Cindy Adams

Cindy Adams

Celebrity News

Hot-ticket Vanity Fair Oscar party’s new venue was fabulous

Pay attention. What’s on Uranus and Jupiter, who knows? What’s on this planet, I know. And I know one of its most famous faces is Robert De Niro. Not saying cuddly, chummy, fuzzy, friendly. Saying famous.

So the montage. Classy Beverly Hills Hotel. The Dalai Lama stayed in it. Harvey Weinstein entertained in it. De Niro’s in the elevator. A lady gets on, stares, and her gizzard turns to tapioca. Can’t believe. In shock. Her idol actually lives, breathes and takes elevators. So excited she can hardly speak. Finally, summoning courage, she says: “Pardon me, but aren’t you Dustin Hoffman?”

So he answers, “Yes.”

So at Vanity Fair’s party I asked why’d Bob say that. He says, “Well, what else am I going to say?”

Stuffing bodies, fluffing egos, beats the Oscars. In MM and Rin Tin Tin’s era, post-Academy Award hoo-hahs were given by agent Swifty Lazar. Then the one male, Oscar, was partied by the one female — actor David Janssen’s widow, Dani — who got those Streisand, Nicholson used-to-bes. Then it was insider Norby Walters nailing whomever was left. Then came Elton, whose crowd is nothing to be ashamed of.

The evening’s now upsizing. James Cameron gave a party. Madonna gave a party. But the mother of all galas? The Vanity Fair invite. With the usual nice drop-ins like McCartney, Pink, Conan, Amys Adams and Poehler, from Bo Derek to Orlando Bloom.

At the door as I arrived, Joe Scarborough and his Mika, whom he sees early in the a.m. plus (according to longtime rumors that they have denied) late in the p.m. New betrothee Allison Williams waved a large engagement ring. Reese Witherspoon wore a sexy dress. Greta Gerwig, Judd Apatow, Jimmy Buffett, who says fie on buffet, had been there since early seated dinner. Ditto the chop suey of Preet Bharara with LL Cool J.

Bob Balaban wandered around drinking cranberry juice . . . Adrien Brody, days ago in a fire-engine red silk hand-stitched suit, sported a proper tux.

Between Meryl Streep’s Gummer girls stood financier Mike Milken, once dominating headlines, with rich pharmaceutical Stewart Rahr, who lives for gossip columns.

Streep: “I don’t know about anything. I’m just happy. I’ve had a bottle of red wine.”

So Scorsese, whom I assumed is not out of employment, what’s next? “My HBO rock ’n’ roll project with Mick Jagger, who’s worked on it for years. He’s executive producer. And next week I’m in Thailand starting another movie.”

Behind him a manager in my ear: “DiCaprio lost because he’s too pretty. But he’s now 39, looking less pretty, so he’ll win in another year.”

Kerry Washington, holding her belly — “I’m due next month” — posed for pictures in her purple Jason Wu.

Behind Jon Hamm by Jane Fonda near Bruce Willis — Serena Williams in long, gorgeous tight tight tight gown: “Three fittings. Michael Costello made it just for me. I didn’t diet to fit it. Let’s just say it was painted on.”

Gayle King: “With this trying-to-lose-weight thing, I have so many clothes in so many different sizes.”

I tell Larry David he never talks to me. Talking to me he said: “Let’s continue. Let me not talk to you.”

Brian Grazer’s ladyfriend, in a short balloon dress, looked too young to even play with balloons. Transplanted Comm. Ray Kelly’s wife, Veronica, told Kelsey Grammer her favorite show was “Frasier.”

Vanity Fair boss Graydon Carter’s new party venue was magnificent. NYC architect Basil Walter hoisted Sunset’s one-time outdoor garage from rain-soaked ground on 300 8-foot spikes, built outdoor walkways, indoor fireplaces, dozens of TVs, giant movie-star portraits, wall-to-wall carpet, a kitchen, sewer lines, heating lines, air-conditioning lines, electric lines, fancy walls, illuminated ceiling, busy bars — and entertained 800 humans like Lady Gaga — and did it, like Our Father which art in Hollywood, all in seven days.

Tomorrow its toys go into storage, and the joint’s back to an outdoor garage.

It was so crowded I’m not sure I actually saw Kelly Ripa. I only know we waved on the red carpet. She used her one free hand. The other was schlepping up the gown’s train.

One human I didn’t see was Jane Lynch who, before the hoo-hah and hoopla, said: “I’ve never been to the Oscars.”