Gossip Central

Candace Bushnell Dares to Ask: Is There Still Sex in the City?

The night before the HBO series she spawned reincarnated as And Just Like That at MoMA, Candace Bushnell signals, she has moved on. At the Daryl Roth Theater, she struts across a stage fitted with a hot pink couch and shelves lined with Manolos, recounting a stellar career as columnist, coming from Connecticut, modest suitcase in hand, sleeping around. This “having sex like a man” becomes material, and quite explicit. If you are a fan of Sex & the City, you know what I mean. Miraculously, in her tour de force hour and a half one-woman show—with the exception of a cameo by two dogs, the words “penis” and “vagina” are uttered once each, as Bushnell poses the question, Is There Still Sex in the City? Phone in hand, she converses with her Samantha, her Miranda, and her Charlotte, paragons of wisdom, as she navigates her rise as writer, all the while dumped by lovers including her ballet dancer husband. The men she mentions do not fare well—even her supportive father somehow lets her know her flat chest will get her nowhere in love. An exception is Darren Star, the series showrunner who attended the opening. I caught up with him over a gargantuan urn of guacamole at the Rosa Mexicana afterparty where a Covid test was now the new condom: “Yes, she got it right. She’s honest about Sex & the City and how we got it made. She would not have invited me if she was going to trash me.”

Sean Hayes in Good Night, Oscar: Hallucinating on Demerol and Demons

Unreliable and often hospitalized and drugged, if Oscar Levant hadn’t been a musical genius, he might have been a bum. At least that’s how he’s portrayed by a terrifically transformed Sean Hayes at the Belasco Theater in Good Night, Oscar. Themes of mental illness being all the rage right now, Levant is a dynamic subject, beloved by his wife June (Emily Bergl who does a stunning turn here and on The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel) and popular talk show host Jack Paar (Ben Rappaport), despite Levant’s many issues. (Now we have names like OCD, bipolar disorder, although severe depression worked then as now.) Many who saw him as a talk show guest, or on his own television show, knew him as a brazen comic and a raconteur. Being very funny in the early years of television, he was responsible for immigrants learning the language just to get his jokes. He was a wit, when such a thing had cache.

Glimpses of television in those golden years are a highlight of Good Night, Oscar, as they are of the series, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, now in its last season. Midge Maisel breaks through on The Gerald Ford Show. Hired as a writer, she finagles her way to “the couch” –not the casting couch but the couch where guests are interviewed by the host. In playwright Doug Wright’s conception of this single night when Oscar was scheduled to appear on Paar’s program and he has not yet left the hospital, Oscar Levant was all couch, cracking wise and off color as can be, unless he was seated at the piano when he would play George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” —even his auditory hallucination of the maestro (John Zdrojeski) who died at age 38, approves. Yet what haunts Levant even more than that smoky vision is his musical writer’s block, his anxiety of Gershwin’s influence. When does he get to play his own compositions? Putting himself down constantly, he despaired he was a mere clown.

Ben Platt in Parade: Lynching a Jew in the American South

Looking mild-mannered, even Evan Hanson-ish, Ben Platt plays the real-life historic figure Leo Frank, a Jew who was lynched in the early 20^th century in Atlanta. Lynching, a gruesome act of violence performed in the American South, illustrated by Billie Holiday’s “strange fruit,” is not the customary way of doing away with Jews as we think of it. Still, this really happened. As the musical Parade—yes musical—moves on to its climax, we see how justice works when zealous prosecutors force witness testimony serving their agenda, however racist. And, when an antsy mob takes over. Or maybe that’s the easy excuse for getting rid of “others.” Chilling, riveting entertainment, Parade, now revived at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre is so fiercely good, a highlight of this Tony award season, it defies you to turn away.

