Tony Kushner, author of “Angels in America,” evokes angst. His newie, “The Intelligent Homosexual’s Guide to Capitalism and Socialism with a Key to the Scriptures,” took two years to write. The title’s almost as long as his 3½-hour play.
“There are two intermissions so people have two chances to run if they want,” he said. “Lengthy works are great. Audiences aren’t complaining. They all stay. This big long drama I might make even longer. I still want another shot at fixing it.
“It’s not lightweight. It addresses communism and suicide. Not actually even a Broadway play, which is why it’s downtown at The Public.”
Calling from a taxi, he shouted over the din: “I absolutely support Israel. It should continue to exist. I work hard to be clear that I never supported a boycott. Cherry-picked quotes of mine caused upheaval, and the John Jay College honorary degree I was to receive last week was revoked. A trustee objected to what he said I said. We’re both Jewish. It helped box office, but what he claims I said about Israel wasn’t true.” (Trustee Jeffrey Wiesenfeld declared Kushner an “extremist” opponent and critic of Israel.)
“Things are complicated by fear. We need investment in talking topics off limits to resolve this issue. Freedom of speech is critically important. Social agenda only advances if we stop yelling so much. That state’s hope of survival is not through emotion or fantasy but through non-emotional reason.”
He later accepted that very honorary doctorate, calling it “the most interesting one I had to work hardest to get.” And his play?
“Evolution versus revolution. It’s brooding. Reflecting my own heart-and-mind struggle over this country’s left-wing dream of revolution. It’s about a middle-aged gay son’s affair with a hustler, a lesbian questioning her sexuality and an American communist father’s thought of suicide.”
Not exactly a musical.
WOODY Allen already filming his next. In Rome. Penelope Cruz, Alec Baldwin, Judy Davis, Roberto Benigni, Ellen Page, Jesse Eisenberg. All stars. He takes no chances . . . Joaquin Phoenix out of “retirement” for Marion Cotillard, Jeremy Renner and director James Gray‘s “Low Life” . . . David Copperfield organizing next year’s two-hour TV special “The World’s Greatest Magic,” featuring abracadabra’s newest magicians.
OPENING tomorrow, “Judy Moody and the Not Bummer Summer.” The White House, unbusy with other things, sent word both Misses Obama wish to view it. Don’t wish to go to the movies to see the thing. Wish the movies to come to them. Obliging filmmakers are shipping the first children this big-screen adventure for a kids’ book series, which follows Judy and — we’re talking heavily cultural here — little brother Stink.
ANTHONY Weiner. A hot dog. No mustard, but lots of relish. This mouth that shouted, screamed, hollered in Congress squeaked when caught with his pants down and parts up. My question is: What is it with these guys?
The laundry list of those out there Doing It before and after America’s Chief Tomcat John F. Kennedy include Bobby Kennedy. Teddy Kennedy. Papa Kennedy. John Edwards and his illegitimate baby. That southern gov who, lacking GPS, flew to Argentina to find nirvana. Clinton and Monica. Presidential candidate Newt, diddling a blond third wife while hospitalized second wife lay cancer-stricken. That senator who memorialized a Gents airport toilet. And leave us not forget Spitzer?
LBJ was no slouch. Back in Ford’s administration dwelt a randy Rep. named Wayne Hays and his Elizabeth Ray ladyfriend. Listen, we could even include Europe. Britain’s Prince Charlie, who forsook celibacy. In France, it’s almost anyone. Italy’s Berlusconi? Who knows if this little piggy went to market? I know he’s accused of going to mattresses. Is it a sense of power? Entitlement? Omnipotence? Arrogance? Ego? A need to prove to yourself you are what you tell people you are?
One network exec, a longtime husband but a big-time player, told me: “There’s so much pressure. We need that release.”
I think a Weinerism might have been: “Screw unto others before they run like hell to do it to you.”
WHILST Earth pants for some yutzy memoir of Anthony and his winning wiener, comes now Gotham’s eagerly wildly passionately awaited “His Father’s Son: Earl and Tiger Woods.” Author, Tom Callahan. Publisher, Gotham. Comment: Yippee. Forget war, unemployment, war, poverty, war, rising prices and lowering expectations, war, medical misery, war, bookstores closing, we all yearn to blow food money in order to learn more about this emotionless ballstriker.
EVENTS producer Sarah Galvin found the old Mortimer’s restaurant awning, traditional logo and all, trashed in the summer of ’99. She dug it out. Mortimer’s: great place, great brand, great memories of Princess Margaret, St. Laurent, Warhol’s hotshot days. The 74-by-11 framed awning’s a treasured possession, but, not against making a few bucks, she’s willing to sell. Her e-mail: verbalcocktail@aol.com.
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.