Molly Ringwald (Getty Images)

Molly Ringwald isn’t just the sweetie who starred in three John Hughes classics (as well as a Godard film!). She’s also a well-regarded writer who recently published a book of short stories. (Your move, Jennifer Egan—we suggest looking for a role in the next Selena Gomez teen flick.) Tonight, Ms. Ringwald joins Brooklyn icon Jonathan Ames on a rare sortie into Manhattan for an evening of tales about coming home hosted by storytelling outlet The Moth. Also in attendance will be NASA astronaut Michael J. Massimino, who, after Ms. Ringwald’s journey from pretty in pink to respected in print, has made the second-biggest voyage of any speaker tonight.

The Great Hall at Cooper Union, 7 East Seventh Street, 7:30pm, tickets and information can be found at themoth.org.

With the reopening of the Algonquin Hotel, we must consider who will be chosen for the honor of one of the 11 seats in the Algonquin Round Table. 

Started as a practical joke in 1919 by publicist John Peter Toohey to mock  Alexander Woollcott, the Round Table soon became as legendary as the Bloomsberry Set, except American and meaner. The social satirists and cultural trendesetters included Dorothy Parker, Franklin Pierce Adams,  Robert Benchley, Heywood Broun, his wife Ruth Hale, Marc Connelly, George S. Kaufman, Harold Ross, and Robert E. Sherwood.

Who today could live up to such an illustrious group of names? We took a stab at our own 11: tell us who you would have in your own literary draft in the comments.

Jonathan Ames at the Season Premiere of 'Bored To Death' in 2010

“One drink for everybody!” hollered Jonathan Ames. He was standing center stage at the Brooklyn Inn to administer last rites for his show, Bored To Death.

In the wake of the series' cancellation by HBO, Mr. Ames headed to Twitter to tell “fans of @boredtodeath: come to the brooklyn inn tomorrow night at 10pm & i'll buy you a drink!”

Deeply saddened by the news, The Observer headed there early. Not early enough apparently, as it was already at capacity. Lucky for us then that when the writer turned up at 10pm sharp, he spoke to the masses who had gathered outside. In a speech lasting around 20 minutes he “exploited” various New York based actors who had turned out for him. He thanked everybody involved in the show, then he started drinking.

“I’m actually in a good space. I just needed closure,” he told The Observer. “I’m going to lose a lot of money tonight. You know, I would have like this for the premiere, something backwards is going on here.”

Earlier in the day, Mr. Ames tweeted again: “i had some beautiful ideas for a new season of @boredtodeathwhich i can tell you about at the bk inn.” So? What were they, we wondered?

“I know I shouldn’t have tweeted that today, I can’t say what was going to happen—I could make a movie out of it or something....They were all going to get in a lot of trouble.”

While we were speaking with him, the cinematographer of How To Make It In America, Tim Ives, approached. “Jonathan I just wanted to offer my condolences," he said. "It was a beautiful show. Cheers.”

How To Make It In America had also been cancelled.

It was a bizarre event, but one befitting of the show. Its spirit, everyone agreed, would surely live on. “A lot of great shows remain great shows when they are cut short,” said one fan, who bore a striking resemblance to Jason Schwartzman (actually almost everybody there bore that resemblance).

“Thank you and I’m sorry,” Ames said penitently, as we took our leave.

hkrempels@observer.com

Jonathan Ames likely knows this as well, as evidenced by the fact that he informed Gothamist yesterday that he'd be buying fans of the show a drink tonight if they show up to an unofficial wake for the show:

"I invite all fans of Bored to Death to come to the Brooklyn Inn tomorrow night, Wednesday, and I'll buy you a drink. John Hodgman will be joining me and perhaps other local New York City actors from the show will be there, and we can all toast Bored to Death and a completely loony and improbable three-year run."

Like the show, it's weird, and sweet, and generally the kind of thing the world could probably use but will nonetheless be denied. Bored To Death, we barely knew thee: The Observer will miss you, and will pour a glass of Orangina out in your memory.

fkamer@observer.com | @weareyourfek

His HBO series Bored to Death seems to have gone a long way toward furnishing the place. The show's carpenters built Ames' bookshelves "as a favor"; HBO gave him a TV. And:

A framed black-and-white photograph of the notoriously alcoholic, womanizing poet and novelist Charles Bukowski hangs above his desk.

"That portrait was going to hang on the set of a writer's office in ‘Bored to Death' this year," Ames explains. "I thought it was too spot on, but I liked it, so I took it home."

Convenience!

