—One of my top H-town über-connected sources who gets paid a ridiculous amount of money to essentially gossip all day long (yes, he works at a major conglomerate), regarding guess which overly hot-button topic du jour?
• Kirsten Dunst in rehab
• Heath Ledger’s toxicology report
• Britney Spears’ hospital to Beverly Hills Hotel jaunt
See, our morbid bit is more about the Oscars—the canceled Vanity Fair party, to be exact.
Sources highly involved with the annual booze-‘n’-canapéfest, held right after the Academy Awards, claim that even though Condé Nast reppers insist the glittery soiree will be back up and running next year, in actuality, most likely “it won’t.”
“Costs too much money,” said the VF-adored mover ‘n’ shaker. On the low end, the bash is said to cost $2 mil, but it's probably much more, once you add in the New York-based rag’s cost of shipping out and putting up its posh worker bees. Motel 6, for example, is not on anyone’s expense report.
“Vanity Fair costs a huge amount of money to produce,” added the FOG (friend of editor in chief Graydon Carter), “and in a time of fiscal responsibility, believe me, this party is not coming back.”
Vanity Fair strongly denies this poopy claim, natch.
But what a dire predic, if true. Wonder if DreamWorks’ competing Night Before do had anything to, uh, do with all this. Doubt it. It's too busy figuring out what to do when Brit-Brit crashes its gig. Because it’s held at—you guessed it—the Beverly Hills Hotel.
Pierce Brosnan, dining midday at Craft, CAA’s de facto cafeteria, with a bunch of Biz-type sharks. Brosnan looked as debonair as his superagent alter ego, despite his informal wear of blue jeans and a T-shirt. Maybe he should have donned his trademark Bond tux? Would have been more suitable, considering all the suits surrounding him. Piercey was def the most popular boy in this cafeteria, as the CAA managers were fawning over the Irish actor like crushing cheerleaders. That accent is quite captivating, isn’t it? Masticating in a far more plebeian manner was...
Quentin Tarantino, enjoying some grease-o-rama (but très delish!) grub at West Hollywood’s Marix Tex Mex Café. Date (or companion or whatever the hell you want to call the human being, who chowed down the renegade dude) was none other than screenwriter-of-the-mo’ Diablo Cody. The Juno scribe and the Pulp Fiction filmmaker slurped up some margaritas and chomped down some chips with another friend before being joined by a bigger bunch—hopefully the rest of the group was able to keep up with Q.T. and D.C.’s sharp wit. We think these two should totally collaborate in the future—either with a film or with each other. Oscar-nom’d Cody is a former stripper, ‘course, so perhaps Q will get inspired by Rose McGowan’s machine-gun-legged gal in Grindhouse for his next missus? Diab’s deffo got more to say than the director’s former flame Mira Sorvino ever did, I bet. Further food fun frolicking with...
Warren Beatty, lappin’ up some high-class lunch with a female friend at the Beverly Hills Hotel. No, the lady in question wasn’t Britney, who’s become a mascot for the posh-again Pink Palace—guess they don’t serve fried chicken and taquitos at the Polo Lounge. The handsome twosome sat in a shady spot in the back patio area, devouring a full table’s worth of dishes between them. War-Be, looking his age but still as handsome as his Bonnie and Clyde days, wore a black sweater and white turtleneck, despite the sunny day. Guess he doesn’t want to risk any skin spots! The beautifully bobbed brunette with Beatty was no Annette Bening, either, for the come-hither record. Where was A.B.? Hope she approved the platonic playdate. Also spotted entering the elite eatery was...
Gene Simmons, wearing a heavy black blazer in the middle of the beautiful (for a real change, this rainy-as-hell season) Hell-Ay day. Doesn’t he ever feel like throwing on a light Hawaiian shirt and some comfy Bermuda shorts once in a while? Goth in springtime is just so unnecessary. Sassy, not silly, was...
Mena Suvari, at the WeHo CVS on Santa Monica Boulevard. The sometimes lesbo-playin' hon was in, like, the gayest drugstore in the city, waiting for a prescription and making all the girls practically pant, promise. Ms. S wore a supercute white jacket, black skinny jeans and leopard heels. Oh, spike me now, baby! Besides, I always wear my animal-print stilettos whenever I pick up medicine at the pharmacy, don’t you? Oh, and let’s hope M-babe takes those pills properly instead of eatin’ 'em, like a few other famous folk seem to make a habit of, eh?
Dear Ted:
Accidental overdose? Do they think we're stupid in Hollywood? Accidental or not, those drugs that were in Heath Ledger's system were not drugs to be taken lightly, and the fact that he took them all together still points to a drug problem to me. Am I just being cynical, or are they really trying to make it look like Heath had less of a problem than it seems (to me, at least) that he did?
Lucy
San Francisco
Dear Hard to Swallow:
Preachin’ to the (catty) choir here, babe.