New York’s usual suspects — tight behinds, low bodices, spike heels plus Stephen Baldwin who, asked how he was, replied: “I’m still alive,” — showed for another unpaid evening: the film “Haywire” they didn’t spring for, restroom without an attendant to tip, gratis snacks, freebie dinner afterward.
Its star Ewan McGregor arrived wearing grunge: “Just off a plane from Geneva.”
No time to change?
“No. I changed.”
Right. He also chewed popcorn so fast that cornlets from his gums vaulted onto me.
No time for dinner?
“No. I ate on the plane.”
Right. Why Geneva?
“I.W.C. International Watch Company.” Sticking out his wrist he flashed his I.W.C. “I appear at their events.”
Right. Onto the movie.
“I play a special military officer. In a fight scene with martial-arts lady Gina Carano — and I knew how to be beaten up by her because it was all choreographed — I hurt my hand. I punched her — left, right, then accidentally on the head. She didn’t even feel it. She said only, ‘You OK?’
“I ride and collect old motorcycles. They’re in my garage in California. I ski in Utah and the French Alps, scuba dive, hang glide, but I’m getting too old for this fight stuff.
“Those fights were real. It’s like steps in a dance. You learn each pivot and kick, but she’s a professional. Never screwed up.
“Our director Steven Soderbergh met her in real life, wanted to do a story around her, and that’s how come this film.
“Next month I shoot the ‘Corrections’ pilot for an HBO series with Chris Cooper. Back and forth in time, it deals with a family whose father has dementia.”
Then: “I remember you interviewed me six months ago for another movie. I remember where we were. I remember where we sat.”
Right. So what was the movie?
“I don’t remember.”
PRODUCER Marty Richards, Oscar winner for the film “Chicago”: “My birthday’s March 11. Last week’s so-called 80th birthday party where you, Robert De Niro, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Michael Douglas came was because I’m not well. Took 3 1/2 hours to dress me. They had me sit on a stool. So who knows if I make it till then? But I’m not worried. I’ve stayed a long time and had a great life. Let’s call last week’s a belated New Year’s party.”
VOGUE’s duenna Grace Coddington, with red hair as long and colorful as her career, is doing an autobio. “I’m 70,” she says. “I started as a model. I’ve been in fashion 55 years.” . . . Sundance gave out Solstice Sunglasses — shades by Hilfiger, Juicy Couture — at something called the Bertolli Meal Soup Chalet . . . Pre-Mama’s diabetes announcement, chef Paula Deen’s chef son Bobby was fast on a phone. Since Mama announced the diabetes, he now doesn’t return calls.
THE political polka: Hate to tell you I told you. But I told you Mitt saying his tax rate’s “probably closer to the 15 percent rate than anything” would hype critics. He preferred waiting until April to release his returns, but the Dems fired up saying Romney’s low rate proves inequality when investments are taxed at a lower rate than income.
Also hate to tell you I told you. But I told you Rick Santorum would take Iowa. I was the only one who predicted it and . . . belatedly . . . I was right.
P.S. Sorry Rick Perry chickened out. He was George Bush without the brains.
TOM Meehan, whose Tonys include writing B’way’s blockbuster “The Producers,” saw Cate Ryan’s warm, loving “The Picture Box” at Theatre Row. About a white girl raised by a now elderly, retired black servant, it’s en route to a miniseries . . . Timothy Greenfield-Sanders’ doc “About Face” premiered at Sundance. HBO showcases it this summer. Associate producer’s Beauregard Houston-Montgomery. So what’s an associate producer do? He says: “Duties include making sure there’s always two-ply toilet paper.”
RICKY Gervais sending photos in the clutch of two cops. Exiting across from where Spike Lee was entertaining Obama, the fuzz grabbed him. After releasing him they got his autograph. Says Ricky: “Security’s really great in your streets!”
MICHAEL’s gents’ room. Lunchtime. Doing what comes natcherly, the guy has one hand on the part that’s doing its doing. His other hand’s texting on his BlackBerry. Nearby, another who was also busy, inquired: “That really necessary?” Replied the busy urinator: “This is important. It can’t wait.”
Bad enough people text while they drive — but now while they pee?
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.