Madonna's decorations land her in trouble in le Paris (YouTube)

Yesterday evening we all tuned in to watch the livestreamed concert of Madonna in Paris. And though we knew what to expect--nudity and swastikas have been part of Madge's MDNA world tour since the beginning--she had already managed to rub the people of France the wrong way when she put up the Nazi symbol on the face of the new French party leader, Marine Le Pen. On Bastille Day, no less!

The leader of the far-right party has already threatened to sue the pop sensation, which she probably assumed would only help sell tickets.

The plan worked, sort of: turning her "small engagement" at the Olympia Club last night into a mob scene.

Madonna had told French publication Le Parisien that she wasn't trying to insult anyone with her Bastille Day 3rd Reich stunt: "I've heard that a certain Marine Le Pen was upset with me...It's not my intention to make enemies."

Strangely, French concert-goers felt differently, as they swarmed the Olympia last night, booing the queen of poptroversy. Madonna has defended her use of the swastika in the show, saying that it was meant to highlight "the intolerance human beings have for one another."

Also: "Ideas inspire music."

She forgot to mention they also inspire coverage, controversy, and sometimes mob scenes. (Only days after the Colorado shootings, she was waving an AK-47 around the stage in Scotland.)

Even though Ms. Le Pan had warned Madonna that "we’ll be waiting for her" if the singer tried her stunts in France, that did not stop Madge from livestreaming her show at Olympia. Perhaps she was hoping to using the footage of the angry crowds as part of her next multi-media performance. After all, if there's one thing Madonna's good at, it's manufacturing controversy.

Here's the raw footage from the show:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=iiromNFDjVA

Madge left her set after 45 minutes of being heckled, leading the crowd to start chanting "Refund!" and "Slut!"

This is expected to be Madonna's highest-grossest tour to date.

I hated that it wasn’t the same Shakespeare and Company that Sylvia Beach opened in 1919, and which published James Joyce’ Ulysses three years later – I felt cheated, somehow. I hated the evocations of Henry Miller and Lawrence Ferlinghetti, who lived lives of more daring that I could summon. I hated, too, the older expats who spoke of heartbreak with slightly melancholy boredom, who quoted Paul Celan as if he were an old friend, who smoked Lucky Strikes – and they all smoked Lucky Strikes, I have no idea why – without coughing.

At Huffington Post Books, Janice Harper is slightly more positive about her memories of staying there. At CounterPunch, Harvey Wasserman remembers his week too.

Hi from Couture in Paris. I'm Mitzi and I'm 10, and fashion crazed, and that Style Rookie Tavi blogger girl who poses in weird outfits, then gets big show invitations, free clothes from Miu Miu and press for being so weird is officially on my nerves. She's 14 now, which is old. I think the fashion world should discard her like they do hot new designers every year. But never mind. I have to tell you about my week.

First, Anna was on our Air France Flight 007 to Charles de Gaulle. My mother is important and cuts lines, but I never saw anything like this. In a big fur coat (made of gerbils?), she was taken right past the most elitest status lines and security. Who is she, Kim Kardashian? When we left with our Louis V's at the baggage claim, she was still waiting for hers, looking bored. The moral is even a priority has to wait sometimes. 

Sunday night the Ritz was busy. We had a bath in emollients and then Mom took me as usual to the bar downstairs. When I went to use the bathroom, guess who was in there with a scrawny man? Kate Moss! "Shh," she said as she let me in. "Don't tell anyone." I was too in shock to do my business, not just because she had a man but because they were smoking. In school we are taught to nag adults to stop it, but she seemed so nice and simple (I don't mean stupid) in a striped T-shirt and jeans that I couldn't. My mother told me that the scrawny man is a Jamie Hince, who Kate will marry to compete with the other Kate this summer. As she was leaving, I asked if she would be in any couture shows. "No, I'm just here to watch," she said. 

Maybe she'll get some fresher ideas for her Topshop collections?

