NY Mirror

Some nights later, I was strangled, I mean stranded, at Fosse, where hairless legs and armpits writhe before you like folks at the West Side Club would do if they could only drop the attitude and the handcuffs. A lot of the show is just a reprise of another Fosse revue (Dancin'); there's at least one unspeakably bad number ("Mr. Bojangles"); it's all rather formless, as opposed to seamless; and at times you empathize with a lyric they use, the one that goes, "We're waltzing in the wonder of why we're here." But stuff all that in your bowler hat. Whether or not Fosse proves its own need to exist, it's mostly a strutty, shimmery, un-boring lollapalooza of syncopation, with more dirty knees by the end of it than the White House had all last year. The loudest cheers the night I went came from codirector Ann Reinking across the aisle, but most everyone else was engaging in Fosse-style hand-clapping moves too. Ileft all Davey-eyed, especially grateful to have learned that the Backstreet Boys clearly borrowed that chair routine from "Mein Herr"!

In movieland, I've learned of another possible setback for the much worked (as opposed to working) Ellen DeGeneres, and it's nothing to cheer about. Her movie vehicle, Goodbye, Lover, was supposed to come out— as it were— last fall, but then it was bumped into '99. Well, now Warner Brothers hasn't given the flick anydefinite release date yet, which is leading insiders to suspect a straight-to-video dumping (a Warner rep told me that's not necessarily true). Whatever the case, I hope the easily depressed Ellen doesn't cry, "Goodbye, career!"

Finally, another sister, David Geffen, has a hot new gig with those American Express posters, on which he's bizarrely branded with the number 69. I'm writing him a Post-it as we speak.