Scandalous Movie About an Eight-Year-Old Gay Boy!

South American director Sebastián Silva hangs with me and Eros. And The Messenger kills.

So is Madonna, who showed up in good spirits, clearly trying to become part of world cinema and, no doubt, telling Pedro, "Remember, I played Evita!" Inches away from her sat Beth Ditto from the Gossip—a new-generation rocker with a mouth that always roars. How was her Terminal 5 concert the night before? "Great," Ditto told me. "But I have a guilty feeling about kicking this kid out for calling someone a cunt." At least he didn't call her a fish.

Does she like Pedro's movies? "I've never seen them," Ditto admitted. "I tell you that because I'm not a poser. Everybody says, 'You'd die!' But I have ADD. I haven't seen any movies all the way through." Not even The Maid or The Messenger? "Well, The Wizard of Oz," she admitted. "The 70th anniversary DVD in high-def. But it did seem a little long."

On Broadway, the 49th anniversary production of Bye Bye Birdie is a mixed bag, with some engaging group numbers and bold choices. But while it's interesting to have the Ann-Margret character played by a young plain Jane who's only dreaming of womanhood, not so enchanted are the charm-challenged leads or Bill Irwin's playing of the Paul Lynde character as certifiably insane. Rising out of the cartooniness last Friday was Birdie's understudy, Robert Hager, who is a hip-swiveling delight. No wonder the regular Birdie recovered and returned the very next day.

Nothing fishy about Silva
Elephant Eye Films
Nothing fishy about Silva

The revival of David Mamet's Oleanna (where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain) gives us another two-character showdown à la A Steady Rain, this time about distorted claims of sexual harassment. (Mamet, who wrote the upcoming Race, could easily retitle this Rape and double-bill them as R&R). Bill Pullman and Julia Stiles act the stammery talkathon to the hilt—though I wanted to kill the dirty bitch with the cane who said I bumped into her on the way in.

And suddenly I was awash in lesbos as a judge at Murray Hill's Miss Lez Pageant at the Knitting Factory in Williamsburg, where the genitals smelled like potpourri. The amazing contestants were asked to deliver their platforms (like, "Leave no bacon behind"), perform a talent (from nipple-biting to bribing the judges with cupcakes), and answer a question from the panel (asked if she'd fuck Octomom, a butch contestant replied, "I'd need something tighter").

That last hottie, K.S. Stevens, won the grand prize of 100 bucks in singles, a cameo in a lesbian porn film, and a Hitachi magic wand ("the Cadillac of vibrators") in case she wants to hang out with Eros a little more.

musto@villagevoice.com

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