The Extra Man is a hapless fiasco about Louis Ives, a nerdy Princeton meathead with a penchant for wearing women's lingerie who travels to Manhattan looking for adventure, answers a roommate-wanted ad, and moves into a rabbit warren decorated with Christmas tree ornaments occupied by Harry Harrison, a fading gigolo and a penniless, eccentric playwright whose masterpiece was stolen by a hunchback. Louis is played by Paul Dano, a catatonic young actor with all the charisma of road kill. Henry is played by the limber, libidinous Kevin Kline, whose considerable talents are criminally wasted throughout. The film knocks itself unconscious trying to be whimsical and offbeat, but is so contrived that it is as embarrassing as it is unfunny.

Taking the young man under his wing, Henry tries to show him the ropes and advance him socially, squiring him around in a battered Buick with one door and teaching him how to sneak into the opera at intermission. But his awkward, shy protégé, devoid of self-confidence and ugly as a wooden spoon, is a bipolar misfit who prefers to enroll in a course titled "Spanking and Cross-Dressing at Recession Prices." Occasionally, Mr. Kline earns a chuckle, painting his ankles black to look like he's wearing new socks or barking instructions like "Never answer the door-it might be the I.R.S." But serving cocktails of vermouth and codeine, storing his mail in the refrigerator and dancing on the beach to "Lara's Theme" from Dr. Zhivago, he's mostly just marking time until he can fire his agent.

John C. Reilly also makes an unwise appearance as Mr. Kline's best friend, a subway mechanic who looks like the Cowardly Lion and squeaks annoyingly in a high falsetto that sounds like a braying jackass. Mr. Kline is too good for this junk. He works himself into a fit trying to milk The Extra Man for laughs, but no movie that devotes so much screen time to a vapid milksop like Paul Dano can survive the charge of head-scratching incompetence. The last words in the film are "So. There we are." Pause. "Where are we?" The prosecution rests.

rreed@observer.com 

THE EXTRA MAN
Running time 108 minutes
Written by Robert Pulcini and Jonathan Ames
Directed by Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini
Starring Paul Dano, Kevin Kline, Katie Holmes, John C. Reilly

1 Eyeball out of 4

On Monday night, the New York premiere of The Extra Man began with a man standing in front of the audience and letting out a rolling, throaty yodel that sounded like a cross between a sea otter and an exotic bird. 

This happened shortly after Shari Springer Berman, the co-director of the film, welcomed actors Kevin Kline and Paul Dano to the front of the theater on Second Avenue in the East Village. Katie Holmes was there, too, but didn't come up to the stage. Then Ms. Springer Berman introduced Jonathan Ames, the author on whose 1998 novel the film is based. "Jonathan, would you like to do your ritual?" she asked. Mr. Ames took the mike.

"To clear the air before the film is shown, I'm just going to make a sound for you," he said. "I always make it at the end of my readings or performances. It's a sound my friends and I would make on the playground when being attacked by more normal children, known as the Hair Call. I won't use the mike."

Mr. Ames, dressed in a black blazer, blue tie and a gray newspaper-boy cap, put down the mike and extended his arms into an opera stance-left arm reaching into the air, the right close to the chest-and opened his mouth wide. "Eeeeeeeeeee!"

Stephanie Pratt, a star of MTV's The Hills, looked confused but smiled. Sean Lennon did not.

"Eeeeeeeeee!"

Fashion writer Derek Blasberg looked up from his BlackBerry.

"EEEEEEEEEE!"

At the after-party, Mr. Dano described Mr. Ames: "He's a unique fellow. He's incredibly funny. At times strange. Lovely guy, though."

The Extra Man is the story of a young man (Mr. Dano) who moves to New York to be a writer and rents a room from an "Extra Man" (Mr. Kline), an escort for the wealthy widows of New York society. Mr. Dano and Mr. Ames live within one block of each other in Brooklyn and were able to meet up and talk about the script as Mr. Dano prepared for the character-a sensitive, bumbling young man who experiments with cross-dressing.

"The character is not actually Jonathan; it's a fictionalized version of stuff he went through, so I just wanted to do what I felt the writing inspired me to do," said Mr. Dano. "But I was definitely able to take things away from hanging out with him"-such as the gray cap that Mr. Dano wears throughout the film.

"They're all perfect," Mr. Ames said of the actors chosen to play the characters he invented. Ms. Holmes skipped the after-party but told reporters earlier that the role was "fun" and "interesting." Mr. Ames called Ms. Holmes "very pleasant." "We met a few times. She was very sweet to me," he said. "All of my life is confusing, so all these experiences are odd to me." 

