At Monday night’s premiere of Notes on a Scandal, the stars came out in droves. And by “stars,” we mean “people in the movie,” of course. And, um, Dave Zinczenko.
The legendary Lauren Bacall swooped in for a photo op with the cast – who were as surprised to see her as we – and Love Actually star Bill Nighy confessed his most “scandalous” act: “dropping [his] trousers in Picadilly Circus”. Ewwsville.
Seventeen-year old Andrew Simpson proved to be a bona fide underage hottie (soon to be seen on Dateline: To Catch a Predator), and Amy Smart went incognito, sporting a mousy-brown haircut to avoid being seen with a mousy-brown haircut.
Cate Blanchett, however, became the evening’s highlight when she finally arrived — very fashionable, and very late. Just a full 90 minutes after her expected arrival time, the Aussie star shunned the press-line, stayed for nearly four minutes, and turned around to flee in her gigantic “don’t-look-at-me-I’m-famous!” black SUV.
Natch, Blanchett skipped out on the movie entirely, but resurfaced for the swanky after-party at the Metropolitan Club. True to form, we hear Cate continued making Star Jones look like a pleaser at the movie’s official press junket yesterday. Someone unlucky enough to attend tells us she was somewhat “friendlier” than she was Monday night, but that had something to do with her “method acting.”
To help welcome incoming editor-in-chief Andy Sewer and honor “The Fortune 25: Portraits of Power,” Fortune magazine and Time Inc. chief John Huey rounded up the business media elite, a couple of guys who started a little video sharing site, a handsome fella who runs a stock exchange, and plenty of Grey Goose for an evening of staring at black and white photos projected onto blank walls at the Chelsea Art Museum. After the jump, the fun continues with a whole lot of photos of people staring at the black and white photos projected onto blank walls for you to stare at.
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The fagalas at Queerty hit Out magazine’s Out 100 party at Capitale on Friday night, capturing all the glam you’d expect from the gayest event of the season: Iman, Michael Kors, Anne Hathaway, Claire Danes, Kelis, and the well-cheekboned Aaron Hicklin, editor of the magazine. Yes, we were there too, but only to stuff our face in Kelis’ crotch. She volunteered. (To be sure, it didn’t hurt that we were among those listed in the Out 100.)
Rather than lug a photog around last night’s Spy: The Funny Years book party – it seems everyone (#) is (#) doing (#) that these days – we instead hit Grayon and Kurt’s event the way we would a friend’s small get together: casual dress code, drink in hand, and taking notes on our BlackBerry.
• We scored exactly 8.66 seconds of face time with Vogue’s Anna Wintour. She had to make a phone call .. and a quick exit.
• There was one Donald Trump look-a-like, one real Graydon Carter, and one Graydon Carter look-a-like.
• It was difficult to tell who most deserved the superlative “effervescent”: Women’s Wear media scribe Stephanie Smith or Metro dating columnist and Candace Bushnell wannabe Julia Allison.
• Ex-Daily News gossip Lloyd Grove appears to enjoy these parties so much more now that he’s not reporting on them. Guess that goes hand in hand with unemployment.
• Meanwhile, current Daily News gossip George Rush impressed us by going the entire night without mentioning Britney Spears’ divorce. Kudos.
• Radar’s photographer reminded us of our high school yearbook lensman who roamed the hallways trying to get you to pose. A snappily dressed Jeff Bercovici was not in the mood to wrangle photo subjects.
• Ex-Jossip editor Corynne Steindler arrived with new boss Richard Johnson. Guess who was more excited to see us.
• Dealbreaker Liz Spiers got off at the wrong stop: The 6 train gets closer to Wall Street than this.
• Time Inc.’s Jim Kelly was overheard vowing not to throw another beer bash at his house.
• Harvey Weinstein came in from the rain with his own umbrella carrier. That was the highlight of our fat rich Jew observations.
• Mediabistro’s Dylan Stableford may have had one too many. Or we had one too many. One of us was slurring.
• AdAge’s Nat Ives revealed his new game plan: Quantity, not quality.
When Bonnie Fuller told us last night that she polygraphs some of her sources for Star to ensure they’re telling the truth, we nearly shit ourselves. And so did at least a dozen other media reporter types in the audience who we talked to at last night’s Reuters panel “Public Figures, Private Lives.” (That was after the audible gasp from the audience.)
Polygraphing sources? Does American Media Inc. even have the budget for that? (And if they do, doesn’t David Pecker pad his own pockets with it?) We’ve heard murmurs about this before, but we’ve also heard murmurs about Mel Gibson not hating Jews. Do the tabloids operate on a Hollywood-level of mysticism we don’t know about?