Notes from shows:

At the Alexis Mabille show in the Musée Bourdelle on Monday, there's a 4-year-old girl in a tiara, an Agnelli, two princesses and one lady in a leopard coat with a little dog that pees on the marble floor. The lady looks down, yawns, and throws one teeny tissue on the puddle as if that's enough to make it go away. I ask if her coat is real leopard. She looks bored by my question. "Of course," she says. "I hate fake." 

Me too, and the Chanel show next to the original store on Rue Cambon is the real thing, except maybe for some lips and faces. Pastel colors! Bugle beads! Mini-tutus over skinny jeans! Plus I see the greatest actress of all time, Kirsten Dunst. Have you seen her work in Bring It On? I eavesdrop and hear her talking to the man next to her about quitting smoking. He is Pedro Almodóvar. My mother says he makes movies about women and nervous breakdowns. And that's what I almost have when I see Charlotte Gainsbourg on the street nearby. I am so excited. She looks so bored.

Maybe giving off too much energy is bad for your skin?

Valentino is in a mansion of a Rothschild, whatever that means. We sit under chandeliers with three princesses, a Schwartzman and two Santo Domingos. (I steal name tags from chairs for my socialite trading card collection.) The pale-faced models walk like zombies in airy ruffles and pleats, looking so dazed and bored I want to trip them.

Backstage after the show, when everyone is drinking bubbles, talking Italian and pretending to kiss each other, I see a little girl with her father, who is an investor or something. She's pouting and pulling on his hand. How can she be bored after a fashion show in a mansion in Paris? Maybe if you're bored, people will think you're picky and important? Does it make them want to give you attention, invitations and free clothes?

Uh oh. It's late and even though I'm wide awake over here with jet lag and gummy bears (the M&Ms of fashion people), my mother says I have to stop now.     

When I get home, I'm going to practice a bored face every day. I want to try to reflect like the moon, not give off like the sun. It's like Anna and Charlotte and Kirsten being so bored as Sofia's C's Marie Antoinette. But it's also very me, Mitzi.

I hate fake.

editorial@observer.com

Schwarzman has close ties to France. He knows French President Nicolas Sarkozy well, the source said. He was awarded the Legion d'honneur by former French President Jacques Chirac, according to Blackstone's website.

Blackstone has an office in the center of Paris, close to the Louvre and the Jardin des Tuileries.

John Carney at CNBC speculates that Schwarzman is soliciting European and Middle Eastern investors for new funds. He'll be there three to six months, according to Reuters. Maybe he just needs to get away from the pressures of New York, sample some wine along the Seine or brush up on his World War II history.

mtaylor [at] observer.com | @mbrookstaylor

"Beef Hampers Rap Museum." [WSJ]

Third deputy mayor departs Bloomberg administration [WNYC]

Dumbo is the new Madison Avenue [WSJ]

Is The Good Wife the new Law & Order for New York actors? [NYT]

Single Parisian art thief steals $600 million in paintings, including works by Picasso and Matisse [AP]

Diana Vreeland's grandson is a Buddhist monk. [NYT]

JG Farrell's Troubles wins the "lost Booker." [Guardian]

Dinosaur painting film fest at BAM! [NYT]

Mr. Carter ate well yesterday [AP]

Avenue Princess Grace in Monaco ranked No. 1 in the survey with homes fetching an average of $17,750 a foot.

“Properties on the avenue change hands for up to $41 million – and many of them are fairly modest four-bedroom apartments,” the report said. (Granted, you’re also paying for ocean views and Monte Carlo’s exceedingly amenable tax policies.)

A pad on Hong Kong’s Severn Road will set you back about $11,200 a foot, earning it second place on the list. London's Kensington Palace Gardens, a.k.a “Billionaires Row,” came in fourth place with an average price of $7,196 a foot, followed by Paris’ Avenue Montaigne at $5,046.

Naturally, it's a bunch of burly American I-bankers who made the biggest single-asset deal in European history.

Lehman Brothers has purchased Coeur Defense, a series of five buildings, from Goldman Sachs for 2.11 billion euros, or $2.8 billion U.S. dollars. It's a record for the overseas bunch.

