“This is my first Cosmo lunch; I’m reigniting them because Helen Gurley Brown used to do them,” Ms. Coles, wearing a sleek black sleeveless turtleneck and black trousers, told the Transom. As precious lunch-hour minutes ticked by, Ms. Coles herded the fun, fearless women into the dining room.

“I’m sorry if I look a bit tired. I have to be truthful, I’ve been up the last few nights with my biographer,” Ms. Coles quipped in her opening remarks. “I would ask you to re-engage with the magazine; over the next year, I’ll be making changes. You all think you are here for a free lunch, but of course you are not. I’ll be hitting all of you up for ideas, your advice, your tips for younger readers.”

At least among those assembled, the verdict seemed to be that Ms. Coles might spark new interest in the magazine. “I do read Cosmo now and again—not regularly, but now that Joanna is there, I probably will,” actress (and Jon Hamm companion) Jennifer Westfeldt said. “She’s been such a great supporter and friend, and I think she’s such a wonderful lady.”

“I don’t have a lot of time to read magazines, but with Joanna at the helm, I think it’s going to be really great and aggressive and smart and surprising,” said Sarah Jessica Parker.

Rose McGowan, meanwhile, thought aloud, “I wonder how Cosmo will change, because it’s totally been a slut magazine.”

Ms. Coles also took the opportunity to celebrate recently elected women. During her opening remarks, she congratulated New Hampshire Governor-elect Maggie Hassan, Hawaii Representative-elect Tulsi Gabbard, New York Representative-elect Grace Meng, and Connecticut Representative-elect Elizabeth Esty, all of whom spoke during the fish course.

At the tables, however, the conversation turned less political.

“Wasn’t there a Sex and the City where Carrie was wandering around Paris and she was depressed and lonely?” someone asked.

“Let’s ask Sarah,” someone else suggested, motioning to the next table.

“I wonder if guys even like it when you touch their perineum; I can never tell,” Ms. McGowan mused. “Someone should actually ask guys that.”

Ms. Coles? Are you listening?

Forty-Five! That was the approximate tardiness of Prabal Gurung's runway show at the Gehry-designed IAC building. The Observer, having misread our schedule, arrived on time (that's a first). We even had a few moments to kiss-kiss Mary Alice Stephenson and compliment her Naeem Khan. Who to blame? Surely not front-of-house PR behemoth KCD, they have their shit together more than a Swiss bank.  Zoe Saldana, colorfully festooned in a phenomenal liquid Prabal paint suit took her seat relatively on time. Lily Rabe sat quietly en attente. Buyers are never late. Cross off Anna Wintour, style.com's Nicole Phelps, and Paper's Kim Hastrieter… hell they've never been late! Best-dressed contender, Kate Lanphear of ELLE magazine arrived with time to glare vacantly at her smart phone.

We couldn't tell why Michelle Harper was just shy of tears. The passing of H.R.H. Whitney Houston occurred after this fashion frenzy... perhaps she was suffering from a panic attack or mal au ventre in row one? Frankly not our business.

In the meantime, we decided to get social. Seated betwixt team WWD, we gave it a go gingerly... The Observer had the good fortunate to sit behind the poised Executive Editor, Bridget Foley. "Will you be going to Milan and Paris for the shows?" she sang. Mais oui! Paris! We chirped.  KCD founder and gentlemen, Ed Filipowski whisked over and assured the WWDs that the show would start soon! Sincere apologies. Foley's response was so graceful many churlish divas should have taken note.

Thankfully, he need not apologize, because the clothes made up for all the delay.

Patent leather and black black fur by day; add white tulle and gold embellishments for night. Signature Gurung color schemes and patterns, reminiscent of an iridescent oil spill, were wondrous. Brocade, techno fabrics, appliqué, volants: all there! Look number 28-- a hand-embroidered, black tulle gown with with Fabergé cutwork on Joan Smalls drew gasps. If it's edge, yet feminine elegance that starlets and statuesque first ladies want… look no further!

The clock had barely struck 1pm and our Burberry-clad feet hurt like hell! By the grace of God VPL was just across the way. Whew!

