The red carpet at last night’s Liberty Island screening of the Fantastic Four was sopping wet. When the film’s cast finally walked off the dock, they were a few hours late, having dragged their kitten heels through mud.
Alice Evans, a leggy blonde who has dated Mr. Fantastic (Ioan Gruffudd) for five years, hobbled about in a broken Jimmy Choo heel. Jessica Alba couldn’t talk to the press—she was seasick, according to her publicist. And when asked how he felt on this grand occasion, Mr. Fantastic himself replied in one adjective—”Moist.”
Hoping to calm the livid reporters who they had literally stranded on an island, one well-intentioned publicist ventured on the red carpet to give a statement: “To anyone who this concerns, Julian [McMahon] is not wearing Hugo Boss, he’s wearing Ted Baker.”
Press: “Okay. Thanks.”
Two second pause.
Raucous laughter.
“Who cares?”
Twenty minutes later, the fireworks display started—of course, they had been scheduled to pop off after the film, not before it. Since the first ferry had been arranged to head out after the fireworks, those who felt a bit antsy were overjoyed. And the bangs were grand! After a heartbeat-paced shower of stars, in a pause, a photographer hastily clapped. When the show started up again, he could be heard above the gunshots: “You lied to me!”
Indeed, the mood was somber when the finale went off: fireworks in the form of—are those fours?—exploded in the night sky. But the majority of fours were backwards, aimed to resemble fours to, perhaps, those safe, dry, lucky people who were still on a much larger island—Manhattan. Reporters giggled. And Jessica Alba was probably wishing she hadn’t worn a barebacked Gucci gown. The chairs were soaking, and the only food was ice cream.
—Adriane Quinlan
