By Albert Samaha
By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
Meanwhile, the kids aren't all right in Kisses, a gritty but sweet film in which a put-upon boy and girl run away from the horrors of home to find an even bigger hell in the streets of Dublin. The pint-size actors have nice chemistry, but at the premiere, writer/director Lance Daly told me that, in reality, they can't stand each other. Having to kiss onscreen was just the beginning of their mutual discomfort!
The onetime "angriest RV salesman in the world," Jack Rebney made a career out of mouthing off about his discomfort, becoming a Howard Beale–like hero for people too polite to say, "Fuck off!" Rebney got famous via leaked, foul-mouthed outtakes from an instructional film, and now in Winnebago Man, he's followed by a documentarian capturing all new foul-mouthed outtakes that will make him even more famous and angry.
But fear not. It turns out the man isn't Mel Gibson—he was just hot, bothered, and trying to save his ass through irritable perfectionism; he's actually a highly decent person who's stunned to find himself a viral video icon. "I'm a nice enough man," he assured the crowd at the doc's premiere last week. "I've just got a vile, vituperative mouth." Fortunately, he unleashed it on Dick Cheney and that whole administration, saying he'd love to "hang them by their goddamn necks," much like what was done to Goebbels and the gang.
The film was presented by its biggest supporter, Michael Moore, and funnyman Jeff Garlin made an appearance, too, claiming that Larry David once told him he loved Rebney's wrath so much that he was planning to do a show called Curb Your Enthusiasm based on him.
Now kindly curb your eyeball-rolling as I tell you the latest developments in gay clubbing. On Sundays, the boys come crawling back from Fire Island and start compulsively rooftop-hopping, going from the High Bar's smallish, ambient roof to the larger, more pumping one at Hudson Terrace, where they couldn't possibly get any higher. If they haven't jumped and they're still around by Wednesday, they take the opposite trajectory and descend to the basement party at the Marcel Hotel's Polar Bar, courtesy of the High Bar team Michael Cohen and Kevin Wiltz. It's very gays-take-over-daddy's-rec-room, with lots of boutiquey chic-ey.
By the way, between that party and the lounge Vig27, my neighborhood is suddenly Chelsea East and almost gay-livable. I'm heading out in search of a private dick as we speak.