Apparently so. We touched base with a number of chief editors at the celebrity rags and, it turns out, polygraphing sources is not entirely uncommon. National Enquirer editor David Perel tells us: “We have polygraphed sources in the past and in fact made mention of it in the article we published, showing the result. Some sources do sign contracts, in particular when we are buying something exclusive, such as photographs.” (The Enquirer, it’s worth noting, is also a AMI title.)
That’s “sign contracts,” as in paperwork binding sources to their story and agreeing to testify in court should the magazine come under legal assault (read: accusations of libel). Fuller also said that’s regular practice at Star.
But the meat (pun intended) of last night’s panel – with Fuller flanked by Slate’s Jacob Weisberg, Reuters’ Paul Holmes, First Amendment attorney Floyd Abrams, former RIAA prez and media/GLBT issues consultant Hilary Rosen, and Splash News chief Gary Morgan – was devoted to the gays. Mark Foley this, House pages that. But what about Lance Bass and Reichen Lehmkuhl, yo? Forget closeted Congressman. How does Fuller handle covering gay celebs who aren’t out?
Well, she doesn’t. As most panel members agreed, sexual orientation remains a part of someone’s private life, off limits to even tabloid scrawl. So yes, two gay (but not out) celebrities sleeping with each other will be kept under wraps, while two straight celebs are fair game. And besides, Fuller claims Star didn’t even know about Lance and Reichen until the former *Nsync-er came out in People — which is less a debate over outing gay celebs than it is for finding new reporters. Seriously. There were photos of those two. Everywhere.
Update: While some editors didn’t have much to say on the record, we did just hear from In Touch executive editor Dan Wakeford, who says: “We???ve never polygraphed a source in our four years of existence. Polygraphs are not accepted as court evidence. We make our stories accurate by avoiding single sourced stories and investigating them thoroughly.” So booyah.
Always one to self-congratulate, Fox News tossed “fair,” “balanced,” and “and” to the wayside last night to throw itself a 10th anniversary bash. The red carpet was rolled out in front of headquarters at 1211 Sixth, and underneath a glammed-up tent Rupert Murdoch held court over minions Roger Ailes, Bill O’Reilly, Shep Smith, Bill Hemmer, Greta Van Susteren, Brit Hume, and Laurie Dhue. But there was more star wattage inside: Donald Trump, Mayor Michael Bloomberg, Governor George Pataki, Ann Coulter, Tiki Barber, and NYPD Commissioner Raymond Kelly all showed up to pay their respects. And so did we: Jossip loves a party that celebrates raping the competition into submission, so we grabbed photog Matthew Krautheim and hit the soiree. (Meanwhile, if there’s a missing Fox News pillow, don’t blame us.)
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We don’t have a fucking clue what Brian Grazer is doing in New York, either.
With the launch of Culture + Travel from former Conde Nasty James Truman comes the requisite launch party for Culture + Travel — hosted by the Canadian billionaire publisher Louise T. Blouin MacBain (the LTB in LTB Holding), the dollar signs behind such indie titles like Art + Auction and, until just recently, Spoon. Last night’s soiree at MacBain’s swanky Richard Meier penthouse pad was a collision of media, Hollywood, architecture, PR, and fashion ego: David Carr, Michael Wolff, Lloyd Grove, Calvin Klein, Anthony Hayden-Guest, Brian Grazer, Deborah Schoeneman, Ben Widdicombe, Keith Kelly, Catherine Malandrino .. oh, and Nadine Johnson, the publicess who put all this together. To be sure, however, at least half the guests showed up just to scope the view. (Including, we think, our photog Matthew Krautheim.)
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It’s not everyday former Daily News, Esquire, New York, and Newsweek editor Ed Kosner throws a book party. Well, actually, last night wast technically his second party for It’s News to Me: The Making and Unmaking of an Editor — the first one was earlier this month in the Hamptons, next door to Mort Zuckerman. But this was his first and only party on the island (a fact we’re basing on the “I’m only writing one book” comment he made to us), so of course we accepted an uber-exclusive invite to toast Kosner’s editorial effort at the Adam Baumgold Gallery (read: small space, even smaller artworks) on the Upper East Side. What follows is our pictorial tale where Kosner’s precocious daughter Lily pretends the event was more family reunion than book party.
