He’s Alda’t! The only thing we wanted in that wretched Mel Gibson Helen Hunt vehicle What Women Want was Alan Alda, who played their boss. We fear that Mr. Alda’s male archetype (1970’s, sensitive yet masculine, earnest yet funny) may be lost forever, replaced by men who favor shiny messenger bags, shiny clompy black shoes and a bit too much hair product . Anyway, Mr. Alda is sob! not yet confirmed for tonight’s Hallmark Hall of Fame Gala commemorating 50 years of weepy TV movies at the Museum of Television and Radio (New Yorkers’ secret favorite place to whittle away a rainy Saturday), though there’s still hope. But the list of “confirmed” presenters reads like Manhattan’s very own mini-Oscars: Glenn Close, Blythe (“Gwynnie’s mom”) Danner, Gena (“Zoë Cassavetes’ mom”) Rowlands, James Garner. On second thought, make that Manhattan’s own mini Irving G. Thalberg Award ceremony….
[Waldorf-Astoria, Grand Ballroom, 301 Park Avenue, 6:30 p.m., by invitation only, 621-6600.]
Wanna Be a Milla-ionaire? There is a certain class of woman (used to be a model, sometimes sings, sometimes paints, has an artist for a parent) who is regarded for some reason as a muse (which is really shorthand for “someone who does nothing except say inane things and wear camisoles”) and she will be out in full force at tonight’s launch party for Jalouse USA, the English version of some French magazine, hosted by Stella (“Julian’s daughter”) Schnabel, Zoë (“Gena Rowlands’ daughter”) Cassavetes and the lovely if tiresomely ubiquitous Milla Jovovich. “We’re aiming at urban women, urban girl-to-women aged 20-35, though there is a sort of ‘subtle male presence,'” said subtle male French editor in chief Stephen Todd, a gamin 38. “And also it’s aimed at the sort of women who wouldn’t say, ‘Oh, we read women’s magazines.'” Glad that’s cleared up. We asked him to deconstruct the title. “The publishing family’s name is Jalou, but of course it also is the feminine form of ‘jealous.’ Not jealousy in the green way, it’s jealousy in that kind of nice way, like, ‘Oh, I just went on holiday to Morocco, aren’t you jealous?’ It’s more friendly.” Offer some frites with each subscription, that’s our advice, pal!
[118 10th Avenue, 9 p.m., by invitation only, 228-5555.]
Music geeks congregate in a moist clump at Elaine’s to celebrate the publication of Dream Brother: The Lives & Music of Jeff & Tim Buckley, by cuddly Entertainment Weekly music critic David Browne. Crash strategy: don’t wash, wear a suede jacket, be a guy. Party tip for those who haven’t read the book: Jeff was the one who drowned, Tim was his beatnik dad who died of a heroin overdose. (Look, rock ‘n’ roll may not be a barrel of laughs, but it sure beats sitting through Britney Spears’ half-time performance, complete with “home girl” moves and glistening flanks .)
[1703 Second Avenue, 6 p.m., by invitation only, 266-4492.]
She shot Andy Warhol, but Valerie Solanas had her reasons: He wouldn’t produce her play, Up Your *ss, and was probably pretty snippy about it. The chastened Ms. Solanas went on to write the infamous S.C.U.M. [Society for Cutting Up Men] Manifesto and then expired of pneumonia but tonight, Up Your *ss has its New York premiere! But why is a member of the deplored male species directing? “That was the first question I had,” said director and San Franciscan George Coates, “so I asked my assistant Eddie, who’s a woman she’s very involved in the drag-king world here and Eddie said to me, ‘George, Valerie gave the play to a man to direct the first time, so we know that’s not forbidden,’ so I felt I had some license, and then Eddie invited me over to an event at the Bearded Lady Café, and then I realized ‘My word, we could cast the male roles with women!’ And I said, ‘Eddie, let’s do a workshop.'” (Uh-oh.) Anyway, the audience at tonight’s benefit premiere should include both Lili Taylor (who played Ms. Solanas in I Shot Andy Warhol) and Lily Tomlin (Alan Alda’s co-star in the peerless Flirting with Disaster). Be on the lookout for those types who claim to have been part of Warhol’s Factory (you can recognize them because they will ostentatiously and repeatedly refer to Warhol as “Andy”), but who, if you do the math, were 5 years old at the time….
[P.S. 122, 150 First Avenue, 8 p.m., 477-5829.]
Fire up the Gauloises, pretend you like the taste of Lillet and revisit junior year of college ce soir as the good ol’ Film Forum begins a five-week retrospective of Eric Rohmer movies, which are all about cross little cliques of the bourgeoisie who stray from their intimate relationships. Excellent cruising potential if you’d like to try dating a forlorn ex-flutist again.
[209 West Houston Street, 727-8110.]
V-O.D.: O.K., O.K., enough already we get the message, we must love our vaginas! We do, we do, we promise! Is anyone else weary of Eve Ensler’s ceaseless homage to the female crotch? Does this woman have another piece of performance art in her or is she just a one-trick pony? Scads of lady celebs gather at Madison Square Garden tonight to “take back the garden” we’ll let you puzzle that one out in the ominous sounding V-Day 2001, no relation to the upcoming Ben Affleck World War II movie. Tonight’s performers include Claire Danes, Calista Flockhart, Shiva Rose, Winona Ryder, Brooke Shields, Gloria Steinem, Julia Stiles and, making her second appearance of the week, Lily Tomlin! What, no Robert Downey Jr.? If you’d like a less “empowering,” but more fun, tabloid alternative: check out Sean (Puffy) Combs’ attempt to throw a fashion show while he’s on trial for gun possession (hey, it’s a lesser crime than the fashion felonies committed by most designers) . Then you can skip the after-party and go home to see how his ex-girlfriend, Jennifer Lopez, who seems to be trying to transform herself back into a blushing virgin, holds up on Saturday Night Live.