Cushman & Wakefield, which also advised the biggest single-building sale ever in U.S. history at 666 Fifth Avenue for $1.8 billion, advised Lehman Brothers in this deal.

Full release after the jump.

- John Koblin

Cushman & Wakefield
Dept. of Corporate Communications

For immediate release

* * *

CUSHMAN & WAKEFIELD ACTS FOR LEHMAN BROTHERS ON EUROPE'S LARGEST SINGLE-ASSET DEAL - THE PURCHASE OF COEUR DEFENSE IN PARIS

PARIS - March 30, 2007 - Global real estate consultant Cushman & Wakefield has advised Lehman Brothers Real Estate and its French partner the private company Atemi on the largest single-asset deal in Europe, the purchase of the Coeur Defense office complex in Paris.

Earlier this year, Cushman & Wakefield arranged the US$1.8bn sale of 666 Fifth Avenue in New York from Tishman Speyer to Kushner Companies, which was the world's largest single-building sale.

Coeur Defense was sold by French real estate investment trust Unibail and Goldman Sachs' Whitehall Funds for €2.11bn, or US$2.8bn. The transaction reflects a gross yield of 4.8 percent.

The office complex is situated in the key business district of La Defense, to the west of the city. It was completed in 2001, and consists of two 160-metre buildings and three low-rise buildings totalling 182,000 sq m and offering 159,000 sq m of office space, making it the biggest scheme of its kind in Europe. Current tenants include AXA Investment Managers, Societe Generale, Credit Lyonnais, Microsoft, Cap Gemini and HSBC.

Anne Lemonnier, Executive Director of Lehman Brothers Real Estate, says: "Coeur Defense is a landmark building not just for Paris but for Europe. In addition, it is located in one of the most attractive office markets in Europe, La Defense."

Olivier Gerard, head of Cushman & Wakefield's Capital Markets Group in France, adds: "Offices remain by far the most sought-after asset class in the French market, accounting for nearly 75 percent of last year's total investment volume. This is largely due to the strong performance of the office rental market, with Paris recording its highest office take-up ever last year with the letting of 2.8 million square metres of office space - the highest in Europe."

According to Cushman & Wakefield, France's investment market recorded transactions valued at a total of €24.5bn last year, most of which were in the Paris market. The single largest group of investors in the French market by nationality are the French, with 48 percent market share, says Cushman & Wakefield, followed by U.S. investors, which last year accounted for 16 percent of investment volumes.

Within days—actually, hours—of Morandi’s opening, the blogs had blasted into action, posting reviews, comments, even cell-phone snapshots of the food and dining room. Eater declared “Morandi fever.” Everyone, it seemed, began piling into Mr. McNally’s new Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village the minute the soap came off the windows.

Of course, it was fully booked when I called for a dinner reservation. So when I was told walk-ins were welcome, I decided to do just that.

The restaurant is on the ground floor of an undistinguished, postwar red brick apartment building on the corner of Charles Street and Waverly Place, just off Seventh Avenue. At the front desk a hostess explained that the wait would be at least an hour, probably longer, which was as I’d expected, so a friend and I made our way to the packed bar. The two seats next to me were occupied by those oversized handbags that my Observer colleague Simon Doonan once likened to elephant testicles. Their BlackBerry-wielding owners stood guard over them. I told my companion that I thought it was rather selfish to claim a coveted barstool with a handbag. “You don’t understand bar etiquette,” he said.

We ordered vodka cocktails. They came in tall juice glasses: the best cosmopolitan I’ve ever had, made pleasantly tart from fresh grapefruit juice, and a slightly sweet drink made with limoncello, mint and “muddled” dried cherries. “Don’t forget to eat the cherries; they’re the best part,” said the waiter.

I’ve known Mr. McNally ever since he, too, was a waiter—and a maitre d’—at One Fifth Avenue, before he opened Odeon in Tribeca in 1980. Since then, he’s never had a restaurant that wasn’t a hit; his string of successes includes Pravda, Schiller’s, Pastis and, of course, Balthazar. Morandi (named for the Bolognese still-life painter of bottles and vases) is Mr. McNally’s first Italian restaurant. The chef is the estimable Jody Williams, snapped up from Gusto around the block.

