Rachel Weisz, promoting a movie from which she was not cut. (Getty Images)

The suddenly fast-moving Terrence Malick, whose long unproductive period ended with last year's The Tree of Life, has already completed his next film, called To the Wonder. But the creative process doesn't always run smoothly: Rachel Weisz, Barry Pepper, Michael Sheen, and Amanda Peet, per Deadline's report, have all been cut from the film, which still features Ben Affleck and Rachel McAdams, among others. Moviefone has a quote from Rachel Weisz (translated from the Italian publication La Stampa): "I had the experience of working with [Mr. Malick] but I will not have the pleasure of seeing my work." It's not so bad, Ms. Weisz--you have that new Bourne franchise part, at least! Movieline also notes that actors including Gary Oldman and Billy Bob Thornton were cut from the 1998 film The Thin Red Line, and those guys ended up fine.

We Were Warned. So sayeth the tag line for the latest from Roland Emmerich, master of destruction. And you know what? We were! Back with the first trailer in 2008, it was clear that 2012 was gunning for the title of most-massive-most-deaths-most-destruction-in-a-movie ever: earthquakes, fiery pits, tidal waves that threaten the entire Eastern Seaboard and, generally speaking, the mother lode of apocalypse porn. And? The film so does not disappoint. Even if you take some parts from earlier end-of-days pics like (the awesome) Knowing or Mr. Emmerich’s previous offerings The Day After Tomorrow and Independence Day, you still won’t be prepared for the sight of California sliding into the Pacific, or a tidal wave--battleships included--washing over the White House. Every single audience member knows what’s coming (and not because of any ancient Mayan prophecy), and so it all becomes a question of the when and the how and the how big can we go.

The movie takes it sweet ole time setting up a backstory before the world goes boom. There’s John Cusack, oddly ageless, as a divorced dad who writes not-so-popular books like Farewell, Atlantis (more on this later), and tries to impress his kids, who live with his ex-wife Amanda Peet and her new husband (Tom McCarthy). Then there’s the great Chiwetel Ejiofor (master geologist) and Thandie Newton (presidential daughter and museum expert!); a semi-dastardly Oliver Platt (always so good); and Danny Glover, who plays our president and always seems to be on the verge (either while about to be engulfed by an ash cloud or washed away by a tsunami) of saying “I’m too old for this shit.” Woody Harrelson looks to be having the time of his life playing a crazy (yet oddly accurate) coot who eats pickles, and George Segal is a jazz man on a cruise ship who may or may not connect with his estranged son in Tokyo.

And you know what? It doesn’t matter! We all know this movie is just killing time before killing everybody. Luckily, the actors appear to be in on the joke (how else to explain Mr. Ejiofor’s dead-serious delivery about the merits of Farewell, Atlantis, which apparently will become one of the few tomes to make it into a brave new world). There’s a halfhearted attempt to send a message about humanity and always-respect-your-Mayans and etc., but mostly the audience howled with laughter at every solemn exchange. But happily! 2012 is reminiscent of yesteryear ’80s shlock-tastic blockbusters—total popcorn entertainment with ridiculous dialogue and impossible situations and special effects that will boggle the brain for a good two-plus hours. What does it mean that such blissful escapism comes at the hands of the apocalypse? (Can’t pay your rent? It won’t help when the sidewalk ends, pal!) When the credits finally rolled, the crowd sat for a minute dazed. “Holy crap,” the man said behind me. Indeed.

Governor Paterson may have broken the law by soliciting free tickets to the opening game of the World Series--an ethics panel is currently investigating the incident. According to The Times, members of the state executive branch are forbidden from "soliciting or accepting gifts of more than nominal value from any lobbyist if the gift appears intended to sway the official." Paterson says that he attended in "his official capacity." But:

While state ethics rules do allow some gifts accepted in connection with official duties, they appear to exclude most tickets to sporting events. An advisory opinion by the commission last year stated that attendance at events which are "substantially recreational in nature" cannot generally be considered official duties.