Later, the chaos and disarray at Dream Hotel's Electric Room (ROOM! Try complex) for Mr. Gurung's after party was indescribable. Praise Syndicate's Anuschka Senge, who ushered The Observer past the riff-raff at the door. Inside, we spotted Candice Swanepoel and Rose McGowan, whilst slurping up delicious Belevdere cocktails and dancing to DJ Mia Moretti's fab beats.

Five Minutes of Heaven
Running time 90 minutes
Written by Guy Hibbert
directed by Oliver Hirschbiegel
Starring Liam Neeson, James Nesbitt, Mark Davison

Is anyone as tired of the endless stream of movies about the war in Northern Ireland between the Protestants and the Catholics (still to this day referred to as “the Troubles”) as I am? The conflict between the violent Irish Republican Army’s quest for Catholic independence from British dominance and Margaret Thatcher’s violent Protestant soldiers who fought the insurrection for more than 30 years goes all the way back to Elizabeth I and Mary, Queen of Scots. Some things, like cricket and table wine, don’t travel. Movies about machine guns, mass murders and bombs going off in Belfast pubs and hospitals are about as fascinating to American filmgoers as every movie about the Civil War except Gone with the Wind is to audiences across the pond. But directors from the U.K. never run out of new ways to get “the Troubles” off their chests. Movies continue to proliferate about the IRA (usually by Jim Sheridan and Terry George) no matter how much money they lose. This week, two new ones.

Having only recently survived Hunger, the harrowing, detailed depiction of IRA martyr Bobby Sands and his ghastly 1981 hunger strike inside the draconian walls of the infamous Maze Prison, we are now treated to Fifty Dead Men Walking, the true and shocking story of Martin McGartland, a poor Catholic boy from the slums of west Belfast who was recruited by the British police to spy on the IRA and feed information to his British “handler,” a mysterious man with the code name “Fergus,” at the same time he was acting as a trusted volunteer for the IRA. According to his best-selling memoirs, the information Martin passed on to the British saved at least 50 lives before he was exposed, captured and almost tortured to death. He miraculously escaped the IRA mercenaries (some were buddies and close family friends, all were fellow Catholics) by leaping through a glass window on the top floor of an IRA torture hideaway, hitting the pavement below and breaking almost every bone in his body. Leaving a girlfriend, a grieving family and two children behind, Martin was assigned a new name and sent to a clandestine destination. Eleven years later, the IRA riddled his body with six bullets and labeled him a “dead man walking.” He never saw his family again; he dictated the book on which this movie is based while in hiding, and even though times have changed, he is still on the run from the IRA.

Canadian director Kari Skogland made Fifty Dead Men Walking as more of a political thriller than a documentary-style history lesson, but she has, I admit, invested the story with a focus on the human element and true grit. The movie is aided immensely by the inspired performance of versatile young actor Jim Sturgess as Martin McGartland. To get under the skin of a hustler turned hero, he worked hard to perfect a Northern Ireland accent that sounds like mud, and succeeded so well that I couldn’t understand half of what he said throughout the entire movie. Authenticity is nice, but not if it costs the film every hope of a profit. Ben Kingsley is also fine as the wily British agent who explains there is no such thing as the “right” side of the war (“The price of a conscience is death”), and Kevin Zegers as Martin’s friend, Natalie Press as his girl and Rose McGowan as a hearty broth of an Irish colleen–turned–lethal IRA intelligence agent are equally splendid. They impart an exact feeling of what it was like to be in the middle of Belfast’s dangerous war zones in the late 1980s. Still, the despair doesn’t really amount to much more than what you might expect from a routine action thriller. Not exactly profound.

FIVE MINUTES OF HEAVEN, also based on fact, shows how, among the bombs and riots, a fever developed that sent men, women and children into the streets to test their patriotism. In 1975, a 17-year-old Protestant boy named Alistair Little kills a 19-year-old Catholic named Jim Griffin—a pointless assassination witnessed by the victim’s 11-year-old brother, Joe. Alistair serves 12 years in prison for the murder and when he rejoins society, he’s a changed man—guilty and haunted by remorse. He is also Liam Neeson, which somewhat stacks the decks in his favor automatically. This much is true. The movie reenacts the crime, then takes a fictional turn as it poses the question: What would happen if the two survivors came face to face on a TV talk show? Alistair began a new life, but the family of the boy he killed never recovered. Thirty-three years have passed, but some wounds never heal.