At Morandi, Ms. Williams continues with her particular zesty style of regional Italian cooking, bringing many of the dishes she served at Gusto: fried artichokes with crackling, bronzed leaves; plump, soft meatballs laced with pine nuts and raisin in a thick tomato sauce; and luscious fried green olives rolled in breadcrumbs, stuffed with pork and cheese.

Oiled, charred octopus is garnished with slices of crisp green celery, black olives, red pepper and parsley. Translucent slices of bass carpaccio are dotted with red pepper, capers and salsa verde. A greaseless fritto misto piled on the plate includes sardines, squid and tiny whitebait not much bigger than a piece of orzo. Ms. Williams loves sardines (and so do I). They appear not only in the fritto misto, but with pine nuts and raisins in a pasta con sarde (a traditional Sicilian dish) and as a first course, served with tomatoes, pecorino and mint.

You’ll want to taste everything on this menu. Dried and fresh pasta includes hand-rolled spaghetti with lemon and Parmesan, spinach ravioli with butter and sage, and a hearty bucatini all’amatriciana with guanciale, an unsmoked Italian bacon. A risotto of sage, mushrooms and blueberries sounded so weird (and not exactly seasonal) that I had to try it. It turned out to be wonderful: the sweetness of the cooked blueberries popping in your mouth, playing off the creaminess of the rice and the earthy flavor of the mushrooms.

Fried skate in a light batter is served en saor, with a bracing mix of marinated red onions, pine nuts and raisins. Chunks of rabbit are cooked in lardo (salt-cured pig fat) with fennel pollen, served with roast potatoes and rosemary, great with a side order of spinach.

The veal chop, layered with prosciutto and fontina cheese, was unremarkable, and not worth the $45 price tag. It was a shame, too, that the calf’s liver Veneziana was overdone, because it came in a fine red wine sauce; and grilled branzino, albeit perfectly cooked, wasn’t very fresh.

Desserts include a lemon ricotta tart, small crunchy fried cannelloni and a terrific special of the day: sliced prickly pear marinated in pomegranate juice with slices of blood orange.

The all-Italian wine list has many good choices at reasonable prices and 20 regional wines available by the glass, half-carafe and carafe. The carafes hold about 1¹/3 of a bottle. The first night I came here, two of us ordered one each, red and white. We had those small glass carafes in mind; the waiter must have wondered what sort of drinkers we were. I hope the kitchen enjoyed our leftovers.

Of course Morandi invites comparison with Balthazar, the jewel in Mr. McNally’s crown. It’s just as noisy, and general conversation at a table for four is difficult. But Balthazar’s lofty ceilings and spacious dining room compensate for the high decibel level. In contrast, Morandi feels cramped and claustrophobic. The round corner tables for two are fine, though. And I gather there will be outdoor dining when the weather gets warm: Now that sounds like a great idea.

“We didn’t sleep one hour—not one hour,” said German actor Sebastian Koch, describing the Oscar-night fêting of his last film, The Lives of Others, a surprise win for Best Foreign-Language Film this year. “We had an invitation at the Governor’s Ball. And then, after, the Germans made a big, big party, and they were so sweet and so nice, we couldn’t leave.”

But leave he did, boarding an early a.m. flight for New York in time for Monday night’s private screening of Black Book, director Paul Verhoeven’s World War II thriller, starring Mr. Koch as a Nazi officer romancing a Jewish Dutch resistance fighter played by Dutch actress Carice van Houten (whose character, preparing for seduction, “Aryanizes” her pubic hair in the film by stroking it with a bleach-soaked paintbrush—ladies, do not try this at home). “They picked us up at 5:30 at the hotel,” Mr. Koch said. “We drank through, and it was great.” Given the circumstances, he was looking surprisingly fresh at the dinner that followed at Osteria del Circo, hosted by Peggy Siegal, who said that “Sydney Pollack flew me in … on his jet that he piloted himself.”