Leo Frank from Brooklyn as conceived in Alfred Uhry’s excellent script and music, written with Jason Robert Brown, seemed secular enough to endure the south with its worship of confederate ideals. The play opens with a celebration of those who fought and died for this land. Anyone wondering about sources for white supremacy, see it here, in the exuberance of those who fought the war—the civil war of course. Leo Frank’s story takes place some fifty years after, with aging soldiers, soil still blood-soaked, and blacks finding their way. A proverbial fish out of water, Frank manages a factory. A little girl not yet fourteen working there, is murdered. Accused and found guilty, innocent Frank is set to die. Prodded by Frank’s wife Lucille, a stunning performance by Micaela Diamond, the governor commutes his sentence, and that’s when the mob hits, completing their blood lust, as Frank says the “Shma,” (Hear O Israel, the Lord is One) prayer to God, questioning what purpose this death serves HIM. Very Job-like—it’s a heartbreak.

Guild Hall Celebrates Peter Marino: Renaissance Man

“I hate it,” architect Peter Marino exclaimed surprising even himself, as he noted Gotham Hall, a cavernous former bank on Broadway, decorated for the 350 guests arriving for a tribute to him, and to art collectors Tom Roush and LaVon Kellner. This was Guild Hall’s winter gala, celebrating too the venerated East Hampton art institution’s emergence from a long renovation. Can it be that Peter Marino, clad in his hard-to-miss signature head-to-toe leathers and silver rings, all his own designs, is oddly demure? A video featured his many achievements and talents: architect, painter, sculptor, potter, gardener, collector with an impeccable eye. It finally took the Israeli artist Michal Rovner, a longtime friend, to underscore his bold innovations with a telling anecdote: In Tokyo, at the opening of a Chanel store he designed, he found the perfect use for the building’s façade, projecting her art on it.

This was not a boast. An internationally renowned multimedia artist, Rovner will be featured at Peter Marino’s art foundation housed in Southampton, as part of a series, “Brunches with Bob,” the Bob being writer Bob Colacello who was part of Marino’s entourage, with his daughter Isabelle Trapnell Marino, who, despite her valuable input quips, she’s the “Vanna White” of the conversation series. The culture-packed room also included Michael Halsband, just back from his opening of his iconic sparring Basquiat/ Warhol photos at the Fondation Louis Vuitton, April Gornik, Blythe Danner, Lisa Perry, Iris Smyles, Alice Aycock, and many more to honor their East End neighbors, Tom Roush and LaVon Kellner. A retired doctor, he used to treat many artists when they occupied lofts in Soho, before they became big names.

Kurt Vonnegut Remembered at Birdland

The iconic American satirist Kurt Vonnegut might seem an unusual inspiration for a jazz suite but composer/ pianist Jason Yeager brought the Slaughterhouse Five author live in a musical homage at Birdland this week. Originally performed in tandem with Vonnegut’s centennial year at the Kurt Vonnegut Museum & Library in Indianapolis in November, the show featured Yeager’s quintet—multi-reedist Patrick Laslie, trumpeter Alphonso Horne, trombonist Mike Fahie, vibraphonist Yuhan Su, bassist Danny Weller, drummer Jay Sawyer, and two guests, Miguel Zenon on alto sax and Yeager’s partner, singer Julie Benko, currently wowing audiences as Fanny Brice on Broadway in Funny Girl.

Entitled “Unstuck in Time: The Kurt Vonnegut Suite,” Yeager’s playlist followed his new CD by the same title, the “unstuck in time” metaphor working well to describe the medium of jazz. As Yeager aptly put it, Vonnegut loved jazz, and the American songbook in particular. Punctuating Yeager’s improvisations on his work, Benko sang the standards “I’ll Be Seeing You,” and “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.” A charming presence, she helped her flustered spouse light a Kurt Vonnegut candle, with a prayer from their rabbi who was seated nearby.

It was that kind of a night, intimate with great music. “Now It’s the Women’s Turn,” an homage to Bluebeard, “Unk’s Fate,” referencing a character in Sirens of Titan, “Kilgore’s Creed,” for the protagonist of Timequake, and “Blues for Billy Pilgrim” honoring Slaughterhouse Five. Fans will immediately see the connections to their Vonnegut favorites.

