Internationally, the movie industry is razzberrying the Oscars for dissing Affleck’s Best Director nom. Everyone loves the turn-around actor-cum-director. Like Clooney, whose company made the film, he’s friendly, approachable, charming, likable. The actors even love Ben Affleck.
“Argo” grabbed BAFTA, Golden Globes, SAG, Directors Guild, Producers Guild, and whatever’s the USC Libraries Scripter awards. Although nobody wants to wake those 6,000 left-leaning geezers who vote, the crapshoot is it wins Best Picture.
Best Actor? Daniel Day-Lewis, who’s breathtaking in “Lincoln.” Best Actress? Naomi Watts and Jessica Chastain, magnificent. Emanuelle Riva? Wishful thinking. The bet is Jennifer Lawrence, partially because she’s young and fresh.
Supporting? Alan Arkin steals scenes. Christoph Waltz and Philip Seymour Hoffman are recent winners. The shot is De Niro. For actresses, Anne Hathaway or Sally Field.
Distributor Disney’s spent $100 million on superb “Lincoln’s” campaign — DVDs, memorabilia, stories, everything’s been sent out but cookbooks — and it’s reflective in the heavy box-office take. Their underlining theorizing leans toward a vote for “Lincoln” is a vote for Obama is a vote for our country. Obama’s inauguration used the Lincoln Bible.
Best Adapted Screenplay might miss terrific Tony Kushner for “Lincoln” because a New York name doesn’t resonate in LA. Best Original Screenplay, look for “Django Unchained’s” Tarantino.
Steven Spielberg, the world’s all-time best cinematic director, is fighting jealousy. Inviting Clinton to the Golden Globes made fuzzheads think he outstretched. But Best Director is either Spielberg or Ang Lee, who is shyer, not verbose. Guess? Ang Lee for tech awards and Spielberg for directing “Lincoln.”
ROCCO Leo Gaglioti of fashionnewslive.com, plus his mike and cameraman, roamed collections like designer Joanna Mastroianni’s lush show. At another one, he introduced Padma Lakshmi as “Pamela Lunchmeat.” Hysterically amused, she wasn’t . . . Model Janice Dickinson’s sister Debbie opens off-B’way’s Roy Arias Theater the 19th in “True Artists: The Life of Beethoven.” Son Evan plays Beethoven.
MELANIE Hart showing her Callula Lillibelle line Valentine’s Day at Hudson Terrace . . . Buffalo Bills giving football tips to kids on Everloop.com . . . TriBeCa’s Salomon Arts holding a Saturday fund-raiser for artist Colette. Sandy’s 9 feet of water flooded her studio . . . Let it be known TV’s newest hotshot Lena Dunham is ever polite, courteous, loving, never ruffled or impatient. Take note.
JIMMY Kimmel, on-air, called Rabbi Shmuley “an attention whore.” Shmuley, off-air: “Kimmel needs to read my book ‘Kosher Sex.’ ”. . . Fashion alert: Reese Witherspoon at LA’s Century City Mall in Theodora & Callum’s multi Aztec blanket scarf . . . Katie Couric show’s been renewed another year . . . TV news: New reality program is coming called “Titans.” Like the show, it’ll only smell for an hour.
RIGHT off Worth Avenue’s famous shopping street is Palm Beach’s landmark hotel, the Brazilian Court. Historic. Been there forever.
It is now going south. Not geographically. Financially. Rated four stars, home of Daniel Boulud’s restaurant, placed on Condé Nast Traveler’s Gold List, where Robert Kennedy’s son David died of an ’80s overdose, where Florida’s gods and goddesses sip, sup, sleep — it’s in foreclosure.
It went partially condominium. Whether the age of the guests or the stage of their post-Madoff finances, half the units didn’t sell. Result? It’s gone the way of silent films.
NEXT month HarperCollins publishes “Hopper.” The lurid visceral story of actor Dennis Hopper who, while leaving this earth, barricaded his LA home and began an ugly divorce with his fifth wife, who also lived there. Ex-wives (singer Michelle Phillips’ marriage lasted eight days until he pointed a gun at her) and assorted offspring joined to battle for his valuable estate.
Troubled, unstable, drug-addled, roller-coaster genius. Demons. Acid. Narcotics. Blacklisted in Hollywood for insolent behavior. Born in poverty, suffering depression. Remember his hippie outlaw in “Easy Rider,” crazed photojournalist in “Apocalypse Now,” twisted psychopath in “Blue Velvet”?
His life, a wild ride.
NEW York’s newest gambit is carting home your restaurant leftovers. At Bobby Van’s on West 50th a lady, ordering a juicy medium-rare sirloin, took home a nicely packed bag of gorgeous unfinished steak. Because of the economy? No. Because she has two dogs. Know how I know? Because it was me.
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.