In the movie, Mr. Ames has a cameo. "In the way that Charles Bukowski could briefly be seen in Barfly, I'm seen in a tranny bar," he said. 

Mr. Ames, who has been primarily a writer and performer (in Oedipussy, his one-man show, and as a boxer), has more recently become an HBO program creator and writer (Bored to Death) and one of those lucky authors whose books have begun to garner interest in Hollywood. (Two more of his books are currently in production or being adapted.)

Does he still have time to write novels?

"Working on the TV show is like writing a novel. It's like chapters, so I do a lot of writing that way," he said. "But I'm not doing much prose writing at the moment. Someday, again, maybe."

The Transom asked if he was still dating singer Fiona Apple. 

"Uh, probably, yes," he said.   

Probably?

"No, no, don't put probably. Just say yes." 

As black-and-white–clad guests talked over one another during a cocktail reception, the Transom asked Jonathan Ames, creator of HBO’s Bored to Death and longtime “Mothman,” to explain what makes a good story. 

“Vulnerability and deeply unexpected events,” said Mr. Ames, who shared hosting duties for the night’s festivities with radio impresario and national treasure Garrison Keillor.

“It can have a happy ending or a sad ending,” he continued. “The fact that the person is up there talking about it makes it a happy ending. Whether or not they have an orgasm remains to be seen.”

Mr. Ames said he couldn’t choose the best storyteller from among the three stars of Bored to Death, Jason Schwartzman, Zach Galifinakis and Ted Danson. “Jason is the king of the metaphor,” he said. “Zach is best with the ironic one-liners. And Ted is the best with … being the greatest. He’s just a glowing spirit.” 

The room was full of glowing spirits assembled to raise money for the Moth’s various storytelling initiatives, some hidden behind masks.

Actor and choreographer Tommy Tune, who stood at least a head above the crowd, couldn’t hide and clearly didn’t want to, wearing what looked like an 18th-century military uniform as imagined by Elton John.

“I called to ask what I should wear and they said to wear a tutu. I called back a few hours later and said my tutu was in mothballs,” he said, beaming. “This costume was designed for Dr. Dolittle’s wedding at the finale of the show.”

Later, Mr. Keillor told the crowd a story about a mild stroke he had suffered on Labor Day; the actress Anna Deavere Smith accepted the 2009 Moth Award; and Mr. Ames recalled the time he had to tell George Plimpton he was Jewish.  

All the gifted raconteurs present reminded the Transom that Sarah Palin had started telling her own stories the day before with Oprah, the first stop on what threatens to be a never-ending tour. She’d probably never do The Moth. But who knows?

“We’d die to get Levi Johnston,” said the poet and novelist George Dawes Green. “He’d be fabulous.”

Yes, The Observer had seen the first three episodes—didn’t it strike him as unfair that he hadn’t?

“Oh, no, it’s not unfair. It’s the law of the chef! And I’ve seen some cuts of it, so of course I put my fingers in it to make sure the sauce is right. So … now you’re eating it and I’m looking at your face wondering, ‘Is it O.K.’?”

Bored to Death is an almost too-perfect storm of literary and precious elements: It was created, executive-produced and written by Brooklyn author Jonathan Ames (Wake up, Sir!, What’s Not to Love?, I Love You More Than You Know), and is about a young Brooklyn writer named—yes!—Jonathan Ames, who is feeling lost thanks to a recent breakup and the looming pressure to deliver his second novel. He has a needy, pot-smoking magazine editor boss (a white-haired Ted Danson); a wacky graphic-artist best friend (a hot–off–The Hangover Zach Galifianakis); and, after an impulsive posting on Craigslist, a blooming side career as a private detective. Mr. Schwartzman plays Jonathan Ames as a white-wine–swilling, dreamy and deadpan neurotic, walking immaculate brownstone Brooklyn streets and having coffee with his buddy (where, appropriately enough, the sidewalk is crowded with Bugaboo strollers, though the F train he is often seen on is suspiciously spacious and shiny, and apparently timely). The writing is witty and deliberately offbeat, the situations quirky. Guest stars include Jim Jarmusch, Kirsten Wiig, Parker Posey, Oliver Platt, Denis O’Hare and Patton Oswalt. Jaded New Yorkers might find themselves fighting a reflexive eye roll—after all, isn’t it all just too-too? Too literary, too consciously cute, too meta, too hip, etc.?