Sharon Stone at the NYWIFT Muse Awards: And She Did

The only one of this year’s nine muses awarded by NYWIFT to actually have been in a movie as a muse, Sharon Stone played goddess to the hilt. At a packed 700-person luncheon at Cipriani 42^nd Street, she spoke of growing up in a town so small there was no traffic light; watching Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers on television and dreaming of dancing down a spiral staircase, she punctuated her story of finally achieving that, “and I did.”  “And I did” became the punchline of several more achievements including starring as an action hero. Hers is a story of many triumphs--making it in New York being one of them. Yes, she started as an Eileen Ford model and still had to look for change in telephone booths so she could take the subway home downtown to a studio she shared with another girl and a million roaches. Recently in L.A. her pal Sarah Paulson asked her why people hate her so much. “You know why,” she said.

No other movie has followed her as Basic Instinct has. An unknown, she was paid $500,000. Michael Douglas was paid $14 million. There is of course one of the most memorable movie scenes which aside from making everyone say, did I just see what I just saw, features her speech about loving sex with a particular partner because he liked to experiment. Wow! She became the voice of female pleasure like no other woman since The Wife of Bath! Few have torn away the curtain on hypocrisy as she has. Now we have college professors fired for showing full frontal Michaelangelo’s David, she said. Prior to Basic Instinct, “I was not allowed to cross my legs, or hold my arms up. You could not show armpits. We should think about what we can do.”

Freida Pinto made it all about her journey, how motherhood helped her transcend insecurity, perhaps the most common thread among women who achieve—until now. Sandra Lee had taken the stage before, and recounted a time Stone sat with her on an airplane. Sharon Stone gave her sage advice, she said: “Make sure your hair is not perfect.” Munching on branzino and ricotta cheese cake, guests listened intently as Lee told everyone how excited she was to be in NY.

Andre Royo in Drinking in America: Heads of a Bygone Era

A glass of wine with dinner, or a joint if you are so inclined, might be a good idea before meeting the array of characters who so imbibe in Eric Bogosian’s award-winning one-man tour-de-force, Drinking in America, a production of Audible at the Minetta Lane Theatre. Performed to wiry perfection by Andre Royo, the assorted men he plays hale from the 1980’s. You might want to consider this background, drinking in American culture, to understanding the male toxicity—and fragility-- of our moment, decades later. And let’s face it, the drugs are different now.

Which may explain why the jokes landed askew at the performance we attended, even though Royo could not have been more appealing—as a talent agent, for example, doing lines of coke to wake up, trying to book Lee Marvin, but Richard Chamberlain would do. Or vice versa. It would be good to know the young folk in the audience could get these references.

Or the traveling salesman, on the road hawking industrial ceramic tile, wasted in a hotel room with an unseen “Cheryl.” The vignette starts with his paternal, fatigued request: “Cheryl, keep your rubbing to yourself,” as he passes out in an easy chair. The ending is less than happy; getting his money’s worth, he advises her, “There’s no future in the escort business.”

Jessica Chastain in A Doll’s House: Ibsen for our Time

Revolving on the barren Hudson Theater stage in an expansive orbit for 20 minutes before the first words of Henrik Ibsen's A Doll’s House are spoken, Jessica Chastain as Nora Helmer sits stationary as she in her chair marks the periphery. The edgy blacks and whites are not the way you imagine this classic Ibsen drama from 1879 would be set—more likely in the well-appointed, tastefully muted parlor of a proper home. In Jamie Lloyd’s revival, you have to see the living space in your mind’s eye, and ask yourself, why are the virtues of women in marriage so compelling a subject for men? Think Honore Balzac, Anton Chekhov, Leo Tolstoy—and Ibsen: why do him now?

Amy Herzog’s fine adaptation distills Ibsen’s play to its essence: ditsy and chirpy, --a “femme enfante,” as the French would say--Nora keeps up her marital façade. Wife to Torvald Helmer (Arian Moayed), she’s his precious bird. But she’s more complicated than she looks; she’s mired in deception, and a naïve trust that her marriage is solid enough, that Torvald loves her enough, that he, though perhaps tarred, under the generous blanket that love weaves could bear any fault that she might present. Well, you know there’s trouble when only he has the key to the mailbox. Especially this mailbox!