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Yesterday we had the fortunate – or, depending on which members of the press you asked, unfortunate – pleasure to hit the 2006 MTV VMA red carpet. We’ve been through this routine before: Paris, Beyonce, Christina, and Jessica all strut by the entire press line after doing their official MTV segments. Brooke Hogan and her entire over-muscled family, meanwhile, arrive early and leave late, hoping any random media outlet will at least agree to record a soundbite. Aside from that last sentence, even we (bottom of the barrel when you figure we were standing next to InStyle, Billboard, Rolling Stone, and Wire Image) aren’t so desperate we’ll give them coverage.
But that’s not to say we didn’t court the attention of other B-listers, like Jesse McCartney, Three 6 Mafia, Tyrese, Ashley Parker Angel, Andy Milonakis, and a Real Worlder. But these aren’t your regular celebrity interviews. Perhaps because they’re barely celebrities? Watch the clips, after the jump.
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Last night IFC and BlackBook magazine threw a swanky soiree at the Soho Grand in honor of their October cover subject, Maggie Gyllenhaal. As you know, we already saw Maggie’s new indy flick Sherrybaby at the Hearst building with Marie Claire (something BlackBook’s PR gal was not very happy about), so we skipped the screening and went straight to the boozey schmoozy, with our photog Matthew Krautheim in tow.
Due to the freezing, raining weather, the party was upstairs instead of in the garden, but there was still plenty of smoking room … and smokin’ film industry types.
Maggie Gyllenhaal showed, looking super pregnant and like she was about ready to fall down. No Peter Sarsgaard … or Jake (which is, like, the only reason we even went) … but lots of infused Vodka and plenty of magazines to keep us entertained. Michael Musto even said hello to us before rushing straight to the back of the room.
After the jump, a bunch of people you probably don’t care about … but they’re sexier than your cubemate so you’ll look at them anyways.
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British import Joanna Coles is already doing a fine job making Marie Claire a title worth talking about. When it comes to Hearst, we usually dedicate our energy to chronicling Atoosa Rubenstein’s MySpace friend requests — but suddenly Coles influence has given the staid (though healthy, circulation-wise) Marie Claire an injection of sexy. To be sure, it helps to “jump into” Cathie Black’s car.
But around the new MC, there is one type of injection that doesn’t seem to have a home: Botox. Joanna told us so herself last night – pointing to the wrinkles in her forehead – amid apple martinis and a live band at a private screening for Sherrybaby at Hearst’s new glass tower. And that sort of thing makes sense, given Joanna’s feelings toward nose jobber Ashlee Simpson and her kin.
Last night’s event, however, was not just a chance for the former More editor to shake hands with other Hearsties while proving she can pull off an all-white ensemble. The editor was also hosting September covergirl Maggie Gyllenhaal (who arrived flanked with soon-to-be baby daddy Peter Sarsgaard) — Joanna’s first issue for the magazine (it helped that she learned how to pronounce Maggie’s last name).
Though reluctant to say much about where she’s moving (she and Peter living in the West Village, though plenty of rumors suggest a move to Park Slope is imminent) and whether brother Jake will be playing Lance Armstrong (and here we though that bit of news was already confirmed be PR types), Maggie did let on that the paparazzi scene in Los Angeles is, to our surprise, much more bareable than it is here in New York. “We were at breakfast yesterday with my brother and all of a sudden these 12 photographers appeared and started taking our picture,” she says. In L.A., the paps leave her alone. Who knew?
But it was during the post-screening Q&A that Maggie let on a more incriminating detail of her movie career. After her success with Secretary, where the director allowed her to control much of her character’s portrayal, she actually thought Hollywood types would solicit her input about the characters she played. Not so, she found out while filming a movie she wouldn’t name (though our guess is Mona Lisa Smile). It was “horrible” and they made her cry.
And crying she did plenty of last night — though only on screen, and only in between exposing her breasts and having sex with every other male character in the film. And that, apparently, is just the type of Hollywood Joanna Coles wants in her magazine. By which we mean, of course, natural breasts.
