Miranda Richardson: “Our movie ‘Belle’ is about scandal and jealousy and Britain’s mixed-race royal family of the 1700s.
“We filmed outside London. Way outside. On the Isle of Man. I’d visited before and said, ‘Never again.’ My experience there? Not great. Would I ever want to make my life there? No! They haven’t even a soundproof studio. We just shot on location.
“Not nudity and sex, ‘Belle’ is subtle with moments where you think it will go horrifyingly wrong. Two ladies brought up as equals. Share secrets and worries then there’s this unexpected row. The white one says: ‘He wouldn’t be interested in you.’ The audience tenses, and that’s the elephant in the room.”
About being mistaken for a Natasha Richardson/Vanessa Redgrave Richardson, it’s: “That’s happened to me. It’s annoying. I tell people, ‘You haven’t done your research,’ and they leave with their tail between their legs.
“Mostly, life is good for me. Happy to come here and work, but Britain is my home. I’ve always lived in the UK. I live with a German short-haired dog and a Burmese/Siamese rescue cat. And I remember my beginnings, when I came all the way on a train to meet with a director. And left, all the way back on the train, never thinking I met his expectations. And then they called to give me the role.
“But, please, see this movie. It’s wonderful.” I did, and she’s right.
Chelsea Clinton, who?
We’ve had Roosevelt, Rockefeller, Nixon, Bush, Kennedy — now Clinton — juniors. Thankfully no little Jimmy Carters craved politics. Tuesday was Chelsea’s Pierre luncheon. Invitations, reaffirmations, confirmations followed my advance invite promising “a special great table.”
I arrived. Checklist girls didn’t know who I was. Never heard of me. Couldn’t find my name. Repeated: “Who invited you?” Pitying guests vouched for me, offered to share their table. I was “allowed” into the ballroom. Someone in charge indicated a rear table, at the door, way in the back, for me. I left.
Hard hats jackhammering outside shouted: “Hey . . . Cindy . . . ” The street knew me. The ballroom didn’t. So Chelsea wants to run for office? With chimps running her future, better she should walk for office.
Save the date
MAY 13 Kennedy Human Rights auction winners get coffee with Sally Field, meet the “Bluebloods” stars, schmooze with Kennedy Center Honors VIPs and name a Nelson DeMille novel character . . . May 6 John Jay College honors Nobel winner Elie Wiesel. Supreme Court Justice Stephen Breyer will attend . . . Wired magazine: “Touch screens keep your kids quiet. But will also melt their brains.”
Pay attention
Alan Cumming on “Cabaret” co-star Michelle Williams: “I admire her confidence. It’s her first musical. I keep telling her to relax. A hard worker, I think she can get stressed out.” . . . The LA Clippers guy doesn’t just hate races. He also hates religions. He changed his birth name Tokowitz to Sterling. This sterling individual doesn’t need the world to hate him. He even hated himself.
P.S. That LA Clippers yutz is against everything. He even thinks “Moby Dick” is a special disease.
Doggie talk
Coton de tulears, around since Noah, plus some wire-haired vizsla are now pedigree breeds. What’s next — cockapoos? Havadoodles? Westminster president Sean McCarthy: “No. No mixed breeds.” Good. Or Best in Show will run 18 hours . . . Star Jones, with décolleté below her knees: “They really are jumping out, aren’t they?”
Two gentleman at Bijan’s on Hoyt Street in Boerum Hill. Well-dressed lady, crying, pulls up a chair with, “Today would’ve been my grandfather’s birthday. Let dinner be on me.” Diner Mr. Giallo: “Thank you, but dessert would be more than enough.” She rose, walked to their server, paid for the dessert, and left.
Only in Brooklyn, kids, only in Brooklyn.