Rats.

The Post reports that the "daring skylight burglar" who stole Amanda Peet's jewels last Tuesday is in now in jail. He was arrested Thursday in connection with an earlier skylight burglary, then tied to the Peet case. The Post also reports that Peet "is best known for her roles in the films 'Saving Silverman' and 'The Whole Nine Yards.'" Henry Santos may have stolen her jewels, but you have stolen her dignity, Post.

The runway, a mirrored walkway snaking through five rooms, took out at least one audience member. After a dramatic fall, she had to be helped to her front-row seat, where she received a bag of frozen peas to hold against her knee. The clipboard girls manning the doorways could be overheard muttering about liability.

Fortunately the celebrities were unharmed, despite a small stumble on the part of actress Amanda Peet. She maintained her balance and made it to her chair, where an editor from Harper’s Bazaar volunteered her seat so that the previously unacquainted Ms. Peet and fellow thespian Kerry Washington (“Hi, Amanda. I’m Kerry”) could sit together.

Worth considering: Leon Wieseltier’s New Republic piece on the decadence of The New York Times Magazine, which refers to the Manhattan media’s inability to acknowledge Anna Wintour as “the most boring person on earth.”The crowd at Friday afternoon’s Cushnie et Ochs show was decidedly less boring—younger, hair messier (and sometimes half shaved, Alice Dellal-style). Of course, that’s probably unsurprising, given Mr. Wu’s first-lady styles and Cushnie et Ochs’ predilection for sheer paneling. Here, reporters treated eighth-grade fashion blogger Tavi Gevinson like Kerry Washington, and former Village Voice staffer Lynn Yaeger’s was the dominant bob.

Screenwriter David Benioff and wife, Amanda Peet, like to get it on in bathtubs. [P6]

Michael Lohan said he didn't look at daughter, Lindsay Lohan's nude Marilyn photos, doesn't care whether she's having girl love with Samantha Ronson. [NY Daily News]

Jennifer Hudson wants to be honest: She didn't like Andre Leon Talley's styling of her at the Oscars. [The Cut]

Sex and The City finally premiered here last night, followed by an after-party at Museum of Modern Art... And after-after party at Bemelman's bar at which Michael Patrick King said, "was even better than the official party because it felt clubby. Only the people we were actually close with were here.” [ US Weekly]

The Hills' Whitney Port stopped at a 7-Eleven in East Hampton for some soy nuts following her Social Life magazine party. [NY Daily News]

Dylan McDermott is representing himself in a divorce against wife, Shiva Rose. [P6]

When resourceful socialite Lydia Hearst can't get a little champagne, she simply mixes white wine with club soda. [P6]

Billy Crystal, Kirk and Michael Douglas, Donald Trump, Tom Cruise, and others celebrated Israel's 60th birthday in Times Square yesterday. [NY Daily News]

In an alternate universe that some call the real world, Gossip Girl's Serena (Blake Lively) and Dan (Penn Badgely) are officially dating! [People]

Barbara Walters responds to Star Jones: "Poor woman...I wish her well." Ouch! [US Weekly]

Meanwhile everyone from Christie Brinkley to Marc Dice, spokesperson for conservative media watchdog group The Resistance, are hating on Barbara. [P6]

The co-stars of the literally-named film Martian Child, Amanda Peet and John Cusack, were supposed to have arrived at 5:45 for their snaps, but even at 7:00 they were still on the wet road. Spirits remained high, though, and by the time Ms. Peet showed up, a good old fashioned buzz filled the room.

Ms. Peet, shockingly lovely and delicate in person, gamely made her way down the line, wearing a leopard-print patterned dress and open-toed shoes -- that didn't look wet at all! But after she passed the flashbulbs she flopped, exhausted looking, on a nearby bench and pulled out her cell phone, not looking particularly pleased as the gaggle of publicists around her kept her up to date on Mr. Cusack's progress. Apparently Mr. Cusack's car was trapped in the same miserable traffic as everyone else's (Stars! They're Just Like Us!).

