The Eight-Day Week
If you need a break from either Fashion Week parties or constant reminders via Twitter that you weren’t invited to any, well, we’re finally out of the dire summer-movie season! May we suggest any of the new films released today: The Words, a thriller starring Bradley Cooper as a famous plagiarist? Too annoyingly timely? How Read More
Bachelorette’s mere existence is a success story, regardless of the film’s quality. Leslye Headland adapted her Off Broadway play—about a trio of women and their ambivalence about and debauchery during the wedding of a loathed frenemy—for the screen and got a few high-wattage stars on board; the movie, first released online rather than gradually in limited release, has already hit number one on the iTunes rental platform.
Midlife crises tend to evoke the same images: red sports cars, hair plugs, letters of resignation. But not if you’re a rock star. Not if you’re Michael Stipe.
After six years of presumably felicitous dwelling in his two-story penthouse loft home and studio on Canal Street in SoHo, Mr. Stipe, the former lead singer and lyricist of now-disbanded R.E.M., is calling it quits and, like most retirees, moving south. And by south we mean downtown Manhattan.
Last night, at what is widely hyped as the best night in New York fashion, the attendees of the annual gala benefit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute did not disappoint. Patterns, we saw a few: a lot of black, a lot of neon, a lot of feathers, and a lot of sheer. And Read More
Sundance Film Festival
It’s winding down, celebs are fleeing, the open bars are starting to dry up, and The Observer’s 4 day long hangover is starting to catch up with us—enough of the sob story, we’re going back in for more.
The loopy indulgences of deluded Danish nut Lars von Trier, who recently declared himself a bona fide Nazi in publicity-grabbing world headlines, are no longer called films, they’re considered provocations—shunned by discerning audiences worldwide and embraced by only a small gaggle of clucking, pretentious critics and film festival filmgoers. Melancholia is his latest pile of undiluted drivel, nauseatingly filmed by a wonky hand-held camera and featuring a crazy, mismatched ensemble headed by Kirsten Dunst, who won an acting award in Cannes last year for looking totally catatonic.
The Daily Transom
“Oh, well, you know, Lars,” Kirsten Dunst was saying to The Observer last night, at a party for Bulgari in Soho. “He kind of does his own thing. He doesn’t come to the States, he doesn’t –”
Crash! An errant arm had laid into the row of rosé glasses beside Ms. Dunst, interrupting our conversation Read More
The Eight-Day Week
Last night’s Cinema Society- and Altoids-sponsored Our Idiot Brother screening, Precious star Gabourey Sidibe was raving about the film’s star, Paul Rudd.
“I love Clueless!” she told us. (A photographer, shortly after, announced that Mr. Rudd’s Clueless co-star Alicia Silverstone was in the building.) She particularly loved Mr. Rudd’s role in The Ten. We Read More
Last night, the New York premiere of Our Idiot Brother was held at 1 MiMa, the Midtown apartment complex. Stars were treated to an outdoor screening, followed by an after party in the building. Guests included Gabourey Sidibe, Terry Richardson, Audrey Gelman, Courtney Love, Richard Belzer, Helen Lee Schifter, Alex and Keytt Lundqvist and Judah Friedlander. Read More
“Sofia, Sofia!” the cameramen cried at the entrance of Lincoln Center, the venue for Monday’s CFDA awards. Ms. Coppola had just arrived.
“Kirsten!” they yelled. “Marc!” they yelled. “Sofia! Sofia! Sofia!” they yelled.
Then Mr. Jacobs and Ms. Dunst went with Ms. Coppola to the left, to have their picture taken, and Thomas Mars–the lead Read More