The point of the TV show is to capture truth, stage a reconciliation and build ratings. A responsible citizen who paid his debt to society, and a symbol of a changing Ireland, noble Alistair (Mr. Neeson) seeks redemption. Still raging with fury and loss, Joe (James Nesbitt) wants revenge, and he’s even concealed a knife to guarantee it. Will they seize the opportunity to reconcile? Or will their meeting on camera only provoke more violence? Five Minutes of Heaven was directed by Oliver Hirschbiegel, the terrific German director who brings to the aftermath of the Irish struggle the same wisdom of nuanced observation that informed his brilliant Oscar-nominated 2004 film Downfall, a catalog of the last 12 days of the Third Reich in Hitler’s Berlin bunker from the keyhole view of the Führer’s secretary, Traudl Junge. It has less conflagration and combat than Fifty Dead Men Walking, but both films try to be as neutral as Switzerland in showing both sides of the sectarian conflict, but let’s face it. There ain’t nothin’ funny about the IRA. Both films could benefit from a little less of the balanced historical context and a little more of the movie madness of Quentin Tarantino.

Ms. Parton--dressed in a snug sparkly top, with her voluminous blonde hair and heavy pink eye-shadow perfectly in place--was late. At 15 minutes past curtain call, as the lights outside the theater had begun flashing with threatening regularity, Mr. Hanks (son of Tom) had already snuck inside through the stage door—head down, pea coat collar up—and author Joan Didion, actress Marcia Gay Harden and playwright Tony Kushner were already inside.

Ms. Parton was Ms. Fonda’s co-star in the movie Nine to Five nearly three decades ago and wasn’t going to miss her return to Broadway. Incidentally, Ms. Parton was rushing over from the Marquis Theatre just a few block away, where she’s working on getting Nine to Five the musical ready for its Broadway opening in the spring.

“I’m over there rehearsing for my musical, she’s over here tonight, so I said, ‘I got to run over and see her,’” said Ms. Parton. “So here I am!”

A few minutes before Ms. Parton arrived, the Transom found a timid Moisés Kaufman, the writer and director of the play that lured Ms. Fonda, who is 71, back to Broadway after a 46-year hiatus. In 33 Variations, Ms. Fonda plays an American musicologist who obsesses over Beethoven’s Variations.

“I have a dream cast,” he told the Transom.

“Jane is just very involved,” Mr. Kaufman continued. “But not in a way where she wants to take over! On the contrary. She’s a real collaborator because she’s been in so many collaborative relationships. She makes suggestions.”

The actress playing Ms. Fonda’s role in Nine to Five, Stephanie Block, was also chirping about how great it is to have her predecessor back in theater.

“She came to our show in Los Angeles and gave us her blessing. She said, ‘Oh, I’m so glad that line is in there’ or ‘I’m so glad you did that this way!’” said Ms. Block, who admitted to watching the film incessantly to get ready for her role. “When an actor really gets it right as Jane did in the movie, you certainly want to make sure that you take little pieces of it.”

Rosie O’Donnell, wearing a skirt with ankle-high Doc Martens, was nearby answering reporters’ questions, which ranged from her thoughts on Donald Trump’s finances (“I have no thoughts about it”), Madonna’s new boyfriend (“she should make herself happy and it looks like she does”), and Michelle Obama’s sleeveless dresses (“she should be sleeveless all the time!”).

She exclaimed: “And look, Rose McGowan is here!”

Ms. McGowan recently had elbow surgery and was still recovering. “I can’t even hold a fork right now, so I have to keep doing my physical therapy and work up to my sword,” she said. (Ms. McGowan is working on the film Red Sonja, about red-haired comic book hero who carries a sword.)

Then, prompted by another round of the theater’s lights, the actress said “Oh, I guess really do have to go in,” and teetered on inside.