"Ten minutes," a harried-looking girl assured Ms. Peet. "He just has to stop by the hotel and change his clothes." Before Mr. Cusack could show, though, another distinguished gent arrived. Phil Donahue! "Oh my god, is that really Phil Donahue?" asked one of Ms. Peet's companions, neck craning. In case anyone wondered, Mr. Donahue looks fantastic, and his voice, still recognizable after all these years, simply booms. Mr. Donahue was at the festival to promote Body of War, an Iraq documentary that he co-wrote and co-directed, with the help of money (and music!) from Eddie Vedder, and Sean Penn as well.

Ms. Peet looked unimpressed with the scrum around Mr. Donahue, but when the shockingly-tall Mr. Cusack did arrive, she kindled and took back her place on the red carpet to flash her megawatt grin.

In past years, the Hamptons Film Festival's Friday night is filled with mellow celebrity-filled parties. Due to weather and traffic stress, however, by 10:30 East Hampton looked like any other beach town in October, slick empty roads and deserted restaurants and bars. The scene apparently was at Nick & Toni's, where New Line was celebrating Martian Child. But a mellower crowd congregated at the Hampton Bowl, where old-school publicity man Jeremy Walker threw a midnight bowling party. There was a strobe light, Def Leppard on the stereo and many pitchers of beer. But not-so-much star power (save for Jamie Johnson, director of Born Rich, who stuck to bowling over socializing). Phil Donahue didn't show -- apparently he was pissed off at the weather causing the evening's screenings to be anemic.

When the day broke it was sunny and the fall colors were peaking, and by 11:15 people were already buzzing around the theater. Chris Eigeman's Turn the River was screening, and star Famke Janssen, in low-slung tan slacks and a peasant blouse, was hanging around with her little dog, looking effortlessly hot. Alec Baldwin was taking in a showing of I Am Animal, a documentary about PETA (is he a veg, too?) and tickets traffic in and out of the theater seemed to be picking up.

Brooke Shields, for one, wouldn’t mind seeing a woman in the Oval Office after the 2008 presidential election. “I’m always convinced, at the risk of being—and I love men—but I think women are incredibly capable, and it seems that their talents and their intellect seems to be a little more varied, I should say,” said Ms. Shields, 42, in a purple Donna Karan dress. The Ivy-League actress, who will star in Candace Bushnell’s new TV show, Lipstick Jungle, was the special guest host last night at Saks Fifth Avenue’s “Viva La Cure” benefit for women’s cancer research. The party was held in the subterranean Sea Grill at Rockefeller Plaza, where guests then spilled out onto a carpet in middle of the ice rink and ate and drank on the pink island while hired ice skaters twirled and sported around them.

“So I think I would welcome that versatility. I think there is a multi-tasking ability that women have and an appreciation for things without a risk of being maudlin,” Ms. Shields added.

Asked what unique traits, if any, a woman might bring to the presidency if one is elected, actress Gretchen Mol opened her eyes wide. “Female power? It depends on the woman, actually, it really does. It’s not just about having a woman, it’s about having someone that can lead this country and bring us into a different place than we are now,” she continued, “It really does depend on the woman, but hopefully—it really is a cliché to say—but I think of women as not being particularly hawkish, so to speak. But then again, that’s not always true,” said Ms. Mol, 35, who was wearing a black-and-brown Jason Wu dress with a bright red band around the waist.

Amanda Peet, meanwhile, thinks that “there are a lot of sort of misconceptions about Hillary being cold and condescending, so I don’t know that she’s going to have this aura of compassion and maternal empathy more than, say, Barack Obama or even McCain, should he resurface or whatever,” said Ms. Peet, 35, in a peasant blouse and loose black pedal-pushers. “I’m working on being a mother,” she added.

