Couture designs come and go, but cleavage is forever. Always at full gallop.
Every year, Cleavage City takes over the Oscar madness, as it did Sunday at our Oscarcast in the Dolby Theater.
Dozens upon dozens of Cleavage City’s unparalleled beauties jammed the 23rd annual Vanity Fair fannybumper on Oscar night near the Wallis Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts in the heart of Beverly Hills. Where the tony magazine erects a huge private party space like no other. Expense be damned, but its global impact remains historic.
All hail Vanity Fair editor-in-chief Graydon Carter, maestro of Hollywood’s colossal night of nights.
Graydon’s is a heady scene of high glamour. Where the Who and the Who of entertainment dine and huddle and pay scant attention to what’s going on with the television screen. The conversational noise is deafening.
Visiting Manhattanites such as satirist Fran Leibowitz and her fellow East Coasters kick up their curdling conversations during dinner, critiquing the famous and near famous. They spare no one.
We wonder what they had to say about the 49-years-young “cute” host Jimmy Kimmel. And about Envelope Gate, that Byzantine fiasco blamed on Brian Cullinan, a starstruck member of the PriceWaterhouseCooper accounting firm that delivers the winners in their sealed notes.
Brian, by the way, is a champion javelin thrower, movie-star handsome. Perhaps a producer may lasso him for a role, now that his fame’s become worldwide.
On a positive note, let’s applaud Oscarcast producers Michael DeLuca and Jennifer Todd for corralling Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway to present the Best Picture award on the 50th anniversary of their classic Bonnie And Clyde. Photographic access for the producers was not available.
In the long ago, we were there for various years with the Vanity Fair dinner revelers. Several hundred dinner invitees are well fed and wined during the telecast. They are followed by the tsunami onrush pouring in for the In- N-Out burgers passed among the starving “toothpicks,” as the French describe after-dinner guests.
On one occasion or two, we sat with longtime friend Ed Limato, the acclaimed talent agent who fostered Denzel Washington’s strong carrier.
Ed’s celebrations on the Friday night prior to the Oscars were the talk of the town. We looked forward to visiting with his mom Angelina at the vast and luxurious estate off Coldwater Canyon. Ed reminded us that this was the mansionette Dick Powell built for wife Joan Blondell.
At one party, we anointed Ed “the barefoot host in the Versace shirt.”
Donatella Verace then Fed-Ex’d Ed with the gift of an exclusive design for the evening, where moguls and matinee idols and who-are-these-people drifted through vast grounds and mansionette that included a fabled red velvet and gold brass theater named for Marlene Dietrich.
Ed’s pre-Oscar crowds mirrored democracy at its best, somebodies and wannabes boozing, making out and laughing the night away.
And with Uncle Oscar waiting in the wings for his Sunday Showtime.
After her first glimpse of the Oscar statuette, Bette Davis sighed: ”Why, he looks just like my Uncle Oscar!”
A belated muchas gracias now to Godmother Bette.
Rumors continue to surface that Hearst is interested in buying Conde Nast with its “treasures” of Vanity Fair, The New Yorker, Vogue, Architectural Digest and others.