Exclusive
There we were yesterday afternoon. It was around 5:20pm. We were just trying to mosey our way to the Angelika to catch Ryan Gosling in his underwear (and an awkwardly sexless relationship with his character’s student) when, right outside the Prada store in Soho, we spot a crowd gathering a shouting. Luckily we had Jossip HQ’s high-budget (read: piece-of-crap) camera with us (which explains the choppy footage), so we’re gonna take you for a wild ride of high fashion security cartel. It’s a 7-minute ride, baby, so grab your snacks and watch Prada’s goons hold down the perp — who allegedly ran out of the store with an $850 jacket, the pricetag of which we only learned because, it turns out, Prada’s security are just as interested in showing off luxury goods as its customers. You’ll also be treated to the walkie-talkie types telling us to turn the camera off, curse and berate the suspect (”Don’t fuckin’ move!”), wave around the fashion-mistake-of-a-jacket while they wait for the cops to arrive — and the suspect telling the fuzz that we’ve got it all on video. In the end, we’re just doing our duty to ensure the accused’s rights weren’t violated by NYPD dropouts — and hoping you’ll hang around the site during the entire seven minutes so it makes our advertisers think our readership is “sticky.”
Having just became the latest Jew family to own a New York newspaper, the next step in media bubble entree is showing your face around town. And that’s what the new New York Observer owner is doing. Jared Kusher suddenly became the main event at last night’s premiere of Factotum – well, Details coverboy Matt Dillon was there too – so we grabbed photog Matthew Krautheim and stalked Kush from red carpet to after party.
After two hours of watching Dillon drink himself half to death, the media posse (which included AMI chief David Pecker) were inspired to open a bottle of scotch and drink till the booze was gone — which may explain why Lloyd Grove went home to get drunk in peace, while the rest of us flocked across town to the after party at BLVD.
It was only a 19 hour wait for the free booze before we could bathe ourselves in copies of last week’s Observer. Fishbowler Dylan Stableford stopped by but lost interest once he realized there were no drunken gossips to videotape. Once inside, we realized our encounters with Marisa Tomei and Matt Dillon were destined to be limited to snapping paparazzi-like photos — though we did manage to back Kushner in a corner.
He asked us what blogging was like (”Do you sit on your couch in your underwear? No, I’m not trying to picture it or anything.”) and we asked him if his real estate ties were going to impact the Observer’s gossipy coverage of his fellow moguls (”I’m not going to have much of a hand in the editorial aspects of the paper.”). We would’ve delved further, but he had to duck out. (Something about a new job and needing to get some sleep … we couldn’t really follow.)
Alas, like good writers, celebs, and New Yorkers, everyone was hammered by midnight — surely depressed over the reminder that scribes’ lives are pathetic and a 25-year-old can buy and sell them for fun. Ah, well, like we said, the booze was free.
Our photo tale begins, after the jump.
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Last night we hit up Pravda for an hour or so of white wine chatter hosted by Best Life EIC Stephen Perrine. It never takes more than three sips of pinot to forget what party you’re at and why you’re celebrating, so we were sure to write it down ahead of time: we were mingling among a sea of PR types to honor Why Do Men Fall Asleep After Sex?, the new tome by Mark Leyner and BIll Goldberg. Sure, they weren’t giving the the book gratis to any partygoers – you had to buy it! for $14! and it was only in paperback! – but who cares? Men’s Health’s David Zinczenko was there letting his pecs burst through a white button down, which is about all we need to hear to RSVP.
There was Zinczenko’s comparing Men’s Health to Cosmopolitan – they’re both “horny” magazines, which is why he and Kate White are BFFs – New York’s press denizen Serena Torrey showering the bar with glitter (or perhaps it just looked that way; her beauty is blinding), Best Life publisher Mary Murcko ensuring your hand was never without a cocktail (and, should have you two hands free .. well, you get the idea), and authors Mark Leyner and Bill Goldberg hanging on each other’s well-sculpted shoulders. Though it was Arianna Huffington’s arrival – on the arm of Eat The Press chaperone Rachel Sklar – that caused a stir. (Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Arianna’s dressing like a 24-year-old? And pulling it off?)
Though we expected a room brimming with male model types (or at least industry vets who could pass as former abdominal display cases), we weren’t entirely let down: Pravda’s strawberry martini proved worth the trek into a below-ground lair of air conditioning heaven. Even if we never even caught a glance at the book’s cover.
Last night we hit Stereo for MTV veejay Damien Fahey’s 26th birthday. Damien and his band Here’s Johnny rocked out while promoters, party gossips, and lots of blondes roamed free. Since all the real celebs were jamming themselves into the Entertainment Weekly party and the media gossips were clusterfucking at Slate’s event, we figured we’d try to hit something … oh, we don’t know … fun?
The event, hosted by Stereo’s owner Mike Satsky (who kept us from taking his photo by distracting us with liquor), was jam packed with pseudo-celebs, tons of photographers, and at least four girls that looked like they were on Laguna Beach. A complete tour of the party, minus the bouncing tan people, after the jump.
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