Howard Stern’s ex-model fiancée, Beth Ostrosky likes the idea of a female president, because she, unlike a man, would understand “women’s issues, first-hand.” Wearing a black dress, black Jimmy Choos and clutching a black quilted-leather Chanel purse, Ms. Ostrosky, 35, went on to say: “I would love for Hillary to be the next president. I am definitely a Hillary supporter!”

Largely outnumbered by female guests at last night’s event, Saks C.E.O. Steve Sadove and Rescue Me star Mike Lombardi, were happy to offer their thoughts on the issue.

“A woman could bring a lot to the white house from perspective, in terms of different perspectives, but I think it’s not about women or men, it’s about quality of thinking and ideas and who’s going to be able to bring about the kind of change that’s needed in terms of moving the country forward,” Mr. Sadove said diplomatically in a black suit.

After massaging most of his girlfriend Maria Helena’s body on the elevator ride to street-level, Mr. Lombardi, 31, who was wearing a black leather jacket, turned to the Daily Transom and said: “Being the women who bear children, obviously they come from a different perspective than we do. So I think a lot of different views and opinions, for sure, yeah.”

The offfical hosts were actresses Emily Mortimer, Amanda Peet, Ginnifer Goodwin (gorgeous in person if not in Big Love), Joy Bryant, Catalina Sandino Moreno (of Maria Full of Grace), and Glamour editor-in-chief Cindi Leive, resplendent in a Sari Gueron dress and Prada shoes.
All the furniture in the apartment had been removed, and large pictures of Ugandan villagers adorned the walls. Five design teams, including Jojovich-Hawk (as in former model Milla Jojovich and Carmen Hawk) had created special T-shirts whose purchase would benefit Malaria No More, an organization that provides mosquito-stopping bed nets to African households. They are retailing at Shopbop.com for $68, making them the cheapest piece of clothing we’ve glimpsed so far this Fashion Week.

We spoke to one Martin Edlund, a representative for Malaria No More: a do-gooder in a room full of look-gooders—who insisted on being interviewed underneath one of his organization’s “bed nets,” which hung from the ceiling. “[Glamour] liked the fact that bed nets have a connection to textiles,” he said, which sounded a bit peculiar to us, but we went with it. “Also, Malaria is a women’s issue. 3,000 mothers bury their children every day from Malaria.”
Mr. Edlund seemed to be enjoying himself. “I’m not as noble as you think,” he said.

An example: Sarah Simms, a psychotherapist (so she should know better), was looking prim in a white pantsuit, walking through a collection of letters, photographs and personal items from New York's first great first ladies, Eleanor Roosevelt and Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. The Transom inquired what pieces she found most interesting, and she said, "I liked some of the quotes, the excerpts, of when Hill-oh, when Hillary! When Eleanor, I mean, wrote to Jackie and when Jackie wrote back to Eleanor."

Her friend Virginia Mailman, outfitted in another Clintonesque power suit, added: "They were both wonderful. One was an activist, and one was what we expected the first lady to be. She was so feminine and so interested in all the feminine things. Eleanor Roosevelt obviously set the stage for Jackie-er, for Hillary Clinton."

What's going on here? The ever-suspicious Transom guessed: Perhaps there's been a plot to hypnotize every pearl-wearing woman on the Upper West Side, oversaturating them with Clinton 2008 gossip until it starts pouring out of their ears? Did someone slip lithium into the mimosas? Either way, the gathering had a distinct, hazy feeling of a Junior League pre-presidential Democratic fundraiser. Sensing we were onto something, we set out looking for Bob Shrum.

Instead we found Amy Weinstein, the associate curator of 20th and 21st century collections for the Historical Society. She explained that no, nothing insidious was afoot. The Eleanor/Jackie display was merely their companion exhibit to a touring show of first lady gear from the Smithsonian. Any women entranced by such items as Mrs. Roosevelt's 1957 gun permit or Mrs. Kennedy's Chapin report cards ("She would be well-liked by the other children if she were more kind and considerate of their rights," wrote her teacher Reba Wright in 1938), was so captivated of her own accord. Some of the ladies who lunch, who were lunching then in the library upstairs, agreed as they sat quietly awaiting a speech by Mrs. Clinton, to come later in the hour.

