Every day is opening night.

Ladies and gents,

Traffic stopped, jaws dropped, and history was made on Broadway. On the evening of April 3rd, the opening night of Good Night, and Good Luck turned the Winter Garden Theatre into a luminous beacon, casting its glow across the Great White Way and bathing the red carpet in theatrical splendor. The press line—cleverly placed across the street—offered shutterbugs the rare treat of capturing their subjects with the theater marquee in full glory behind them. Images for the ages that have already traveled around the globe and back.

George Clooney, in his hotly anticipated Broadway debut as Edward R. Murrow, delivered a performance that sent shivers up the spines of even the most jaded theatergoers. But the most emotionally resonant moment came not onstage, but from the orchestra seats, lined with more press types than a White House Correspondents Dinner during the Obama years. Rachel Maddow, Lawrence O’Donnell, Stephanie Ruhle, Jake Tapper, Maureen Dowd, Willie Geist, Lesley Stahl, George Stephanopolos, Chris Wallace, Shawn McCreesh, and Jacob Bernstein—stalwarts of today’s fourth estate—were seen rising to their feet at curtain call, Maddow visibly overcome, wiping tears. She hasn’t shown that much emotion in public since election night.

The rest of night’s glittering guest list read like a Hollywood Reporter fever dream. Among the many bright lights: Jennifer Lopez, Drew Barrymore, Pierce Brosnan, Pamela Brown, Jason Robert Brown, Graydon Carter, Rachel Chavkin, Cindy Crawford (flanked by Rande and Kaia Gerber), Lear deBessonet, Anthony Edwards and Mare Winningham, Michael J. Fox, Leslye Headland, Richard Kind, Juliana Margulies,Lorne Michaels, Kylie Minogue, Lynn Nottage, Jim Parsons, Justin Peck, Matthew Rhys, Whitney White, Shailene Woodley, and Rachel Zegler.

The celebration continued backstage, where producers Greg Nobile, John Johnson, and Sue Wagner popped champagne (yes, the French stuff) in a cozy “producer” office.

Then came the ball. Ah, the ball! A black-and-white soiree to rival Capote’s own, held within the marbled majesty of the New York Public Library, and masterfully orchestrated by Apotheosis Events impresario Ryan Hill. I spent time rubbing elbows with producers Robert Fox and Jean Doumanian – basking the glow of success. Air kissed more theater titans than you could shake a stick at, including Shubert head Robert Wankel and Disney’s own Thomas Schumacher.

Clooney glided through the room as though he were a guest himself, sharing an especially electric embrace with Ms. Lopez. Then I witnessed JLo meet JRo (Jordan Roth) on the library steps. Both dressed to the elevens in jaw-dropping monochrome, framed by the library’s iconic lions. The flashbulbs didn’t just pop—they applauded.

For those in the know, the revelry didn’t end there. An exclusive after-after party unfolded at Casa Cipriani, where Clooney and Grant Heslov held court once more. Clooney, now relaxed, finally enjoyed a drink—a Bud Light!—while his devoted super-agent Bryan Lourd glowed as the rave reviews poured in and fellow CAA ten-percenter Joe Machota and personal press man, Simon Halls, greeted friends with an ear-to-ear grin.

And yet, the night was still not over. An undisclosed suite beckoned a final coterie of revelers, but I demurred. Instead, I found myself at Printemps, where the owners kept the bar open in honor of the occasion. I brought along a clutch of new and old friends—Roxane de Bercy, Pascal du Maurier, and the mysterious gentleman known only as Claude. We all agreed to speak exclusively in French. I understood none of it. But the martinis were très bien, and so was I.

Sadly, I missed my flight to the Oliviers. Blame gueule de bois—which Claude tells me, despite its literal meaning (“wooden mouth”), translates best as “hangover that eats your soul.” But fear not, I managed to send orchids and bubbly to darling winners: Eva Price, Christopher Wheeldon, the ATG team, Tom Scutt, Jordan Fein, and the fabulous Michael Harrison—whose party, I hear, brought the West End to its knees. Next year, I shall be there. And if the gods are good, I’ll end the night in the Claridge’s piano bar with Sir Ian McKellen and Tracie Bennett.

Tidbits from around town…

Saw Amy Sedaris carrying three vintage typewriters up the steps of the Strand.

Spied Anderson Cooper offering directions to a lost tourist near the Stonewall Inn.

Overheard Kristin Chenoweth describe her dog’s therapist as “a miracle worker with boundary issues.”

A toast of something sparkling to you and yours!

Kisses