Tell us what happened, Faye Dunaway! At a many chosen Oscars party, A-listers had one question.
February 28, 2017 - Jonas Brothers
Halle Berry took Faye Dunaway by a shoulders.
“I have to know,” Berry said, her ringlets bobbing, in a core of a Vanity Fair Oscar Party during 12:15 a.m. Monday. “I have to know.”
Dunaway, glowing in white, answered darkly: “Warren is right, is all I’ll tell you.”
There had been an envelope, and Warren Beatty non-stop it, and inside was a card, and a label pronounced “La La Land,” and so Dunaway did, too. And then, “Moonlight.”
“It gave me hope,” pronounced Fran Lebowitz, a scathing Manhattan literary gadfly, on a patio about 3 hours after that ancestral showbiz catastrophe, as a A-list drank divided a withering awkwardness.
“That we could arise adult tomorrow morning,” Lebowitz said, “and Hillary Clinton will be president.”
Here’s to a ones who dream, ridiculous as they competence seem. The dreamers were doubtful here during a domicile of a magnanimous coastal Hollywood conspiracy: a 23rd annual Vanity Fair Oscar Party, hosted by Graydon Carter and hold in a temporary space joining a Wallis Annenberg Center for a Performing Arts and a garden of Beverly Hills City Hall.
“They coulda stopped a show,” pronounced a blue-tuxed Matt Damon during a north finish of a party.
“So what happened?” Disney arch executive Bob Iger asked Dunaway on a south end.
“My congratulations to black people opposite America,” pronounced Bill Maher, rising from a men’s room. “They won, and they kicked a white people in a balls on a approach to it.”
But life goes on, and so did a party. Out front on Santa Monica Boulevard, Salma Hayek stepped out of her limo and raced into a arms of a mariachi rope stationed by a opening to a party. They pennyless into “Sabor a Mí.”
“That’s my night,” violinist Jose Ballin pronounced afterward, reviewing detailed justification that he serenaded Hayek. “I can die a happy man.”
City of stars, all congested into one plcae for a few hours once a year. There was a common banishment patrol of photographers, followed by a immeasurable glass-enclosed room with a bar as prolonged as a tennis court, heaped with white hydrangeas and portion Dom Pérignon and Grey Goose. It was inevitable, during a time and place like this, to incidentally bend Mick Jagger in a ribs, and to inadvertently put your nose into Caitlyn Jenner’s cleavage.
Keep going by a categorical room and you’d finish adult in a round lounge, underneath a fabric-draped oculus with a mirrored chandelier, on a wooden dance building with bullion inlay. The strain was improved than in years past. Two of a 3 Jonas Brothers were dancing to INXS. Heidi Klum assimilated for reggae.
Outside, past a 30-foot wall of windows, a tiered patio and a salvation of tobacco. The Spanish Revival building of City Hall was illuminated purple, afterwards rose, afterwards orange. Thin shafts of light wiped a cloudy sky. “I’m finishing essay a book,” pronounced Patricia Arquette, a fur of different start gripping her shoulders from a poignant night air. “And we usually incited down a TV series. It unequivocally is a vicious time.”
It unequivocally was. It was a fifth anniversary of Trayvon Martin’s death. Donald Trump was president. A film about a happy black male won best picture.
“I’m astounded it wasn’t more political,” pronounced “Selma” executive Ava DuVernay, nominated this year for a documentary “13th.” She was sitting underneath a undulating 80-foot-long candelabrum done of LED lights and fabric panels.
Would she have let lax if she had won?
“I was ready,” she said.
Now for balance: Kelsey Grammer! A regressive in a foxhole. Here he came with his wife, uninformed off a review with Freida Pinto. What knowledge could he pass along from operative with liberals for so long?
“Give it time,” Grammer said. “You needn’t rush to judgment.”
And Megyn Kelly! “How many jokes during a Democrats’ expense?” pronounced a earlier Fox News anchor, headed for an outward bar. “Not one. They missed a genuine event with bringing in those people off a bus. Put one of them in a ‘Make America Great Again’ shirt. Show someone who is not represented by Meryl Streep.”
Passing by: Mac-and-cheese bites. Pistachio macarons. Mandarin jellies. Small containers of golden french fries from Bouchon. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen Anjelica Huston flounce by a throng as “No Diggity” plays.
Around 1 a.m., things got a small freaky. Amy Adams and her father were dancing to Tupac, dancing genuine tighten — eyes locked, smiling, as if they were a usually dual people on this or any other planet. Then David Bowie.
Let’s lean underneath a moonlight.
This critical moonlight.
The “Moonlight” throng was here; a “La La Land” folks seemed not to be. Only Emma Stone came through, and on a early side during that. People kept murmur in executive Barry Jenkins’s ear. One of a visual-effects winners incidentally deserted his Oscar during a bar. There was a impulse when it looked as yet Jeff Bezos, owners of Amazon and owners of The Washington Post, competence start dancing to Drake (but didn’t).
And afterwards Viola Davis arrived in a shining white pantsuit with a dip neck and what looked like bullion sneakers. She was eager and tired. Everyone flocked to her. She hugged a wall. She gripped her husband’s palm and her Oscar. They scooched their approach to a bar, perplexing to be invisible. The father gathering toward a potion of H2O and handed it to Davis, who slanted her conduct behind and savored any sup as yet she’d been in a desert.
Then it was after 2 a.m. and Isabelle Huppert was dancing to George Michael. The strain was “Everything She Wants,” and there was a lot of hopping and hitching.
Dev Patel and Katie Couric took a selfie.
Ricky Martin hold a doorway for us.
Quincy Jones was inventory during a 30-degree angle on one of a settees.
This was a usually venue in existence where Lin-Manuel Miranda had to hunt around for 30 seconds for someone to speak to.
Carrie Fisher was there — in spirit, or rather, in a selection engraved on Zippo lighters given out as favors: “As we get older, a pickings get slimmer, yet a people don’t.” Light your Marlboro, in memoriam.
Michael Shannon was wearing a pin on his lapel that pronounced “NO!” Surely some magnanimous cause, alongside all those ACLU ribbons. What does it mean?
“It’s usually ‘no,’ ” Shannon said.
No to everything?
“Yeah, usually ‘no,’ ” he said, and during this point, after this night, it sounded like a winning platform.