NY Mirror

Oh, Banderas? Stammeringly, I asked him if his filmmaker character cheats on wifey because he's creatively lost and is looking for inspiration in female body parts. "No, you can be full of creativity and still do that," he told me, suavely. "He has to realize human beings can't be manipulated the way he thinks." I didn't hear a word he said, but it sounded pretty good to me.

The least manipulated person around is that college basketball player who, in a real-life Alexander Payne movie, is controversially turning her back on the flag to protest the war. All the idiots running around screeching, "But people fought for that flag!" forget that they fought to protect democracy—i.e., the right to turn your back on the flag—and the girl doesn't want anyone fighting, anyway!

But no one turns his back on the flagpoles while watching Take Me Out, the gay-baseball-player dramedy which is not—repeat, not—based on Sandy Koufax. The play is tighter and smarter than ever—the title alone has four meanings—but since everyone's only buzzing about the male frontal nudity in the shower scene, let me tell you just what you see, from left to right: kazoo, easel stand, rubber hose with pom-poms, fruit bowl, sea monster, steampipe. Got it? All in all, a lovely bunch of coconuts, all screaming "Take me out!" (Make that five meanings.)

We stuffed ourselves with foot-longs at the opening-night party at the Supper Club, while downtown at the gay cruise bar SBNY, Fred Durst—who we're all in agreeance is straight—had just been spotted hanging with friends. I guess sleeping with Britney can do that to you.


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