In the meantime, we wondered if the Historical Society would consider adding a Clinton to its display of great New York Presidential spouses. Without missing a beat, Ms. Weinstein smiled and said, of course, there's always room for memorabilia from "a First Husband-oh, um, from the First Lady, I mean."

-Rebecca Dana

Meet the Racist

"O.K., this is how it goes," said Ben Stiller at the top of yet another Off Broadway offering from playwright Neil LaBute, This Is How It Goes, which debuts at the Public Theater on March 26. Imagine Greg Focker after a game of Quarters with double espresso shots: "I mean, went. This is the way it all played out, or is going to. Or is, right now. Doesn't matter, you'll figure it out. I think. No, you will."

This is how the play goes: Ben Stiller, Amanda Peet (who stepped into the role when Marisa Tomei dropped out) and Jeffrey Wright form an interracial love triangle. Ms. Peet is married to Mr. Wright. Gasp! Mr. Stiller, whose crush on Ms. Peet dates back to high school, is a racist. Oooh. Mr. Stiller isn't really a racist. Aaah. Mr. Stiller is … oh, just go see the damn play if you want to figure it out.

The Late Nite Committee of the Public Theater hosted a special performance of the play on March 17, along with Steven Rubenstein, bespectacled heir to the Rubenstein Associates public-relations throne, Vanity Fair maiden Vicky Ward and LaBute alumna Rachel Weisz.

After the actors took their post-show bows, Stacey Bendet, owner of Alice and Olivia-whose name might be familiar to anyone who's ever glanced at an invitation from a benefit host committee in this city-bolted from her seat. Maybe she knew what was coming up next: an overly serious discussion moderated by Brent Staples, New York Times editorial board member, with the cast and the play's director, George C. Wolfe.

"Neil wants to implicate you in his machinations," Mr. Staples said in his lengthy opening. "He wants to pull you in and implicate you in his sense of the human self. As we've seen, his sense of the human is that, especially men, we are somehow-at the very core-a rotten kind of carnivores who play with our food. Carnivores usually kill to eat, but we play with our food and amuse ourselves at other people's distress." Uh, O.K.

Asked by Mr. Staples if he enjoyed the role of a carnivore who plays with his food, Mr. Stiller looked as if he would rather be getting tortured by his cinematic father-in-law, Robert De Niro-or getting his scrotum trapped in his zipper. "Did everybody have fun tonight?" Mr. Stiller said, delighting the crowd before turning serious. "I think he always poses a lot of interesting questions in his plays. I always find them very interesting, because there are aspects of us that are not usually paraded out in public. I find that to be what usually connects with me. He says things and has characters say things in plays that you don't usually hear said out loud." In this case, a few utterances of the "nigger" and one mention of "thick black cock."

Mr. Wright addressed the notion that Mr. LaBute fancies the audience as a fourth character-a word of caution to future theatergoers. "There were a couple nights [in previews] that I thought that it kind of ran away from us-us as playwrights, us as actors," Mr. Wright said. "The audience, I thought, got off a little easy in some ways. They were titillated by some things that I found … worrisome. I just wouldn't let them get away with it next time."

Ms. Peet answered the same question, but her piercing blue eyes were too distracting to hear the reply.

A short time later, a kindly-looking gray-haired woman piped up. "I think it's interesting that it's clear-and I hope I'm right-is that the writer is white," she said. "Isn't that correct? The reason I say that is because the white protagonist is the only the person really interesting in this play-complex and interesting. The black man is one-dimensional, very difficult to really believe, stereotypical, and I don't think the writer knows really much about black people."

"Neil LaBute's mother," Mr. Wolfe joked, nodding his head in the direction of the woman. The crowd was amused; she wasn't.