>>READ 'JASON SCHWARTZMAN GOES TO THE EYE DOCTOR'

The answer (as it is with most things) is yes and no and well-wait-a-minute-not-so-fast. By its third episode, Bored to Death settles into itself—which is pretty quick if you think about the history of good television—and becomes the thing it’s straining so hard to be: charming. Mr. Schwartzman can take a lion’s share of credit— and isn’t this an actor who could be charged with carrying the same heavy load of too-too-ness himself? After all, this is the 29-year-old who started his career playing Max Fisher in Wes Anderson’s breakthrough, Rushmore. He would go on to collaborate with the ultimate-in-twee director again on The Darjeeling Limited—which he co-wrote—and to lend his voice on Mr. Anderson’s upcoming animated The Fantastic Mr. Fox, too. He’s also popped up repeatedly in the Judd Apatow universe (appearances in Freaks and Geeks, Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, Funny People); survived David O. Russell’s I Heart Huckabees; and played Louis XVI in Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette. He used to be in a band (he released a single with Evan Dando and Ben Lee in 2002) and composed music for Funny People, Cloverfield and The O.C., and even helped perform Bored to Death’s opening theme, which he co-wrote with Mr. Ames (the writer, not the character). And did we mention that he’s a Coppola, too (Mom is Talia Shire, sister to Francis Ford)?

In fact, if one tries to imagine everything that’s cool and hip and oh-so-darling, Jason Schwartzman is standing somewhere very near the center of the Venn diagram. But here’s the thing: He’s just so damn likable! It is simply unimaginable to think of Mr. Schwartzman being a douche to a waiter, or blowing off a fan (bloggy chatter from Fort Greene, where Bored to Death was filmed, seems to comment mainly on the actor’s friendliness, and his interest in passing dogs). He is exuberantly open (though never once mentioning to The Observer that news would break later that afternoon that he had quietly married his long-term girlfriend, designer Brady Cunningham, on July 11), and metaphor-ific on topics such as how difficult it is for all the pieces of a puzzle to come together to make a movie (“it’s like how a Boeing 747 takes off—it’s kind of a miracle”); real friendship (“it’s like a cat. They don’t really come to you. They come over and play with you and rub against your leg a little bit and you’re like, ‘You like me!’ and they leave”); or picking projects (“it’s like a Rubik’s Cube … it just has to click and so it’s difficult. It’s like dating. That’s why there’s eHarmony—it’s not easy!”).

Mr. Schwartzman demurred when The Observer suggested his place in the epicenter of cool. “I don’t know about that. The truth is, I have more options than some people but less options than most.” He was a huge fan of Mr. Ames’s work before even meeting the writer, he said. He’d heard about a film adaptation of the novel Wake Up, Sir! and was passionate about getting involved. The two met at Izzy’s in Santa Monica and spent more than four hours in a meeting in which both men later described having felt an instant sense of connection. Mr. Schwartzman said he had lately been feeling adrift. “Just, like, ‘What is out there? What’s next for me?’ A friend asked what would be my dream, and I said it was to be a private detective because Stolen Kisses by Francois Truffaut and The Long Goodbye are two of my favorites.” When Mr. Ames mentioned the short story “Bored to Death” and that he was planning on adapting it for HBO, “I had this feeling like a jealous lover,” Mr. Schwartzman said. “It was just too good to be true.”

“After the first meeting with Jason, I wanted him for both my movie and my TV show,” emailed Jonathan Ames. “He’s just one of those people that are sort of filled with honey. I have a cousin like that. You just feel good in their presence. Also, Jason is a humble person. He had some rough times growing up, and I think this has made him something of an old-soul. He’s a mixture of childlike sweetness and old-soul wise.”

Mr. Schwartzman sighed happily thinking about Bored to Death. “How cool is HBO to recognize Jonathan Ames? Like, we’re going to let this guy make a show … we’re going to let this bohemian, beautiful, poetic, incredibly talented writer with a real voice make a show! That’s what they’re about. I think it’s pretty cool.” Continuing his earlier metaphor of finding the right project being like dating, he added: “That’s why when I read Bored to Death it was like falling in love with someone and wondering if you are going to get your heart broken. Right now we’re in the stage where we’ve been dating and we’ve asked America to marry us. We’re waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Nielsen to say I do.”

svilkomerson@observer.com

The gathering was in honor of "Flash Fiction," a public art project of sorts in which 10 short stories—commissioned from authors such as Jonathan Ames, Colum McCann, Sloane Crosley, Jonathan Lethem, and Jay McInerney—were screened on the side of the building. Downstairs, there was a pseudo red carpet in the lobby with photographers snapping photos of arriving guests. Upstairs, Beatrice Inn DJ Matt Creed (former beau of Kirsten Dunst) was spinning Joy Division for the guests.

