“The Cher Show” opened same time the Museum of the Moving Image honored Oscar maybe Glenn Close. For Cher: Kim, Kanye, Rosie O’Donnell, who gave Kanye her number and told him to call. For Glenn: Ethan Hawke, Christian Slater. Just another boring night.
Cher’s thing gets four oys. Shakespeare, no. Flash, smash, dash, trash, box-office cash, yes. Sets, great. Costumes, to die. Glitter? I mean, please. No rhinestone, tassel or twinkle, bangle or bauble, spangle or sparkle’s left unturned. By comparison, Lady Gaga wears a shroud. I mean, please.
In Chicago’s tryout, it needed work. But nothing in Chicago works. With multiple Chers, the much mush show confuses, but now works enough so male theatergoers sporting beaded ties and ladies wearing boob-to-butt neon shriek excitedly. Our seats probably even had paillettes.
Across the street, the theater headlined “Mean Girls.” Behind Kardashian’s behind, a mouth — not mine — hissed: “Yeah . . . right.”
Cher herself In Person wore allover plain nothing black. Leggings, boots, top. Me: “Where’d this simple outfit come from?” Cher: “Who knows? I can’t even remember who did it or where I got it.”
Close to Oscar, but so far away
Glenn Close after a crowded Park Avenue ballroom’s standing ovation: “This city, where I lived, began work, saw my first set, is where I also learned trust. You must go to fellow actors in order to attract their emotion. You must trust. My wonderful agent, Kevin Huvane, once sent me yellow roses with the note: ‘Don’t let the f - - kers get you down.’ ”
Glenn’s new film “The Wife” is getting Oscar notice. She trust she might get it?
“I’ve been nominated six times before and didn’t win. I doubt I’ll get this one either. I think it’s Olivia Colman for her role as the queen in ‘The Favourite.’ ”
Speaking about trust, Christian Slater: “In ‘The Wife,’ one of our back-and-forth scenes had an edge to it. It was scary. Going in, I was so nervous to make sure I didn’t screw up any lines that I rehearsed at home with my wife.”
Glenn’s simple white designer pantsuit? Stunning. Not a single glitz.
Wait for it…
AT 92Y’s “Torch Song” evening, Mercedes Ruehl, recalling the old days, took a detour. Understudying a play, nightly before curtain she’d hit a small bar for a quiche and glass of wine. The bartender was headier than the wine. They started an affair. She said “It was a great summer. Lots of sex.”
Then Mercedes dropped the bomb: “That bartender was Bruce Willis.”
Bits & pieces
Paul Shaffer’s Caesars Palace residency closed on his birthday with: “The only positive thing turning 69 is the sexual connotation — otherwise, everything sucks” . . . To London for Santa? Be it known Andrew Lloyd Webber put some “Sunset Boulevard”/“Cats”/“Phantom”/“School of Rock”/Joseph and that dreamcoat farthings into redoing his Drury Lane theater, plus sneak-peeking his new revue, “Unmasked.”
‘Tis now the season to give
Chrismas is upon us. I’m looking to help you.
Shrubsole is offering a Charles II silver and gilt tankard. Listen, it beats sneakers or a pushcart’s T-shirt. The thing’s called a “masterpiece.” Date: 1672, give or take a fortnight. Owned by the Archbishop of Canterbury. Gilded by “the greatest restoration goldsmith.”
Who he was, who knows? I only know he didn’t show on West 47th Street. I doubt there’s a line looking to grab it — but, listen, don’t wait.
Mother to her friend: “My kid’s very smart. He has a BA, an MA and a Ph.D. Now he needs to get a J-O-B.”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.
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