Among a pared down roster of minor characters, a nanny for the children (Tasha Lawrence), a schoolmate (Jesmille Darbouze), a wealthy, devoted best friend who might be called upon (a wonderful Michael Patrick Thornton), Nora seems well-situated in her world. And then there’s Nils Krogstad (Okieriete Onaodowan) with whom she’s bonded by a loan. Visually, when he comes to her, they are seated back-to-back, as though, pale as Nora is, and shadowy as Krogstad is lit, they form a single unit.

Nathan Lane in Pictures from Home: Triumph of a Salesman

In the avocado and sea greens of a suburban development décor, the Sultans, Irving and Jean, entertain their grown son Larry most weekends in Pictures from Home. A play version of photographer Larry Sultan’s 10-year project to capture his parents, posed and documented, so he can examine the sinews of their marriage and parenting strategy, Pictures from Home at Studio 54, is the story of the making of his celebrated photo project, and so Irving (Nathan Lane) and Jean (Zoe Wanamaker) “entertain” Larry’s (Danny Burstein) ambition more than amuse him, although they amuse him and the audience plenty in Sharr White’s dramatic adaptation.

Irving’s life as a salesman meets a fate close to Willy Loman’s, except that here we see the demise pass through retirement to the desert, to a house with a pool looking onto a golf course. As Irving surveys his American Dream, he only hopes to live long enough to enjoy it. The familial patriarch, Nathan Lane is serious, and funny even as he attempts to hide his limp, hoping no one will notice he has one. Bartlett Sher directs his actors well. A master of physical humor, Lane is also adept at cutting down a son, and a wife, as needed. To these parents, Larry is pathologically intrusive, until his book is published with accolades galore, openings, parties, notoriety. Watch Nathan Lane beam.

Julie Benko at Birdland: No Rain on her Parade

Photo: Kevin Alvey

Birdland became Preservation Hall North as Julie Benko marched her band on stage for a set called Euphonic Gumbo. The performance, inspired by the French Quarter of New Orleans, was hardly a random soup, but more of a well thought out, scenic visit to the Crescent City, beloved by Benko and her husband, jazz pianist Jason Yeager who makes her arrangements of classic tunes entirely fresh for her.

It helps that the seven-piece band includes first rate players: including Michael O’Brian on bass, drummer Jay Sawyer, Andy Warren on trumpet, Evan Christopher on clarinet and Ron Wilkins on trombone. Mixing up the music and her story-telling, Benko created a quiz with prizes that include Café du Monde chicory infused coffee, her CDs, and a return to her next Birdland gig—all great because, as she demonstrates amply, she is a master at the cabaret genre, her theme enabling her to provide a history of the beloved Louisiana city, as well as lovely renditions of the tunes.

Remembering Ed Pressman

The marquee at the legendary Paris Theater this week said it all about how you celebrate the life of beloved movie producer Edward R. Pressman who died on January 17. A program featuring clips from his astounding film resume plus homages from stars, colleagues, friends and family was both heartfelt and hilarious. His wife Annie Pressman and son Sam Pressman emceed the entertaining memorial, that featured tributes from Jeremy Irons, Willem Dafoe, Christian Bale, Martin Sheen, John Lithgow, David Hare, and Sir Ben Kingsley, and others.

David Byrne was auditioning actors for his upcoming Here Lies Love on Broadway and could not make it, but the Paris was packed with a who’s who of New York film makers and mavens from Barbara Kopple to David Denby to Bonnie Timmerman to Peggy Siegal. Abel Ferrara came in videoed from Rome, and thereafter many marveled that he was still around. That became a running joke. Ed’s brother Jim talked about his inheriting the family toy business While Ed went into film, and their upbringing at the Majestic playing stickball on West 70 Street. As you would imagine the funniest testimonials came from childhood friends and Fieldston classmates; his lawyer, Jim Janowitz talked about their work life. One time, he accompanied Ed to Cannes only to be airlifted by helicopter to an estate in Italy to meet with a potential backer. Balking at the price, the deep-pocketed Italian said, “I knew I was dealing with the producer of American Psycho, but I did not realize I was meeting with two American psychos.”