"I'm your dog. No one else can hear you sing," read a passage by Mr. McInerney. Bow-wow! It was displayed alongside a Diesel ad in which a blind-folded model with disheveled hair and denim overalls stood behind an antique camera.

Out on the balcony, James Sanders—"an architect and a writer and a filmmaker, I guess you could say" (he wrote the 17-and-a-half hour PBS documentary New York)—said Ms. Geahan is the "doyenne of the modern literary world."

Her talent, he said, lies in "making literary pursuits and cultural pursuits glamorous and exciting and social and all of that. It's a fine New York tradition which has gone a little bit through the cracks and Brooke's doing her best to recement it. As late as the eighties I think there was a scene, with Jay McInerney and that crowd. There was sort of an energy and an excitement and a feeling that you know, you had to read Bright Lights, Big City to know the city."

Is there a book like that now?

"Netherland," he offered after a moment, referring to the novel by Joseph O'Neill about a lonely Dutch financier struggling to "feel" in post-9/11 New York.

"The economic downturn is actually going to be good for us," explained David Shamoon, who organizes these parties for the ALS. Mr. Shamoon was under the impression that as the economy tanks, the city's fanciest penthouses and rooftops will suddenly become more affordable for hosting events for the society.

The Daily Transom wondered how the organization was able to score this space, which comprised of two rooms and a spacious outdoor rooftop area with tremendous views. ("It feels like a big boat," observed Interview magazine editor Chris Bollen.)

But it turned out the building management had welcomed the party. "It adds creative prestige, or something," Mr. Shamoon said.

But does it really?

"No, but don't tell them."

Over in the corner, Daily Transom found Mr. Ames with his girlfriend Fiona Apple, chatting with photographer Patrick McMullan.

"This is really fun," said Ms. Apple. "Everybody is really cheerful and I'm liking everybody that I'm meeting." But then Ms. Apple noticed that her boyfriend had a smirk on his face as he was listening to her talk.

"What? Why don't you talk then?" she exclaimed, cracking a smile herself.

"No, no. I like your quote!" said Mr. Ames somewhat mockingly, but then obliged and took over for his shy girlfriend.

"I like how the photographer Patrick McMullan just told us that this is like the apartment of a 21^st century Gatsby," he said. "It's kind of interesting because Gatsby was right before Wall Street collapsed and this is like right before the total collapse.

"Brooke is actually a former student of mine and I'm very proud of her," Mr. Ames continued. "She got inspired to start the Accompanied Literary Society because she attended a very non-glamorous reading of mine at Barnes & Noble and that's what got her started. I thought it was glamorous enough, but I guess she didn't."

"She's got to start doing this for teachers next!" chimed in Ms. Apple.

"And community organizers! We need a party like this for community organizers!" added Mr. Ames, with apparent sarcasm.

Leaving those two to their corner, Daily Transom found Ms. Geahan on the dance floor in the adjoining room, twisting and tuning in a colorful, glittery mini-dress in front of Mr. Creed, with whom she was putting in a song request.

"It chose us," shouted Ms. Geahan over the music about the building. "They were building this penthouse and [publicist] Nadine Johnson said to me, ‘You want a do literary event, it's all yours. To showcase literature in a public sphere, 10 stories tall, shows that we actually still believe in the written word," she continued. "I think that is the foundation of human knowledge and it needs to be celebrated."

Suddenly Ms. Geahan was distracted by a song that made her want to dance again.

"Dance with me!" she said to the Daily Transom. "C'mon, you're gorgeous, you should be dancing!"

Graciously declining Ms. Geahan's offer, we wondered if she might be bringing back the writing spaces that the society used to offer to its members when it first began. (One writer quipped earlier to us that while these parties are fun, he wished they would bring back the actual working spaces.)

"We're bringing it back in two months," replied Ms. Geahan.

As the evening drew to a close, Ms. Crosley and former Harper's editor and current Lapham's Quarterly editor Lewis Lapham were still mingling about on the balcony as a gaggle of young literary types—magazine editors, editorial assistants, an MFA student who is kind of dating Gary Shteyngart, etc.—headed for The Scratcher bar on Fifth Street, where maybe they felt more at home.

Some of the guests, on their way out, received a gift bag; inside, a copy of Dancer by Colum McCann and a 16-page brochure for One York.