NY Mirror

By the way, McKay recently smirked to an interviewer that she hates the cast, prompting Rennard to respond, "She's a professional retard. If Judy Garland had done meth, you'd have Nellie McKay. I love her!" (Honey, Judy should come back and see that Adrienne Barbeau show; that'll get her on all kinds of new meds.)

Sexy theater came back home to clubland when MARILYN MANSON's wifey, DITA VON TEESE, disrobed to a packed house of marvelous mutants at Happy Valley in between signing copies of her well-endowed new book about burlesque. A simple girl from Michigan, Von Teese strutted about the stage in carefully placed red sequins, most of which she removed before lounging in a giant champagne glass as DEBORAH HARRY oohed from the upstairs go-go booth (the spot with the best view). Backstage, I asked Dita why she's von teesed New Yorkers and not performed here that much, and she said, "It's hard to find a promoter you can trust or who thinks you're worth the dough." Not to mention the Play-Doh. As for other career contours, was she up for the lead in that new Bettie Page movie? "No," she said. "I'm sure GRETCHEN MOlis terrific. I don't think I look like Bettie Page, but I like what she stood for. She was not necessarily a great beauty, but she had a great spirit and had a good time. It's not easy to do that when you're tied up and gagged!" (Yeah, but you can't have liberation without etc., etc.)

Over at Beige, talk centered on the unbridled hilarity of Little Britain, that BBC show with two nut jobs only occasionally doing male characters as they chatter away, spew chunks, and sometimes even take it off. There's nothing little about this show, especially its imposing set of balls.

JULIA ROBERTS is clearly approaching her own Broadway debut in The Threepenny Opera, I mean Three Days of Rain, with wondrous cojones. According to someone on the All That Chat board, ticket holders are being informed that latecomers will not be seated till intermission. "Guess it breaks someone's concentration too much," the poster added, though all the follow-up posts rejoiced at the fact that superstar power is obviously being used for a good effect for a change—punctuality.

(Twilight zone break: Julia plays a daughter in Act I, then Act II is a flashback where she plays the character's mother. In the corn show, Grey Gardens, CHRISTINE EBERSOLE plays a mother, then Act II is a flash-forward where she's the daughter. Creepy, no? Can I keep my gay card?)

I earned it just by going to the opening of AARON TANNER's Chelsea club Release, which is long and narrow, like a fallopian tube filled with gays and Madam the puppet. The place's logo is also rather streamlined—it's a guy without a face or a penis, exactly the way I like 'em!

At Splash that night, a guy with a face but no clothes (he was in his underwear for some crazy contest) assured me he came to New York four years ago for his career. And where does he work? "Staples, the office superstore," he boasted. "Perhaps you've heard of it." Yeah, almost.

But looking back, the week's most resistible press release said, "LISA RINNA: The Face of Tupperware—in NYC on 3/29." I didn't go. How many deaths do I have to die for you people?


musto@villagevoice.com

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