Dr. T, Gregoire, and The Women

Rarely do gossip columnists such as I get invited to actual premieres, especially ones involving gossip legend Richard Gere. In fact, the last premiere I attended was for this tiny ol' independent movie called "Sling Blade" that opened with such little buzz, Billy Bob Thornton didn't even show up. (Little did I know as I sat in that smelly East Village theater that I was looking at an Oscar winner!) Yet shockingly enough, I was invited to attend the ultra-sparkling New York premiere of the new Robert Altman film, "Dr. T and the Women." That's right, kids, I too walked down the red carpet awash in the blinding light of the spotlight and camera bulbs. Of course, the army of photographers basically ignored my entrance (except for one who thought I was Billy Corgan with hair -- I bet he got fired the next day) which was fine as I was wearing my work clothes (i.e. your typical beaded dinner jacket and ascot).

The scene inside was explosive and frenzied, like a really gorgeous warehouse outlet sale. Other journalists and film people sat in the side rows, craning their necks to see who was sitting in the "sacred" center isles. Rows of chairs were marked with signs; one extremely lucky row repeated the name "Fawcett" over and over, like a eager, passionate lover.

It's my belief that the only people who should wear evening gowns and designer suits to movie premieres should be the actual stars of the film. To my utter horror, the theater was packed with shameless wanna-be actors and actresses, flaunting their I'll-do-anything personalities in garments that might have looked stunning if they're weren't all such absolute nobodies. In fact, one faux-starlet in a barely-there mini proceeded to get up from her chair every five minutes to walk up the aisle in a desperate plea to be noticed. Actually, everyone was doing it! It was like a fashion-show runway peopled with losers! These poor saps were sucking up to every bit of fame they could find; one sad sack sidled up to Penn Gillette who sat a few rows up. The girl looked desperate; Penn looked pleased.

There were other stars of a lower wattage filling the seats, like Gilbert Gottfried, smiling excessively, and one of the original "Survivors," i.e. the most elegant member of the "Gilligan's Island" crew. According to spies, the now-elderly castaway asked a member of the film staff to help her to her reserved seat. Of course, there was no reserved seat to be found. Upon being told that her seat was nonexistent, she fired point blank, "I'm Tina Louise, and I would like you to seat me!" Eventually, the former bombshell did get placed in the reserved section. From all reports, Ms. Louise was dressed like a 30-year-old and looked not one day over 120 years.

Finally, the stars filtered in: Richard Gere was dashing, gray as a Scottish moor, and short, so very short. (Get him on his knees, and he could pass for Billy Barty!) Shelly Long looked peppy with her hair back, wearing Escada and doused in Harry Winston diamonds, quite jubilant and happy to be among film stars. Laura Dern looked gorgeous, stylish, and so very Billy-Bob-who? Andy Richter -- well, who knows what he was wearing, and who cares? And, of course, the spectacular mess that is Farrah Fawcett: hair like a mane, Jimmy Choo shoes with major heels, and brown, brown, brown, like a tanning booth victim. (Costar Helen Hunt was a major no-show, and while everyone claims that Kate Hudson showed, I didn't see that little minx anywhere. Was she wearing camouflage?)

As soon as the glamour arrived, Bobby Altman said a few words and the film began. My review: condescending, scatterbrained, and irritating. And while some critics praised the film, a couple critics at the premiere shared my opinion. Two socialite ladies decided about thirty minutes into this mess that they had to leave immediately. They told the woman next to them that they were ill and then confessed, "This movie is so horrible we can't sit though another minute." Unfortunately, they were talking to Cheryl Ladd, who was frozen in shock!

Cheryl, who also looked absolutely stunning in Escada, endured further injustice later in the evening. Reporters waiting outside post-movie requested that Farrah pose with Cheryl in a sort of homage to their days as "Charlie's Angels." The brown, brown Farrah, who had not talked to the replacement Angel in over a decade, refused to take a picture with her... not once, but twice. Farrah, dear, Cheryl has regular work (the lead role in Broadway's "Annie Get Your Gun"), while you appear to be scraping by in a monochromatic existence. Why turn any photo opportunity down?

Maybe she was under the influence of some serious booze? Well, that was the buzz at the glorious after-party at the New York Public Library. The woman nearly flipped down the steps of the Library, stumbling and clinging to her bodyguards like a brown, brown koala. Well, she looked tipsy, though her rep suggested that Farrah was wearing long Badgley Mishka pants with her high heels, a deadly combo on the dozens of Public Library steps. But I'm sorry, after years as the world's 1970s pinup queen, you'd think she could handle a pair of well-made heels. (In "Dr. T", by the way, Farrah has the most humiliating nude scene ever seen in a picture. Paired with seeing her in person, I felt vaguely sorry for her.)

Apparently, Gere and his cutesy wife Carey Lowell picked up on Farrah's strange behavior and sat as far as they possibly could from the woman who actually plays Gere's wife in the film. Rumors circled the party that Gere didn't really get along with the "Burning Bed" star. Gere's flacks laughed these suggestions off, though it seems that Gere had no trouble getting chummy with his other costars.

Once planted in the corner of the after-party with a martini, I noticed many celebrities I hadn't seen at the premiere: Amy Irving, Heidi Klum, Walt Stillman, Jessica Seinfeld, and Penn was joined by Teller (who's even shorter than Gere!). I would have enjoyed staying at the party even later, but those ambitious little no-name starlets and studlets crammed into the place. One Brad-Pitt-like lad even started talking to me! Like I have any kind of a say in the movie industry! "Honey, you come over and clean my bathtub, and maybe I'll mention you in my column!"

All in all, a wondrous evening! And I didn't even had to pay one dime to see this ridiculous, piece-of-crap movie!

GREGOIRE, PART DEUX:
Hillary Gets Wacky and Garth Divorces!
Plus, a MOST GROSS Celebrity Quote of the Week!

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