Black Book appeared on the Academy’s nine-film short list for Best Foreign-Language Film this year, but missed the final cut. After 20 years of filmmaking in the States, Mr. Verhoeven—of Robocop and Basic Instinct fame—repatriated to the Netherlands to make a film about his homeland’s past. The script is based on historical research, the characters on actual people.

Wearing a beige suit and baby-blue shirt, generously freed at the neck, Mr. Koch made himself clear on one point: He will not be typecast, though he also played Albert Speer, Hitler’s architect—“such a big asshole”—in one miniseries. “I definitely won’t play the bad German, the Nazi German, here in Hollywood or wherever,” he said. “I have so many good offers in my country, or let’s say in Europe. I just wait for the best offers, like I always did. And if this can be in Hollywood, why not? For me, it depends only on the script, the part I’m doing and the people around me. It could be in Greenland or the Sahara, I don’t care.”

What did he think of the current campaign by Long Island Congressman Steven Israel to acquire posthumous American citizenship for Dutch Holocaust victim Anne Frank? “I think it’s ridiculous—that’s my first reaction,” Mr. Koch said. “I mean, it’s over; the mistakes were there. I think it’s not necessary. It’s more important to make such movies, to talk about it, to know what went on, what happened. Yeah, it’s a gesture, which I suppose is important for some people, so why not? But it doesn’t change so much.”

The 44-year-old actor, a divorced father of one, was sipping from the same snifter of Sambuca as his co-star and new girlfriend, Ms. van Houten, 30. It’s a relationship that arguably started even before filming began. “He Googled my nude pictures, and I Googled his,” she said.

—Nicholas Boston

Godfather Still Fave Flick of New York’s Semi-Famous

The Godfather, said most of the cast of Law & Order—including Courtney Vance, Tamara Tunie, Chris Meloni, Dann Florek and Jane Krakowski.

“Anything with Bette Davis,” said Mr. Vance’s silken-shouldered wife, former Oscar nominee Angela Bassett.

“On the Waterfront,” said Chris Noth. “I cry every time I see it.”

“Brazil,” said Liev Schreiber, star of Broadway’s Talk Radio, whose pregnant girlfriend, Naomi Watts, was presenting in L.A. “It sort of fulfills that fantasy element that theater can’t,” he said.

“Great Expectations,” said Lanvin-clad former Oscar winner Tatum O’Neal—meaning the 1998 adaptation with Gwyneth Paltrow.

“Raising Arizona,” said Court TV cutie Ashleigh Banfield. “The quirkiest, most hysterical film ever made,” she declared.

“Labyrinth,” said America’s Next Top Model winner CariDee English. “I love David Bowie, and it’s a fun movie that reminds me of my childhood.”

“South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut,” said Richard Belzer. “It was a musical, it was a social satire, it was hysterically funny and incredibly timely when it came out, because censorship was on the rise,” Mr. Belzer continued, before adding that he is also a huge fan of The Godfather.

—David Foxley

Mommy and Maer: Radar Magazine Is Standard Issue

“Is it a new magazine?” asked Lady Victoria Hervey, the eldest daughter of the sixth Marquess of Bristol, at the Radar reincarnation party in West Hollywood on Feb. 21. Well, not exactly, your ladyship ….

But New York socialites Tinsley Mortimer and Fabiola Beracasa were fresh breezes at the Standard Hotel on the Sunset Strip, clad in skin-tight vintage Herve Leger. “We got a little loaner. It’s a Cinderella deal,” Ms. Mortimer said. “Once I got it on, I couldn’t get it off,” said Ms. Beracasa of her snug white sheath, which was covered in colorful rectangles, like a Mondrian painting. Nearby was a poster of the two friends posing in a bathtub. “I love the idea of not taking ourselves too seriously,” said Ms. Mortimer, as if the photo shoot were a welcome respite from her regular regimen of Spinoza and Hegel. “We were envisioning this really deep European bathtub with our heads poking out, but instead we ended up in a bowl,” Ms. Beracasa said. “A bird bath!” Ms. Mortimer added.

