Opening Night of the 43rd Annual New York Film Festival

Opening Night of the 43rd Annual New York Film Festival
"Good Night, and Good Luck." Premiere September 23, 2005 - Lincoln Center Darlings! It’s been forever. And we simply must tell you all about our latest and most exhausting red carpet du sang fest. Well, there we were emerging from our mid-afternoon baths, feeling fresh as Dakota Fanning’s flower – when we realized we only had a scant five hours before we had to hustle our way uptown to Lincoln Center to attend the Opening Night extravaganza for the 43rd Annual New York Film Festival! After all, they were premiering our good pal, George Clooney’s black-and-white opus (How artsy of you, Georgey Peorgey – we’ve always called him that, for years, since he was skinny.) anywho, George’s cinema verité-like docudrama-like, based on a true story-like revisionist version-like of the Edward R. Murrow vs. Sen. Joseph McCarthy famed bitchslap from the ole “Let’s Kill Us a Commie For Uncle Sam” days. Remember them? We all wore twin sets and full skirts, drank excessively, and cheated on our husbands. Excuse us, that could have been last week . . . we’ll clarify. This all happened eons ago, in an age we like to call the Eisenhower era. Oh, go look it up. We can’t do everything for you!

Anyway, let’s take a gander at the hoi polloi on The Bloody Red Carpet, shall we?Our pal George Clooney
Such a handsome roué, ain’t he? Salt and peppered, and spicy to the touch he is. Trust us. This cat just gets dreamier every day! Sigh. Pardon us while we flutter our eyelashes unashamedly. And while we can’t honestly say that we loved his first directorial big screen effort, “Confessions of a Dangerous Mind”, we respected his daringness, his casting choices, his use of the camera . . . oh, fuck it. We just want him to take us back to his 89 room fuckpad on Lake Cuomo and hammer us till we screech like banshees on one of his period settees. Whew!! A girl can dream, can’t she?

And speaking of girls dreaming.Teri Hatcher
“I’m so thrilled to be here.” Jeezus. Teri. Lighten the fuck up, will ya? So, you lost the Emmy to your co-star Felicity Huffman. So what? You’re not still harboring a grudge are you? Silence. No reaction. We can only imagine what malevolent thoughts she must be running through her little envious mind right about now. Perhaps something like: “Fucking cunt, Felicity . . . bitch better leave that Emmy at home, ‘cause if she so much as brings it within two feet of the Wisteria Lane set, I’ll ram that fucking gold statue so high up her ass, she’ll be gargling with gold. I didn’t suffer through years of Radio Shack® commercials with Howie Long, and decades of playing Lois Lane to get one upped by some slumming Mamet bitch! WHAT THE FUCK DO I HAVE TO DO TO WIN AN EMMY! I have a Golden Globe! Okay, they’re a joke in the industry, but damn it! I want an Emmy! Note to self: Fire agent, fire manager, fire publicist, offer to get Marc Cherry laid, maybe I can pay Dean Cain to sit on his fat face for a few minutes – he has to need the cash, “Ripley’s Believe It Or Not!” can’t pay that well, whatever it takes!” You know. Something along those lines. Go ahead, try this game at home, it’s minutes of fun.
Oh yeah, and this is dress she chose to wear. Let’s not be too critical, it was probably all she could do get out of bed in the morning. Poor lamb.Patricia Clarkson
Oh, Patty. We love you. We’ll put the kid gloves back on. Normally we aren’t too partial the white titty frock on the really white girls, but we’ll make an exception. You had us from your one two killer punch a few years back with “The Station Agent” and your Oscar nominated turn in “Pieces of April” – add to that your incredibly delectable guest appearances on the now blissfully defunct “Six Feet Under” and we are forever in awe of your acting chops! Go with our blessing. But please go. Edie Falco
Aunt Edie! Oh my Gaaad! How you been? How are the kids? That station wagon still giving you problems? You’re looking kinda tired. Please tell us you haven’t been chasing those yummy valium with nail polish again! While we admire your powerhouse talent, we use this moment to warn all gals in the audience. When shopping for a red carpet ensemble, steer clear of the upholstery bins! While this may be perfectly acceptable on a mid-west matron, and yes, we know – it has tons of mileage in its future – just think of the throw pillows, tea cozies and pot holders one could fashion out of this, it has no place on the red carpet. Really looking forward to the next season of “The Sopranos”, at least Carmela’s fashion choices make sense. Ellen Barkin
Whoa! Whoever said money could buy you happiness, needs to take a gander at what has become of Ellen Barkin! Raiding the seventh string bus-and-truck company of “Victor/Victoria”, is not going to camouflage the hazards of time, honey. “Le Jazz Not” we like to call this. Just look at it!Rachel Weisz
Hey, Rainbow Brite®! Bring it down a notch, willya? Miss Weisz has never really registered a blip on our radars – but she sure as shit is trying in this Nava-ho sand painting dreck. Oh, come off it. Like you went and saw “The Mummy” and screamed – there’s a S-T-A-R!! And yes, we know that her current flick in theatres, “The Constant Gardener” has been earning raves, and we simply do not agree. We saw it. Regretfully. It wasn’t completely abhorrent, but take your Dramamine! We’re only going to warn you once.Mira Nair
So Sari. Third class steerage back to Mumbai, now boarding! Namaste. Sylvia Miles
Sweet Jesus!!!! Don’t do that! You could give a gal a heart seizure. No folks, she isn’t kidding. Ages ago, what was once Sylvia Miles earned two Oscar nominations, and was known as being a stylish New York gal about town. This was when New York was known as New Amsterdam. Now, she manages to combine everything unappealing from Granny on “The Addams Family” to the “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” look. Throw in a feathered dog choker, velveteen hair bow and Don Rickles’ eyebrows – and it’s a wrap. And we're really praying that those are polka dotted stockings she's sporting on her hooves. Liver spots are one thing, an epidemic is another. Anna Deavere Smith. Well. Ahem. Okay, she’s a talented writer. So was Simone de Beauvoir. And she wasn’t any less painful to look at. Anna. Sweetie. Clothing should accentuate. Not envelope and smother and drift away under it’s own power. Diane Reeves
Oh, shit. Another one we love. Jazz great, Diane Reeves. The actual pants and top wouldn’t be so painful, if she not opted for the gross grain ribbon cinching her lack of a waistline. It’s like putting a kabbalah string on a hippo.Alex Borstein
Oh, thank you, Alex! Someone with a sense of humor. Right? Please say yes. Of course she has one. Fans of "MadTV" will agree. And actually, the outfit isn’t so hideous considering the mannequin. Too bad that even whilst clowning, she pulled off this look better than this harpy coming up. You are warned!Donna Karan
What? We warned you! Our hand to God! Is there really any wonder at this point in the game, why DK’s empire crumbled? Take a close look at Lainie Kazan’s evil doppelganger here, and try to disagree. Lovely Roman Sandals, really closes the deal, Donna.Tony Danza
So fucking happy to be invited, he’s flashing his invitation in a vain attempt to avoid security bouncing his head down the escalator. Probably the reason he’s wearing nylon track pants and sneakers too, just in case he has to make a mad dash for the subway. Lord knows, he can’t afford a “Taxi” at this point. Oh, we kill ourselves!!!Ron Silver
Pay attention. This is what happens when liberals go right wing. Let this be a lesson to all of you who are considering selling your souls to Karl Rove.George's face says it all!
We agree completely. Why bother showing up to the premiere, if this is the crowd you’re gonna get. Sorry, Georgy Peorgy. We still love you. Call us. Bless you all!