Liz Smith: Overheard at the theater

By Tribune Media Services

August 8, 2008

"I'm trying to schedule an MRI tomorrow. No, no, I don't want to wait until Friday. I could be dead by Friday!"

I was at the N.Y. premiere of Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona and the above was part of a conversation overheard, by a man - an actor, I am sure, with a very familiar voice, sitting behind me. I couldn't place it, but knew if I turned around and he recognized me, he might have expired on the spot. So I kept facing forward. Of course, this is part of the fun of being in a semi-dark theater, waiting (and waiting!) for a screening to begin. The Vicky crowd was young, hip and semi-dressed. I intercepted a cacophony of intimate conversations: "Have you seen Monica? Oh, God, bad. Drugs, darling" ... "Yeah, I might get married, but I'm such an all-or-nothing guy, and right now it's all about me. Do you have a card?" ... "I'm soooo mad. I stood out there for five minutes and nobody took my picture!" ... "Doris saw this the other night, at Lincoln Center. She wouldn't utter a word until I saw it, she said we'd discuss then" ... "I think Monica actually died" ... "Love the dress" ... "Love the shoes" ... "Where's Peggy Siegal? I don't want her to see me!" ... "Honey, Monica is right over there!" ... "Yeah, well, I still say she's dead."

It was the usual endless clogged-aisles/cocktail-party crush until the guy behind me, Mr. MRI, started to complain, loudly. Well, life is short, even if you're waiting for a Woody Allen film.

Harvey wins over the crowd

Finally, our favorite movie mogul, Harvey Weinstein, appeared, thanked everybody connected with the movie, and told a very funny (fictitious) story about two of its stars, Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz - how they'd first worked in a Spanish version of Heidi. Lots of back and forth between Harvey and Javier on how to pronounce Heidi in Spanish. It was a riot, honest.

The Diamond Information Center was one of the night's sponsors, along with Sherry Council of America. Harvey, who is as loyal to friends as he is implacable with foes, paid affectionate tribute to DIC's big wheel, Sally Morrison. Sally and Harvey go way back, to the early days of his old Miramax and her years at AmfAR. She would also later work at Miramax. They put together many great AIDS fundraisers and were instrumental in creating Harvey's annual Cannes gala, "Cinema Against AIDS." It was a lovely, loving moment. Harvey is irresistible when he chooses to be.

He said, "I'll wrap up now," and MRI guy said, loudly, "Please!" I figure the latter really expects bad news and that was the reason he risked his life in such a manner.

Oscar-worthy acting

The Weinstein Co. has been looking for an unqualified hit. Movies are a crapshoot, and Woody Allen movies moreso, but in Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Harvey may have found a delicious crowd-pleasing success.

Director Allen seems newly invigorated now that he's moved his films out of the various environs of Manhattan and gone European - London for Match Point and Scoop, Spain for this one. Make no mistake, these are Woody Allen movies, and his sensibilities and philosophies are still evident. (Though Match Point was more of a Hitchcockian take on A Place in the Sun.) There's a freshness to Woody's latest efforts that one might not expect from an auteur in his 70s.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona tells the tale of two best friends, the romantic, rootless searcher, Cristina ( Scarlett Johansson), and the far more grounded Vicky (Rebecca Hall). They encounter, and then are eventually seduced by, a smooth-on-the-surface-tortured-underneath artist, played with stunning sex appeal by Javier Bardem. The complications are worthy of French farce and this is essentially a picturesque trifle with plenty of laughs. The story - which perhaps goes round and round once (or twice) too often - is made extraordinarily viewable by virtue of the performances. Bardem could woo and win a rock, and though his artist is basically a user, you can't help admiring his languid perseverance. Hall, who is British, not only manages a superb American accent, she gives real poignancy to her character; a girl who is, in the end, shattered and shut down by what she has - and has not - allowed to happen.

I am still on the fence about Scarlett Johansson as an actress. Perhaps it is simply because she is so ... luscious, so watchable even when she is doing nothing. And maybe she is doing nothing! The frustratingly amorphous nature of her character - underneath Cristina's risk-taking is there any there there? - emphasizes a certain histrionic hesitancy. Woody photographs her with a lover's tenderness, and surely she is the object of his blonde shiksa fantasies. Patricia Clarkson, who cannot give a bad performance, is also on hand as a woman who encourages Vicky to take the chances she never did, before it's too late.

But the film belongs to Penelope Cruz, who plays Bardem's charismatically bonkers ex-wife. She is sexy, funny, vicious, raging, dangerous and tender. All in her first three minutes on screen! It is a spectacular fireworks display.

Cruz is also marvelous in the soon due Elegy with Ben Kingsley - rather improbably besotted with him - but her turn in Vicky is an Oscar-bait performance. (By coincidence, Clarkson also appears in Penelope's Elegy as a supremely confident and sexy woman, quite the opposite of her despairing in Woody's film.) And who can say why, but Miss Cruz seems to be 10 times more beautiful now than she was 10 years ago, when she made her initial splash. She burns a hole in the screen.

The after-party

After the movie, everybody traipsed over to the Plaza Athenee where Peggy Siegal laid out one of her (reasonably) cozy sit-downs. The usual displeasure with who was seated where ensued. ("Why am I here? Who are these people?") But Peggy, who resembled a Christmas tree ornament, handled it all with aplomb. There was also some concern over the "Vicky Cristina Sherry Cocktail," offered as soon as guests arrived. "Sherry? Sherry?!" Nobody seemed to understand the concept of sherry. It was actually delicious, but I've never witnessed so much discussion and trepidation over a free drink! Cruz, Bardem and Clarkson were there, as well as Nora Ephron and Nick Pileggi, Nicole Miller, Russell Simmons and Paula Zahn. Dress was casual. I mean, some people understood they were dining at the Plaza Athenee (the above just-mentioned, for instance.) But a girl who appeared at my table wearing what appeared to be a shortie nightgown personified the general vibe. Eat and right to bed - sensible, I suppose. Then I realized she was actually wearing teeny-tiny denim hot pants.

Harvey Weinstein wore a tight black T-shirt and black suspenders with shiny silver buckles. I know ... but somehow, Harvey made this sexy. Nature did not intend Harvey to be sylphlike, but he looks as if he's working out. Impressive arms. He sat with Miss Cruz on one side and his glorious wife, Georgina Chapman, on the other. This is called being damn lucky! Mrs. W looks like a movie queen herself. She glittered from head to toe. She has acted, though she is best known as a fashion designer.

Harvey - nepotism exists for a reason. Georgina is ready for her Weinstein Co. close-up!