Will Radar succeed this time around, its third? “No, we’re about to fold immediately,” said editor in chief Maer Roshan, sucking on a cigarette. “You can do better than that.” Was supermarket mogul and rumored partial backer Ron Burkle going to show up? “I’m not a seer,” Mr. Roshan fairly snarled, then softened a bit. “I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think we had a great track record,” he said. “We’ve needed consistent backing. and Integrity Media has provided that. I report to Yusef”—Integrity chairman and beer distributor Yusef Jackson—“and I talk to him, period.”

Just then, an attractive, slightly older brunette woman rushed up to greet Mr. Roshan. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said. “Hi, Mom,” he replied.

—Jessica Galt

Oil Heir Pollutes Pre-Oscars Party

In the V.I.P. section of L.A. Confidential’s Oscars party at the Mondrian Hotel on Thursday, Feb. 22, Damon Whitaker was in good spirits, even though he’d spent a good deal of the night explaining that he was not his brother, soon-to-be-Oscar-winner Forest. “That’s happened to me all my life,” he said, smiling wanly. “I don’t mind. I’m proud to look like my brother, especially this year.”

Nearby, veteran actor David Carradine was sizing up the dance floor. The Transom asked if the run-up to Oscar night had changed much over the years. “No, it’s always the same silly parties,” said the Kill Bill samurai, and then reconsidered. “Well, I’m a great-grandfather now—that’s different,” he said, adding that Anthony Quinn had children into his 80’s. Yeah, but that don’t make it right! Does Mr. Carradine still practice martial arts everyday? “Why, you want to go a couple rounds?”

The Transom sought refuge in the men’s bathroom, which was rapidly being permeated by a fetid odor.

“Jesus!” said a curly-haired man at the front of the one stall, scrunching his face in disgust. “Oh, man—that’s awful!” gasped another, burrowing his head inside his trench coat. “Lawd-a-mercy!” cried still another, and then: “Check out those shoes,” pointing to the black suede loafers peeking out from under the stall.

After about 10 minutes, the stall’s occupant began jiggling the apparently jammed door, with increasing aggravation. The Transom helped wrench it open, only to encounter oil heir Jason Davis, the larger, lesser-known brother of Brandon, dressed all in black, with a white scarf and platinum hair.

Before The Transom could compliment Mr. Davis’ performance and inquire as to his influences, the latter man made for the door—no doubt much lighter on his feet than before.

Paris the Thought: A.P. Says Au Revoir to Hilton Hottie

On Feb. 13, the Associated Press declared its plans to boldly go where few wire services would dare to go in this day and age: the no–Paris Hilton zone.

“Next week,” entertainment editor Jesse Washington wrote in an e-mail memo obtained by The Transom, “the print team is planning an unconventional experiment: We are NOT going to cover Paris Hilton.

“Barring any major, major news, we are not going to put a single word about Paris on the wire,” the memo continued. “If something does come up, big or small, we encourage discussions on whether we should write about it.”

The results of the experiment, naturally, will be fodder for a future A.P. story. “Hopefully we will be able to discuss what ‘news’ we missed,” read the memo, which could have used some stern copy-editing, “the repercussions of our blackout for AP both editorially and business-wise, and most importantly the force that cause the world to be fixated on this person who, despite her shallow frivolity, represents an epochal development in our culture.”

Reached for comment, Mr. Washington said, “There was a surprising amount of hand-wringing. A lot of people in the newsroom were saying this was tampering with the news.” One editor’s response was apparently: “This is a great idea—can we add North Korea?”

Mr. Washington said he was inspired by the fact that, in the past year, Ms. Hilton has appeared on the A.P. wire about twice a week.

“We got lucky,” he said. “Totally by accident, her birthday party was the day before we started the experiment. There really weren’t any major news stories involving Paris, so we didn’t have that many really tough decisions to make.” Though “her name did pop up in a couple stories, despite my best efforts.”

*UPDATE: Our math was corrected (we kid you not) in an email from a former Goldman Sachs executive director: "Please note that 1 square meter = 10.76 square feet. Based on the correct conversion ratio, prices per square foot in Paris seem to be in line with New York." Is that true? Can any Francophile mathematicians set us straight?

- Max Abelson