Starting this month, the 34-year-old beauty is taking on the role of co-host, with beloved white-haired film historian Robert Osborne, of Turner Classic Movies’ series The Essentials. “I’m not just a complete movie geek, I’m actually a total weirdo,” Ms. McGowan said via phone from Los Angeles (where she had just returned from her brother’s Las Vegas wedding. “At a gay chapel. He’s not gay. It was awesome.”). “I’ll read someone’s out-of-print autobiography, and then I’ll go and read two more biographies about them just so I can cross-reference them. That is what I do in my spare time,” she laughed. “I don’t really like to boast about such things, and I can’t tell you what I did yesterday, but I have a strange encyclopedic knowledge and savant-esque memory of random things. Like, I can tell you all about the fantastic character actors in Shirley Temple movies, or who and how someone is related to Norma Shearer. That’s the kind of thing I love discussing.”

The Essentials, which aims to introduce viewers to must-see classics, is now in its eighth year. The show, which airs on Saturdays at 8pm, has had a revolving door of hosts, including Rob Reiner, Peter Bogdanovich, Sydney Pollack and, most recently, Carrie Fisher. Ms. McGowan, who grew up on an Italian commune until the age of 10, said that since she didn’t have a TV to watch as a child, she was introduced to the classics instead. “We would go to the revival theater once we came to the States, and I’d go with my dad. One of my favorite memories is going to see the restoration of Lawrence of Arabia,” she said, describing the size of the screen in a dreamy, buttery voice. “Generally speaking, I would say that old movies rank up there as my favorite thing on earth.”

Unsurprisingly, she has been a steady watcher of TCM. “It’s pretty amazing—Ted Turner buying up all the old libraries … It’s sort of forced AMC to do Rambo as a classic with commercials. I sort of feel sorry for them.”

It was Ms. McGowan who got in touch with the show after a eureka moment while watching TCM at 2 a.m. “I was like, oh my God, why am I not a guest programmer? So I called my manager.” The result was a spot on Guest Programmer month. “We did Out of the Past, one of my all-time favorite noirs,” she said. “So brilliant and on par with Double Indemnity, though known less. [We also did] A Place in the Sun, and That Touch of Mink—I wanted something saucy and silly.” What Ms. McGowan didn’t realize was that the powers-that-be were using the guest spots to search for a new Essentials cohost.

^“I KNOW MY name is not one you’d assume would be up there. Like, O.K., Carrie Fisher makes sense. O.K., the lady from the The New York Times makes sense. … Bogdanovich makes sense. Me? You look at that and think … what?” she said. Ms. McGowan expressed irritation with media outlets who’ve dismissed her, insinuating that she had seen only the 40 movies she discussed with Mr. Osborne. “I’ve been a little peeved,” she said. “I had actually already seen about 38 of them, though I did have to go back and watch them with a different eye. I like to watch movies over and over again, so it wasn’t like it was a hardship.”

Screening during Ms. McGowan’s reign (now through January 2009) will be such greats as Billy Wilder’s The Apartment, 1950’s All About Eve and the terrifying Charles Laughton thriller Night of the Hunter, about a religious fanatic who marries and kills widows for their money. “There’s an amazing movie. … Oh, and it’s the second movie I’ve mentioned where poor Shelley Winters drowns. Oh, Shelley, I have nothing against you! But that drowning scene in Night of the Hunter is so hauntingly beautiful,” Ms. McGowan said, pausing to anticipate the film’s critics. “It’s heavy-handed, sure, I get it. It’s just so smart. It’s very much a classic metaphor for the big person [Robert Mitchum] to proclaim for all to hear how Christian he is, and then there’s Lillian Gish, who probably only weighs about 90 pounds. … And she’s the quiet Christian, and it’s her behavior that speaks for her about her Christian belief.” Other favorites include the musical Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (“They almost lost the original print because of nitrates. Every time I think of that my heart sort of stops”) and the Bette Davis 1942 standard, Now, Voyager. (“I just love it,” she said. “It was more innocent and a less jaded time for watching people onscreen. There’s also so much more you can get away with.”)

Her co-hosting gig with Mr. Osborne, whom she describes as “elegant, old school and lovely—exactly what you think,” is a dream, Ms. McGowan said. “I had no idea that they were even going to pay me. Seriously, a job where I get to sit and discuss these movies? Are you kidding me? I’ve been boring my friends for years!” The allure of an old-fashioned Hollywood picture is hard to put into words, though we asked her to try. “I want people to be better-looking than they are on the street. I want people to be better dressed than they are on the street,” she said. “I want the houses to be better. I think the rise of modern movies and the story of an everywoman and everyman … it’s like, who cares? I see that walking around.” She laughed. “Give me a show.”

