Summer should be a time of fun in the sun, but several big time New Yorkers will be cultivating a paler pallor as they spend their beach months sitting in the courtroom. Ex-supermodel Christie Brinkley and architect Peter Cook have spent so much time duking it out in front of judges and in the pages of The New York Post that the former Hamptons It couple have been ordered not to speak to each other … ever again.
You’ve already heard about Alec Baldwin’s really crummy couple of days, which were kicked off on Tuesday when he allegedly snatched a camera (and possibly punched) New York Daily News photographer Marcus Santos. Really? You haven’t? That’s weird, because the Daily News is all over this, putting the picture of an enraged Jack Donaghy on the cover of yesterday’s paper and keeping this story fresh in the headlines.
Now, this would have just been another Words with Friends mini-drama–something to be joshed about in good nature at some later date–which in PR terms is called “getting in front” of a negative media story. Unfortunately, Mr. Baldwin decided to get on top of his problem: running over several reporters on his bike, dropping his pants on Letterman, hitting Bill Clinton while riding on the sidewalk, and airing his political conspiracy theories on Charlie Rose. Looks like someone is trying to get Bret Easton Ellis to notice them!
Remember how Alec Baldwin was supposed to elope with yoga instructor fiancee Hilaria Thomas after the Cannes Film Festival? Whatever happened with that?
Well, the date may finally be set on the New York ceremony, and according to new gossip, it sounds less like an elopement and more like a full-blown Hollywood wedding. Oh, that wily Alec.
As rock musicals go, Rock of Ages can’t go fast enough. This sloppy freak show is two minutes shy of two solid hours of screaming swill, without a shred of freshness, insight, cleverness or coherence to be detected within a two-mile radius. It’s based on a noisy Broadway jukebox joke that was never much to write home about in the first place, but it still had a soupçon of humor and banal charm, both of which are bewilderingly missing on the screen. The fact that the show is still running testifies to the confounding disregard for taste and intelligence rampant among today’s mass-market audiences. I haven’t seen a movie this bad since Battlefield Earth and Howard the Duck.
Monday evening, Woody Allen announced the cast of his yet-to-be-titled film, set in San Francisco and New York. (This is different from his upcoming summer feature with Jesse Eisenberg, To Rome With Love, which is set in Rome.)
The cast is…eclectic, to say the least. To say the most would be calling it the work of either an insane genius or just a regular insane person. Let’s take a look, shall we?
It’s finally time to break out the fans, air conditioning window units and anything else that helps cool off sweltering New Yorkers. Memorial Day weekend brought some wonderful weather, though not as nice as the view coming in from Cannes.
We might have guessed that eventually, Alec Baldwin and Harvey Weinstein–two of show business’s hottest heads–would end up clashing, and indeed, Mr. Baldwin called Mr. Weinstein a “douchebag” this week. It all went down at Cannes, the annual event at which Michael Haneke films coexist sweatily with the continued existence of Paris Hilton; Read More
The flowers may be in bloom, but temperatures are still a little blustery here in New York. Maybe they’re just mirroring the icy relations between some of New York’s biggest figures and their Fatal Attraction fans.
While Jessica Paré made us swoon as Don Draper’s young wife from up North–bringing her own style to the French classic(?) “Zou Bisou Bisou” in the premiere of the 5th season of Mad Men– not all Canadian residents are so enticing. At least not for long: Alec Baldwin‘s wine-and-dining of Quebec native Genevieve Sabourin in 2011 ended in a case of le canard déchaîné when the wannabe actress was arrested for stalking the 30 Rock star outside his apartment Sunday night. The news of his engagement to 28-year-old yoga instructor Hilaria Thomas allegedly sent the spurned Canuck into a tailspin, according to sources.
It was a quintessentially March evening. Though the sun was shining bright, the breeze added enough of a chilling twinge that guests shivered as they checked their coats at Avery Fisher Hall. The troupe was gathering for the New York Philharmonic’s spring gala, and given the ambiguous weather, their outfits bespoke the seasonal purgatory.
Some donned bright patterned frocks, deciding to ring in the season with open, if goose-bumped, arms, while assorted grand-dames entered in full fur coats. Half of the gentlemen had dusted off their Easter ties, but the rest chose more subdued neckwear hues. Overall, the group’s collective attire oscillated undecidedly somewhere on the spectrum between lion and lamb.
The Observer walked up the stairs toward cocktail hour directly behind a bronzed and conspicuously trim Alec Baldwin, and his yogi belle, Hilaria Thomas. Where had they been basking, we asked. “We went to Florida for the weekend. It was unusual, because I’m not much of a Florida person,” Mr. Baldwin said. “We had three days, or two and a half days …” he began. “Of paradise!” Ms. Thomas interjected, finishing his sentence with an adoring, eyelash-fluttering gaze.
“We would exercise in the morning and then lay by the pool all day,” Mr. Baldwin admitted. “And then exercise at night,” Ms. Thomas added. The Observer blushed. “Yeah, we had a lot of exercise.”