[V-Day 2001, Madison Square Garden, 4 Penn Plaza, 7 p.m., 307-7171; Sean John, 8 p.m., tent, Bryant Park, Sixth Avenue between 40th and 42nd streets, by invitation only, 206-7447; Saturday Night Live, 11:30 p.m., NBC.]
Women tote dogs! You know it’s Fashion Week when a) men with strong opinions about how women should dress are suddenly ubiquitous; b) you find yourself a-wastin’ hours and hours of your life staring glassily at the E! channel; and c) there are about 468 events for small pooches in the span of a few short days. Today, in a strange scheduling coincidence, two New York Post lady gossip eminences are throwing dog parties. In the a.m., Cindy Adams and her Yorkie, Jazzy, preside over a cocktail brunch at an exhibit, Dogs in Art, at the Doyle Gallery to benefit the ASPCA. In the p.m., Liz Smith throws a high-security celebration of Westminster, showdogs and dachshunds in particular Related plea to Oscar voters: Best in Show for “Best Picture”!
[Cindy Adams, Doyle New York, 175 East 87th Street, 10 a.m., 427-4141, ext. 600; Liz Smith, Tavern on the Green, Central Park West at 67th Street, by invitation only, 472-7737.]
Pajama party? One more way of knowing it’s Fashion Week: Diane Von Furstenberg comes out with something that’s not a wrap dress (in a ceaseless quest to make sure the wrap dress is not all she’s known for). This time ’round it’s pajamas, which a publicist couldn’t help describing as “sort of wrappy.” Tonight, the new Mrs. Barry Diller shows her latest not-just-pajamas collection, “Stolen Moments,” eschewing those grimy Bryant Park tents for her own living room. (You would, too, if yours had a pool in it.)
[389 West 12th Street, 7 p.m., by invitation only, 741-6607.]
Fashion weakness? If you’ve got a bony bod and a strong stomach, it’s your week, bay-bee! Fashion Week hits full throttle today. Our picks for most bearable shows with clothes you might have some chance of wearing: Katayone Adeli, Marc Jacobs . If you crave a movie premiere, we’ve got one O.K., it’s a made-for-TV movie, but it’s practically Oscar time, whaddya want? Mike Nichols directs Emma Thompson in a TV version of the Off-Broadway hit play Wit, about a professor forced to re-assess her life when she is diagnosed with ovarian cancer. They always find a Brit when they need to tip off the TV audience that they’re about to see something “serious.”
[Katayone Adeli, 234 West 39th Street, 10th floor, 3 p.m., by invitation only, 354-0800; Marc Jacobs, 9 p.m., location to be announced, by invitation only, 924-0026; Wit, Clearview Cinemas, Beekman Theater, 1254 Second Avenue, 7 p.m. screening, buffet dinner to follow, Four Seasons, 99 East 52nd Street, by invitation only, 512-5509.]
Question 1: Does Vogue have Manhattan’s entire social agenda in its sharp little talons tonight? Grim, but possibly true. So the only real question is, André or Ahmet? If you’re dissatisfied with merely catching a glimpse of the very tall Vogue correspondent André Leon Talley’s head at fashion shows from your seat in the 15th row, you can try to meet him by crashing a party for Jeanne Beker’s show Fashion Television (such a thing exists, and it’s not Brazilian? Why did no one inform us?) and the publication of her book, Jeanne Unbottled: Adventures in High Style. In the crowd: nonagenarian designer Pauline Trigère, perky designer Betsey Johnson, strangely M.I.A. designer Todd Oldham. Crash strategy: beat the fashion pack to an early-90’s revival! Meanwhile, Ahmet Ertegun is honorary chair of the City of Hope’s Spirit of Life Award (what it’ll cost you: $1,000!), presented this year to Rod Stewart, who will then perform some hits, and Vogue publisher Richard (“Mad Dog”) Beckman, who will then take a bite out of someone’s cheek. Who says Fashion Week doesn’t have class?
[Jeanne Beker party, Tapioca Room, Centro-Fly, 45 West 21st Street, 9 p.m., by invitation only, 957-3005; Spirit of Life, Cipriani 42nd Street, cocktails 6:30 p.m., dinner and performances to follow, 246-6777.]
The real V-day is here, and your boyfriend is AWOL in Los Angeles writing a television show about strippers? No worries, as the Australian ski instructors say, we have a day packed full of female empowerment events, and none of them involve Eve Ensler . First, “Sources of Femininity: Money, Power and Sex” is the theme of a lunch at the Union Club with realtor Barbara Corcoran and agent Joni Evans, all to benefit the East End Hospice’s Camp Good Grief. That takes care of the glaring daylight hours, and then, if you can keep your head up, it’s one more round of Vogue-ing as the magazine joins with designer Ellen Tracy and noisy neighbor Cindy Crawford to honor women who have given to charity, for an evening entitled “Be Everyone You Are.” Fine advice, except for those among us with multiple-personally disorder
[Luncheon, Union Club, 101 East 69th Street, 11:45 a.m., 631-288-8400; “Be Everyone You Are,” Eugene, 27 West 24th Street, 8 p.m., by invitation only, 966-5000, ext. 108.]