-Andrew Stengel

Euro Envy

East Village Wines, on First Avenue between St. Marks Place and Ninth Street, is the type of place where the co-owner inquires about his customer's "sweethearts" and runs product-giveaway contests for the most original palindrome. The store has been a fixture since the early 1960's, long before the neighborhood became a haven for iPod-laden hipsters and overpriced walk-up studios. But as the East Village has become more gentrified, so too have East Village Wines' fiscal policies. To keep pace with a globe-trotting clientele, the store accepts and exchanges euros, the currency that unites the 12 nations of the European Union and is currently slapping the dollar silly.

The store's euro guidelines were initiated by co-owner and currency buff Bob Chu three years ago, when the euro debuted in paper form (it has existed as an electronic-trading device since 1999). "We're not a bank," said Chu, a stocky Chinese-American with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick Bronx accent. "It's just a friendly bartering system. But you gotta take care of your customers."

The store doesn't advertise this practice, though most of the regulars know of the arrangement. For those who aren't aware, a small chalkboard near the cash register states the offering as well as the novel rate of exchange with matter-of-fact clarity: one U.S. dollar for every one euro.

Customers traveling to Europe can thus convert enough pocket money to get them to their initial destinations at a tidy profit, compared to rates given at a bank or airport kiosk (the current exchange rate is $1.32 for every one euro). Those returning from abroad can put the euros they inevitably bring back toward a robust burgundy instead of tossing them into a drawer, though with the one-to-one rate doing so does cost a premium. Many, however, seem undeterred by this: The store's yearly euro take exceeds 30,000.

"By the time you add the bank's commission and the hassle of waiting in line, converting euros back to dollars is not worth it," said a corporate lawyer for a large financial-services institution who visits Europe five times a year and is a frequent euro spender at the store (and who wished to remain anonymous). "And besides, if I don't use them here, I'll stash them away and forget where they are."

On a recent visit to East Village Wines, she had euros left over from a holiday to Greece. She decided to use the overage to fund the acquisition of two bottles of organic wine-a 2002 Bordeaux and a 1999 Cabernet Sauvignon from Washington State.

The blond thirtysomething, dressed in blue jeans, a black nylon coat trimmed with fur and a gray Cossack hat, carried her selections to the front of the store. After a few minutes of small talk with the friendly clerks, she placed a wrinkled E50 note on the Formica countertop.

"The total comes to $30.39, with tax," said co-owner Tom Chu, Bob's older brother, as he nonchalantly took the currency, bagged the bottles and handed over her change in U.S. dollars.

While most of East Village Wines' euro transactions go as smoothly, the Chus do see their share of hagglers. In fact, they recently set an unofficial $100 limit on purchases in an effort to deter customers inclined to protracted rate negotiations.

"They're not buying a house here," Bob Chu said. "It's only wine."

Accepting a wider range of currencies also increases the store's exposure to potential fraud. So far, however, only one person has attempted to pass a counterfeit euro note. The eagle-eyed Bob Chu spotted the forged E50, questioning its authenticity but deciding not to report the man to the authorities.

Not that the brothers Chu have any reason to worry. According to the U.S. Department of Treasury, East Village Wines' currency activities are perfectly legal. Foreign exchange-"FX," in the vernacular of Wall Street-is one of the least-regulated market activities, and there are no laws prohibiting a merchant from exchanging euros (or, for that matter, British pounds, Japanese yen or Mongolian tugriks). In terms of sales, "a retailer can accept paper clips for a good or service he provides, if he so chooses," said a Treasury spokesman.

Given the dollar's current status, paper clips might be an attractive alternative for Americans shopping overseas. For East Village Wines, the weak dollar has increased the frequency of euro transactions and the overall gross value of their euro-based take. "We've seen a bump in euro activity for sure," said Bob Chu. "But whatever we're making, we're giving back on the other end." Most of the store's suppliers are Europeans who demand to be paid in dollars, so import costs have increased by more than 25 percent since the dollar began its downward slide in the last quarter of 2004. In the currency game, sometimes a player cannot win for losing, no matter how a nice a guy he is.

-Peter Hyman