By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
Animal genitals also prevailed at the Tony Awards, where The Goat won Best Play, though the bestiality-friendly voters clearly drew the line at wee-wee. Well, that's not stopping me! Though the creators of Urinetown (a/k/a The Wiz) told me they won't follow that up with a fecal showI askedI'm currently preparing a New Poo Revue (a/k/a What a Dump!) that'll wow 'em all next year. At the Tonys, one overheard all sorts of pesky poop. "I beat Susan Stroman! I can't believe it!" a choreographer was caught exulting. "I thought I was losing to the cow," admitted a triumphant costumer. (He meant the Into the Woods creature, not whoever.) And a Private Lives producer was saying his production's intent is to do Coward as if it were Ibsen. (That's way more effective than Hedda Gabler, which did Ibsen as if it were Coward.)
In another corner, Elaine Stritch was sobbing about "that fucking music" that cut off her speech. (By the way, Stritch had been asked to perform on the telecast, but declined, wanting for once not to "sing for my supper." She feels the Tonys have long dissed her, never asking her to be a presenter all these years. Her behavior is intermittently nuts, but she's earned the right.) My triumph was making Frank Langella unhappy, too, by asking if his Fortune's Fool fop is gay or just a fop. "Just a fop," he told me, adding, "What do you call yourself?" "Gay," I said. "Well, I'm just a fop," he said and walked off with a flourish. PS: If the play were called Fortune's Urine, it would surely be just a flop.
And now, may I wrap some gossip shaped like a raccoon dick around your privileged neck? First off, lady Madonna just won't stop acting. In fact, she and fellow blond legend Debbie Harry may both appear in an upcoming movie by Peter Greenaway, who's clearly the great leveler. Madge has also looked into remaking All About Eve and wanted Gwyneth Paltrow to play the young title character, but so much time has passed that now Reese Witherspoon's name is coming up. . . . The real blond, Sharon Stone, is saying she'll even consider supporting roles. . . . Call her Miss Sauced: I hear that after that proposed Supremes reunion tour fell apart, Diana Ross hit the bourbon bottle with brio. More recently, in her dressing room before her VH1 divas tribute, Di-Di-my-darling supposedly communed with white wine, which may have contributed to her urge to whine that night. I'm glad she's stopping in the name of love.
Let's also toast the workers who put out the fire at Buckingham Palace, thus sparing us the headline "Flaming Queen." . . . No connection here, but a German mag is sitting on Ricky Martin photos that may add more clarity to his ambiguity. . . . Someone should have sat on the press junket for Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, which was apparently a glitchy-glitchy ya-ya nightmare. Spies say Ellen Burstyn wanted to do her roundtable interviews with Ashley Judd, who plays a younger version of Burstyn's character, but Judd preferred to do her Q&A's solo. The press allegedly waited for ages as this was hashed out, the result being that Burstyn left the building with a ya-mama.
Kathy Bates shows her yo-yos, getting naked and hot tub-bound in the upcoming About Schmidt. Jack Nicholson runs. . . . I look rather challenging in the buff myself, thanks to all these new foofy restaurantslike elmo, the nouvelle comfort-food shrine that's Chelsea's answer to Auntie Mame's living room, and Trailer Park, a miracle of kitsch memorabilia and burgers, with a roll of paper towels on the table to sop up all the cheese. But say goodbye to smegma! Those raunchy gay Magnum parties at the Park are kaput, thanks to a "legal technicality." Kathy Bates must have jumped into the hot tub.