The National Board of Review awards, the first of the endless pre-Oscar slave markets, was NYC’s coldest night’s hottest ticket.
ABC-TV’s Lara Spencer, who’d be hosting, arrived in bare legs, and a short, armless Carmen Marc Valvo outfit with netting. She shuddered. “I’m so cold.” The dress was blue. She was, too.
DiCaprio stuck closer to Scorsese than he does with his usual nubile models. So about those naughty things he says in “The Wolf of Wall Street”? Leo, grinning: “You mean like those F-words?”
Scorsese: “I never say them in real life. Maybe if I accidentally cut myself shaving and blood’s pouring from my throat, I might utter such a word. Otherwise — never.”
DiCaprio: “Tonight’s so cold.” Me: “Like effing cold?” Leo: “You said it, I didn’t. I would never say such a word.”
Jonah Hill: “I’m happy to be in Scorsese’s movie. I try not to use those phrases at home. But the script’s so brutally honest I didn’t mind saying them.”
After darting out to greet presenter Rob Reiner, the Board’s president Annie Schulhof stood behind me, using me as a body shield. She shivered in a black leather jacket with gold hardware. “It’s Tom Ford’s,” she said. Better it should have been Doctor Denton’s.
Photographer: “Who’s that familiar face near F. Murray Abraham?” Answered another: “Who knows? Could be that French broad from ‘The Artist.’ ”
Emma Thompson, grabbing Oscar buzz for the “Saving Mr. Banks” takeoff on “Mary Poppins”: “I remember seeing that actual film when I was possibly age six. Who knew I’d someday make a movie about it. My first film, ‘The Tall Guy’ in ’89, was when I was 26. I screen-tested for it. Must’ve been good because I got the job.”
Oscar Isaac, star of “Inside Llewyn Davis”: “Shooting this I never considered such excitement or I’d be paralyzed with fear. We shot in New York where I now live. Next I’m in J.C. Chandor’s ‘A Most Violent Year’ about a kidnapping and a man bringing in heating oil in a very tough violent atmosphere. It’s with Jessica Chastain.”
Cells, two-way radios and walkie-talkies began squeaking: “Jessica Chastain’s coming . . . Jessica Chastain’s coming . . . ”
And in came Jessica Chastain. Red hair. Blue shoes. Yellow de la Renta dress. She said: “Finally, last night, one quiet nonworking evening home. I watched ‘Philomena.’ I’d love to meet Judi Dench.”
Edie Falco: “The babysitter’s watching my kids.” Mike Myers’ handler wouldn’t let him talk. Mike finally said something but who remembers what. Olympia Dukakis: “I’m here for Sarah Polley and best documentary.” Disappearing to shed his coat, Steve Buscemi never reappeared.
While presenters Paul Dano and Maria Bello posed for TV cameras, there came word Jake Gyllenhaal wasn’t going to show. Ditto “12 Years a Slave” director Steve McQueen. We all survived the news. Meryl Streep: “Do I own this gray Gucci I’m wearing? Not sure. I only hope they don’t come after me. Listen, tonight I’m not up for winning anything.”
Bruce Dern, being touted for “Nebraska”: “Who knew all this would happen. I just hoped people would find it and see it. My career started in 1959. Never did a screen test. I was under contract to Elia Kazan. I just read for Mr. Kazan and that was it. Not bad starting out with Kazan, right?”
The evening draws not just heavy hitters but heavy dressers. Michael Barker and Tom Bernard (whose Sony Pictures Classics distributed “Blue Jasmine”) often arrive outfitted like unmade beds. Even they wore suits and ties. Director Lee Daniels — no ecstatic camper since many thought his “The Butler” merited a nomination — featured an open collar shirt.
Said Daniels: “I’ve just done a TV pilot with producer Brian Grazer. It’s black ‘Dynasty’ meets ‘The Sopranos’ with hip-hop and a whole lot of sex, drugs, violence and intrigue thrown in.” Nice. Sounds like a musical.
Everyone assured me Joel and Ethan Coen were attending. These brothers are not wildly chatty so I figured I needed to see them — but, at one point, I was overtaken by another need and so it became either the Coens or the can. I never saw the Coens. The can won.
Whatthehell, just another boring evening in this town . . .
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.