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Another rescuscitated oldie, The Faith Healer, starts with RALPH FIENNES rattling off the names of Welsh and Scottish villages he's toured to—"Aberarder, Aberayron, Llangranog"—which instantly brings to mind Johnny Cash's version of "I've Been Everywhere" ("Chicago, Fargo, Minnesota . . . ") and how they ruined it in Ring of Fire.

I could rattle off the names of 60 publicists who deserved acting awards at the Drama Desk nominees' reception at Arte Café just for pretending they didn't see me. Even more disconcertingly, award rivals MICHAEL CERVERIS (Sweeney Todd's butcher) and HARRY CONNICK JR. (The Pajama Game's dreamboat) were chatting and getting along. This wasn't good copy! "We just do that for the cameras," Cerveris joked to me when I begged for an explanation. "Actually, I keep offering him a shave. I'm just a giving guy."

He truly is—he even gave me his take on The Lieutenant of Inishmore, that dark-red comedy about the futility of terrorism, with more severed body parts than Sweeney Todd or even Abu Ghraib. "I went to see it at MTC on my night off," Cerveris said, grinning. "I thought, 'This will be a nice break.' Oh, how wrong I was!" Cheering him up, a busload of tourists from Virginia applauded when they saw Cerveris in the theater, having just caught him in Sweeney. Judging from their taste in dramaturgy, Virginia is for lovers—of dismemberment.


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    But let me slice you pieces of some more sedate happenings. At a special screening of Sketches of Frank Gehry, the audience cracked up every time JULIAN SCHNABEL appeared on-screen looking like a capital-A Artiste in a white robe and sunglasses, with a dangling cigarette and a glass of brandy, but that only added to the film's appreciation of offbeat structure.

    But back to the appreciation of young homo erecti. At the PM Lounge party for Ivana Trump's reality show, Ivana Young Man, I leeringly asked the famed divorcée, "What's so great about a young man—the stamina?" "Don't start," she warned, smiling. "They are flexible," she went on. "They're more willing and able and they don't bitch if I make them get into a tuxedo. They don't complain about bad backs or bad knees. And they don't need Viagra!" Don't start.

    No, wait, let's not finish yet either. Does anyone think it's adorable that the KATIE HOLMES affair was unveiled right before Tom started promoting War of the Worlds and the baby popped out just as he needed publicity for M:i:III? And it all backfired? Does anyone think it'll be interesting to see how The View will do with two JOY BEHARs? (By the way, my source swears STAR JONES isn't being renewed, despite Baba's claiming otherwise.) Is anyone devastated that, while the new Q TV folks said I was off base in writing up the doomy nature of their more-misbegotten-than-ever enterprise, now they're out of work and dough too? Who else thinks it's cute that MARC JACOBS's boyfriend says stuff like "I don't know why people are writing about me" while he goes around with a big tattoo of Jacobs's world-famous name and gives interviews to HX? (And by the way, it's an exclusive relationship? Uh-huh. But I like the kid.) Don't you just love it that, at MICHAEL LUCAS's office (don't ask), CHAD HUNT told me that fellow porn star AIDEN SHAW was smitten with him and apparently wanted an exclusive relationship, but it wouldn't have worked out? (Bicontinental, for one thing). And does anyone think it's bizarre that ANDERSON COOPER will talk about his mom, his dead brother, and his hair products, but not you know what? If he's stayed publicly closeted because he doesn't want to become the story or detract from his objectivity, blah blah blah, then why write a memoir and pose for Vanity Fair? Should Jerry and I reserve another berth way down there?


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