Universal Studios has backed out of backing the movie, whose budget the source pegged at nearly $100 million, because Mr. Rodriguez has insisted on casting his new fiancé, Rose McGowan, in the lead role, famously played by Jane Fonda in the 1968 original directed by Ms. Fonda’s then-husband, Roger Vadim.

The movie depicts a futuristic astronaut who travels the galaxy, seductively conquering everything in her path. More famous names floated for the part included Nicole Kidman, Halle Berry and Jessica Alba.

“It’s sort of embarrassing for everyone involved,” the source said. “No one thinks Rose can carry the movie, but Robert won’t listen.”

The film’s executive producer, Dino De Laurentiis, an Academy Award winner who produced Mr. Vadim’s Barbarella, is keeping mum on the matter, the source said. “He’s technically independent but has a strong connection to Universal. He wants to back Robert and his vision. But Robert’s vision is blurred by Rose.”

Universal’s initial excitement about the project had prompted reports that the movie would be fast-tracked for release in 2008. Indeed, the studio was so excited about the film that upon discovering Mr. Rodriguez’s nepotistic casting preference it came back with a second offer to fund Barbarella with an amount significantly below the original—in the double-digit millions, said the source. Apparently many of those involved have unsuccessfully tried to persuade Mr. Rodriguez to see his way beyond his curvaceous fiancée, best known for her role in the TV series Charmed.

But the director is sticking by his number-one chica, the source said, and with Ms. McGowan billed to fill Fonda’s thigh-high boots, the studio is afraid the box office simply wouldn’t stand up to the investment.

Mr. Rodriguez denied this, claiming the issue was simply one of budget. “Universal had initially signed on for $60 million,” he told the Transom, “but then when we were done with the script it wound up at closer to $82 million, and they had just financed a Will Ferrell movie that was a $130 million and they even cut that down to $100.”

He said Universal would still be happy to fund the picture for $60 million, but that he was shopping it around to other studios in the hopes of getting more money. Mr. Rodriguez is known for his ability to make movies cheaply, but believes it will be difficult with Barbarella since much of the film takes place in outer space, and “we don’t want the movie to look like the original,” he said.

The director alleges that the people at Universal were in fact thrilled with Ms. McGowan’s screen test, “blown over,” as he put it. “They said, ‘What are we looking at?’” Mr. Rodriguez said. “She looks fantastic in the role. … She was perfect for this part. She just has that daring look, a sort of classic sexiness that is also kind of futuristic.”

His bodacious Barbarella vision came to him while flipping through the trades one morning with his fiancée at his side. “I asked Rose, I said, ‘Would you be interested in doing this?’ And she said, ‘Oh, we’d rock that shit so hard.’” Mr. Rodriguez said. “And I said, ‘Well, that sounds like a lot of fun.’”

Reps for Mr. De Laurentiis and Universal had no comment.

The stars were hiking up the red-carpeted steps of the Met. There was Julianne Moore, Jennifer Lopez, Salma Hayek, everyone. And hardly anyone was stopping to talk to The Transom. But wait—here was Christina Ricci, who said that getting ready for the evening had taken roughly two and a half hours, plus a lot of Red Bull. “I loved my dress” (a white velvet Calvin Klein), she said, “and I was so excited to wear it and show it to people, but at the same time it’s very nerve-wracking, because you’re like, ‘Ahhhhh! What if I say the wrong thing?’”

At least Ms. Ricci pronounced Poiret, the evening’s celebrated designer, correctly—unlike some plebes we could mention. “That’s somebody who really changed the world,” she said. “He really altered the way women dress, because he took away the corset—he gave us the bra! I mean, that’s one of the biggest inventions of the 20th century!” (The ample-bosomed starlet then confessed: “As soon as I found out about this, I went online and did a little research.”)

French designer Gilles Mendel, best known for his furs, made the inevitable comparison to the Oscars—where, he said, “I feel very much that I’m sort of like a foreigner. I’m like a guest. And when I come to this party tonight, it’s really like I am a member and the celebrities are our guests. It’s like a camaraderie. I feel very comfortable, even though it’s the most prestigious one.”

