By Keegan Hamilton
By Albert Samaha
By Village Voice staff
By Tessa Stuart
By Albert Samaha
By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
"My husband said, 'I hope all the women on the jury go home and their kids are molested.' I said, 'No, that's horrible. I just want the jurors mysteriously slain in back-alley murders!' I love the juror who said, 'You don't snap in my face.' Excuse me, what about the kid fucker? Any issues with him, maybe? And then there's the one who said, 'What kind of mother would leave her kid at someone's house?' The same kind that would never convict a pedophile, you dumb bitch!"
Of course, these are all jokesyou know, zingy bits of hyperbole, social satire, and so onand fortunately Griffin had one more wowser to share. "What the fuck is MACAULAY CULKIN doing still hanging out with him?" she fumed. "Sometimes you gotta let go of those old fucked-up friends from the '90s. It's a new era. He should say, 'Don't call me, call Kieran!' "
Nancy Grace: Objecting over the Jackson verdict
photo: Court TV Publicity
ODDS AND REAR ENDS
A stop at the Park the other Sunday night found a (temporary) sign that said, "Closed by court order. Illegal sale of alcoholic beverages." I'm surprised the Jacko jury wasn't there ripping the sign down . . . Says Kenny Kenny, "The people who didn't get into clubs are now openingclubs" . . . Don't date anyone with meth mouth. Trust Mama.
And you must believe my Crest Whitening Expressions Extreme Herbal Mint Mouth when it says that Manuscript, the Off-Broadway play about cutthroat young authors, builds to a crescendo of woman hating"You stupid fucking cunt!"that even the gays wouldn't like. The whole thing's based on the horror of stolen literary credit, but Manuscript itself seems deeply indebted to Deathtrap. Security! . . . Meanwhile, a play called Divine Lives!about the late drag performerwas going to open at the gay center in L.A., but a source says a perturbed JOHN WATERSmade a call and had it canceled. (Waters had no comment.) And so Divine Lives! doesn't . . . But the on-again Radar magazine does, and I have to be honorable and report that I actually just got my check for work done. They make me wet!
Some more reviews for youse to peruse: First off, the audience emerges from Jon Robin Baitz's play The Paris Letter so convinced that the closet equals bad that even the straight couples head right over to Rawhide.
On Broadway, they've dug Maugham's The Constant Wife out of the closet, but it's a chirpy foray into sub-Wildean aphorisms that don't quite ring anyone's chimes. The revival is a study in artifically done artificialitythough in the second half, things pick up tremendously, the actors click, and you'll be glad you didn't run back to Chelsea at intermission after all.
Bewitched is another ultra weird brew. Rather than just adapt the genius old show, the creators obviously lost faith and decided to make a movie about a movie about the show, complete with TWO witch-loves-mortal plotlines. It's all more strained than spaghetti, especially since Will Ferrell mugs and dominates to the point where Nicole Kidman almost magically disappears, and Amy Sedaris, who's perfection as Gladys Kravitz, only has two lines! What's more, the clips shown of the old series remind you of true adorableness. Still, there's something almost inspired about the insanity of this Bewitched that makes it a pretty noble mess. But next up, someone should do a more literary witch flick in which Nicole twitches her nose from The Hours.
Finally, twitching every imaginable body part and then some, the cast of the latest Broadway Baresa benefit for Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS at Roselanddazzled, judging from the saucy, sizzling segments I saw. From a spermatazoa production number to guest star David Hyde Pierce making vagina jokes, this show fertilized MY egg!
So did this year's fabulous HX awards for gay nightlife, which were held at Lincoln Center's plaza, making for the biggest cross-cultural collision since Ricky Martin played the inauguration. Scores of uptown ladies en route to Il Trovatore or whatever missed their curtains because they were frozen still and busy gawking at the gussied-up assemblage of drag queens and porn stars. Backstage, I was introduced to "actress Heather Tom." "Hi, actress Heather Tom!" I gushed. "I saw you in Prymate!" Unhappy expression. But a beaming one radiated from drag performer Sherry Vine, who came back to New York to star in a musical version of Carrie. So THIS musical version of Carrie will be INTENTIONALLY funny, right? "Exactly!" she exclaimed. "We understand the camp value!"