By Jena Ardell
By Jon Campbell
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Tessa Stuart
By Roy Edroso
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
By Zachary D. Roberts
Exit the Audience—a/k/a Impressionism—lamely asserts that you should stand far away from something to get a true perspective on it. I longed to stand way over at Exit the King. You knew the play was in trouble when the great André DeShields told New York magazine that the writing of his role reflected a severe lack of imagination.
Over at West Side Story, Karen Olivo is stealing the show (if not the purses)—so much so that a drunk in a bar recently lurched up to me and screeched, "I'm really good friends with Karen Olivio [sic]! We're very close!" You know you've made it when they don't even know your name, but insist on dropping it anyway.
Creating my own East Side story, I dropped by the Hose, the already legendary Avenue B gay bar where you can plainly see the 'hos. It was the Wednesday night Le Raunch party, where, after a few dozen cocktails, some boys will gladly take out le noodle. Customers drunkenly strip and dance on the bar, so they don't even need go-go boys, but they usually have some anyway. Alas, all I could see were strobe lights giving me a seizure.
By the way, another noodle palace—the Cock—was recently raided, the cops putting video cameras in the place and telling the crowd their activities were being watched (meaning the sex, not the stealing). That must have really turned them on, not to mention saved them the trouble of videotaping it themselves and putting it on Xtube.
Over at the more zippered-up Beige, I happened to be seated a table away from Milla Jovovich—who's far from regular-looking—so I subtly craned my long Italian neck just to hear what profound thing such a beauty might be saying. Milla's voice was nasal and emphatic as she announced, "I did a shooting for a magazine yesterday . . ." I moved to a different table.
More sincere utterances were emitted at the New Directors/New Films Festival, which opened with Amreeka, the heartfelt tale of a Palestinian woman and her son battling bigotry in the States, where people can't even spell "Al Qaeda." Before the film, the writer/director, Cherien Dabis, read a text from her mother in Jordan: "You will love the film. I love all of you!" Sweet! No one wanted to cut off this mom.