Indeed, many of the celebrities on the red carpet didn’t appear completely at ease.

“I have no idea,” said Parker Posey, asked to explain the importance of the Costume Gala. “I’ve never been here before.”

Whether it was that the actors felt it impertinent to suck up too much attention at a fashion-world event (unlikely), or that they just couldn’t wait to get inside and enjoy the so-called “Party of the Year,” most rushed past the hundreds of waiting reporters with nary a nod.

Kirsten Dunst, fresh off Spider-Man 3’s boffo box-office weekend, ran up the steps so fast that the train of her purple Yves Saint Laurent gown was positively bouncing.

“Kirsten! Kirsten!” they all screamed in vain. “I’ve never done anything so humiliating as this,” said one.

At around 8:15, The Transom decided to attempt a stroll through the museum doors, which were heavily guarded by Vogue editor Anna Wintour’s watchdogs. About 10 paces in, there came a tap on the shoulder, then a stern hand pressing against the back. It stayed there on the long, long walk down those blood-red steps to the street.

Spies inside later reported being greeted by a cage containing three peacocks. Breathe easy, PETA people: The cage was enormous.

Then, “everyone has to walk this gauntlet of servants lined up on either side,” said one attendee. At the end of the line was the queen, Ms. Wintour, flanked by the arguable belle of the ball, Cate Blanchett, in fringed gold Balenciaga.

Dinner was announced with a long Henry VIII—style trumpet fanfare. As the hungry hordes poured into the banquet room, they were greeted by Vogue editor at large André Leon Talley, draped in a giant navy tent-like cape, lounging on one of the many couches that lined the walls. “Welcome to my home,” he bellowed upon spotting his friend Donatella Versace, and then erupted into laughter.

Caviar on smoked salmon, veal and chocolate mousse were served. Then Jennifer Hudson performed. “She went on for a good 15 minutes,” said a witness. “Half the crowd was really into it, and half the crowd was just having none of it.”

Guests gushed further that the room’s décor was very “intimate” and “comfy,” despite the grandeur of the event. “It was very warm,” said hotelier André Balazs, who turned up later at an after-party at the Box on Chrystie Street. (The Olsen twins, Damon Dash style="letter-spacing: -0.1pt"> and Mick Jagger stopped by Mr. Chow’s first.) “I’ve never seen that room like that. You were surrounded by all these panels that were hand-painted murals on canvas …. And the whole room was sensual, and there was this sisal carpet. It was a very—strangely enough—intimate evening.”

Actress Rose McGowan didn’t agree. “There were a ton of people I don’t know,” said she, ravishing in J. Mendel, at the Box. “I get nervous around people I don’t know.” She said that she had been introduced to several doctors. Doctors! “You just look at all these people and you say, ‘I don’t know any of you, and I feel completely out of place.’ And you think, ‘Why am I here? You’re all very tall.’” She laughed a great toothy laugh.

“I’m not usually very serious about being myself, and then all of a sudden I felt as if I had to be serious,” Ms. McGowan continued. “So I acted.”

It was now 2 a.m., and the stuffing was clearly coming out of the evening. Many of the women had traded in their long gowns for cocktail dresses. Tuxedo ties swung free about the collar.

Lindsay Lohan swept in and was immediately ushered into the downstairs of the burlesque theater by its bearded proprietor, Simon Hammerstein.

And at the top of the stairs, Jennifer Connelly and her husband, Paul Bettany, were having a little tiff.

“You totally just walked away from me,” whined Mr. Bettany.

“No, I didn’t, honey,” pleaded Ms. Connelly.

“Yes, you did!”

The argument resolved itself quickly, and the couple headed arm-in-arm toward the main room. There, in a booth near the stage, were Mr. Jagger and the chain-smoking Ms. Dunst, sharing a booth.

Ms. McGowan and her new beau, Grindhouse director Robert Rodriguez, were on their way out. Mr. Rodriguez had opted not to attend the gala. “I heard what it was all about, and I was like, ‘I’ll turn right,’” he said. “I just wanted to come for the fun part.”