trading machine fire with a bunch of droids from I, Robots on the Death Star while occasionally mumbling “But I don’t even know who I am.”
We hated to say it, but Arnold did it better.
Okay, so they are not a real-life couple (we asked), but last night at Bagatelle NY , where The Peggy Siegal Company and The Wall Street Journal were hosting an after-party for Oliver Stone’s Savages (sponsored by Vitamin Water: favorite beverage of Mexican drug lords), we saw Girls‘s Alex Karpovsky and Zosia Mamet posing for pictures and totally wanted to believe that this could be a thing. Right? How cute would that be?
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.
Every movie premiere boasts its own kind of celebrity power, specific to the film in question, but how many stars are there that can paralyze, fully occupying each gaze and every conversation in a room of unflappable New Yorkers and causing photographers (and anyone with an iPhone) to nearly topple over craning for a picture?
The Observer was afraid of getting swept away on the frenzied red carpet at the MoMA where Jane Fonda, the source of such widened eyeballs, was headlining last night’s premiere of her film Peace, Love & Misunderstanding, which cast her as the hippie mother of a straight-laced lawyer played by Catherine Keener. Fonda’s male co-stars were as enraptured with her as everyone else in attendance. For example, Chace Crawford, of Gossip Girl, endures constant conjectures about his romantic life, and not to perpetuate the rumor-mongering, but did Fonda, perhaps, catch his eye?
Last night was a tough call: Were we to attend Peggy Siegal‘s viewing party for Hysteria, which promised Hugh Dancy and vibrators by JimmyJane, or the Cinema Society’s screening of Virginia at the Crosby Hotel, which promised Judd Hirsch and Shiseido facial products?
Obviously, we couldn’t make such a tough call. So we chose both!
“Is that a real tattoo?” Harvey Weinstein, asked The New York Observer last night at the French Embassy on Park Ave and 78th. The producing legend had just finished trading off speeches with two French officials (including an ambassador who kept noting how cold our hands were…bad circulation, we guess) who praised the Miramax founder for his ability to consistently recognize the brilliance of French cinema.