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Actors on Film
Last Wednesday night, the Transom found ourselves schmoozing with an intimate crowd at the Paley Center after the Peggy Siegal screening of the Morton Downey Jr. documentary, Evocateur. It was an eclectic mix of media personalities: Dan Abrams, Regis Philbin, Dick Cavett, Gloria Allred, Donny Deutsch and Richard Bey (whom we had at first confused for Jay McInerney until he started talking about the time he’d had Gennifer Flowers on his radio show). As we cast around for other familiar faces, we happened on two men wearing identical suits, glasses and slicked-back hair.
And thank God we did, because you know it’s not a Paley Party until AndrewAndrew—the “iPad deejays/brand consultants,” as they were referred to on Girls (although that leaves out the duo’s other vocations as theater and restaurant critics, hosts of an East Village radio show, fashion designers and interior decorators)—show up.
On Monday evening, Gerard Butler stood outside The Darby, waving around a cigarette animatedly, flanked by a model on either side. His gesticulations punctuated his excited rant on why these ladies–who were already at the Cinema Society after-party for his latest film, Olympus Has Fallen–should actually try to see it.
“This party is the tits!” someone yelled last week inside Richie Notar’s new Midtown glamor spot, Harlow. Shindigger had to agree, although more appropriate expressions did come to mind, considering it followed a screening of the family-friendly film Oz the Great and Powerful presented by the Cinema Society and Gucci.
Last night the Cinema Society and Men’s Health presented Brad Pitt‘s latest feature (besides those Chanel ads), a dark shoot-em-up called Killing Them Softly. The after party, held at No. 8, was jammed back full of celebs, though Mr. Pitt, Harvey Weinstein, Jack McBrayer, and Amy Adams remained secluded from the whole ordeal by two large security guards who literally linked arms to stop the crush of people from trying to wiggle their way into the VIP area.
As Seen in SCENE
Last night at the Cinema Society’s after party for the premiere of the dark satire Butter, The Observer found Animal Practice‘s Justin Kirk lounging around on one of the black leather couches at Double 7, just one day after his show’s second episode.
Animal Practice has been getting a lot of love, so much so that New York magazine dedicated four whole pages in this week’s issue to its star. Not to Mr. Kirk–who had just finished up the last season of Weeds, on which he stole the show as Nancy Botwin’s free-spirited brother-in-law Andy–but to Crystal, a capuchin monkey who earns $12,000 per episode on the NBC hit.
We just had to ask … did Mr. Kirk feel a tiny bit jealous of all the monkey business?
If you haven’t met Priyantha De Silva, there’s still a good chance you’ve encountered him, perhaps when he was pretending to be someone else: cherubic cocktail chaser, uncredited Academy Award-winning producer, conspicuous Condé Nast editor, philandering philanthropist, ICM agent or the creator of the Kardashians. Some say that if you put your ear to a martini, you can almost hear his overdone debonair voice: “What do you mean I’m not on the list? Don’t you know who I am?” Priyantha De Silva was that really, really sweaty guy of Sri Lankan descent who successfully crowbarred his way into progressively higher social circles, ultimately crashing down into of Manhattan’s most closely guarded venues: Rikers Island.
Has Zac Effron ever wondered if there was more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good looking? His resume doesn’t lend much insight: Men’s Health cover boy, professional chick-boner inducer, potential cyborg sent here to destroy us—the guy has it all. We found ourselves within point blank range of the Zef at last night’s Cinema Society screening for The Lucky One, a fact we relayed to a female friend later in the evening:
Hayden Christensen, Eve and Russell Simmons were in the house for a Cinema Society party.
Although Cinema Society’s Vanishing on 7th Street’s screening afterparty at Beauty & Essex was not the official start to Fashion Week, it had the blessing of the God of Going Out himself, Russell Simmons. No Fashion Week could possibly begin Read More