Tomorrow, April Fools’ Day.
Mel Gibson palmed off a live cockroach while Julia Roberts was shooting a demanding scene.
Daniel Radcliffe set co-star Robbie Coltrane’s mobile phone so his messages arrived in Turkish.
Jim Carrey dressed in a gorilla suit to wait on the restaurant table of Laurence Fishburne.
Robert De Niro hates rats. Pal Harvey Keitel put a toy one on his doorstep.
A David Schwimmer scene. An actress had to grab him in a sensitive spot. Unsensitive Schwimmer stuck a cucumber in his drawers.
Flying LA to San Fran, Nicolas Cage got on the PA system. The crew saw no humor in it and authorities met him at the airport.
Chazz Palminteri: “Age 12, I stuffed ketchup bottles in a dummy, threw it off a crowded Bronx street roof. Everyone screamed. Everything splattered everywhere.”
Elijah Wood locked his mom out and trashed the kitchen as she watched helplessly through a glass door.
Prankster Ashton Kutcher’s “agent” went to supposedly offer Jennifer Love Hewitt a job, but revealed he’d lost money over a bad bet, his life was at risk, and two “debt collectors” then charged in. She was terrified.
“A crazed gunman” was sent to use Sean Penn as a shield. Outside Sean was shot — but by Woody Harrelson’s camera. Sean returned the favor. Drove him 40 miles into Australia’s outback, pretended engine trouble. Woody got out to help. Sean sped off, stranding him.
In an emotional scene, Johnny Depp pressed a remote-controlled, unattractive sounding noise machine in his pocket. Penélope Cruz said: “Until I learned about it, I wanted to run and hide.”
Matt Damon’s “The Talented Mr. Ripley” role was to drop trou, and Gwyneth was to look shocked. She did because he deliberately left off his G-string.
Kate Beckinsale, forced into a nude scene she deemed unnecessary, peed in the director’s thermos.
Benicio Del Toro phoned a burgled house pretending he was one of the robbers.
Chita Rivera won’t forget Vegas in the ’70s: “During my routine there were laughs. Onstage Buddy Hackett stood behind me — naked.”
Harvey: ‘Never’ to B’way
1860. Kirriemuir, Angus, Scotland produced Sir James Matthew Barrie. Now, three geniuses Harvey Weinstein, Barry and Fran Weissler are rejuicing J.M.’s “Peter Pan” in B’way’s coming musical. “Finding Neverland” tested in London, LA and this week’s NYC workshop. Bono loved the music, Anna Wintour applauded the cast. Harvey’s producing. The Weisslers, Broadway mavens whose global “Chicago” companies earned $1 mil per week, are the hired hands.
Harvey: “In the four years this has taken me, I produced 50 films and got 12 Oscars.” Harvey’s nicer quality is he’s so understated.
Tabloid troubles
FEB. 10, I exclusively reported Philip Seymour Hoffman’s friend David Bar Katz discovered him dead. A similarly named phony, bragging my column mentioned “him,” the Enquirer incorrectly trumpeted as Hoffman’s real friend. Result? Retraction and lawsuit. Pecker, that paper’s CEO, gets things wrong. Killed my husband’s jokes column as Joey lay dying. He could still read. Comics furnished it free. I personally asked Pecker to continue it the remaining weeks. He didn’t. I exude acid when it comes to that roach.
Reader Francine Win: Upper East Side dental office. A patient on her cell: “He said he’d replace two molars with implants for $11,000. I said, ‘For that price I’d rather buy a Hermès bag. At least I’ll have something to show for it.’ ”
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.