| Ladies and gents,
I don’t care what anyone says: it’s still summer! In fact, September is the very best month of summer, as far as I’m concerned. But, even the most militant autumn-delayers must admit that a certain “back-to-school” seriousness pervades as soon as the last Labor Day BBQ has been snuffed out. So, I can’t help but find myself reflecting on the summer that was— er, is.
My home base has been Amagansett (a few doors down from Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker — or at least I think it was them), where I’ve found an adorable Italian tennis coach willing to consistently hit the ball directly to my forehand so I never have to move. I call it the “late stage Elvis workout,” and it’s kept my endorphins sky high all season long. Fridays I spent at Almond, often within spitting distance of the roundtable at which Andy Cohen would hold court — usually surrounded by an assortment of Hollywood heavyweights, theatricals, and pretty young things. Among other familiar faces I spotted across various Fridays: Marc Jacobs, Alex Levy, Sam Shahid, John Benjamin Hickey and Antoni Porowski. Mornings were spent at Carissa’s, often within spitting distance of Ina Garten and whichever friend she brought along to share her buttered toast (Daryl Roth on more than one occasion).
I made it down to Palm Beach for a spell, as house guest of John Barlow — legendary theatrical and current bon vivant — at his oceanfront condo. A total delight, except for the time I nearly stepped on a tiny white dog in front of the Colony Hotel. The crispy woman on the other end of the leash started beating my shoulders with a rolled up copy of the Shiny Sheet. I finally had to duck for cover inside the hotel lobby until she was out of sight.
I spent a glorious few days in Aspen, where I rubbed shoulders with the likes of Colleen Jennings Roggensack, Jed Bernstein, Keith Carradine, and Brian Moreland. We were all in town for Theatre Aspen’s wonderful Solo Flights Festival, which boasted oodles of great new work, including a particularly provocative play performed by Anthony Rapp. More on that later.
I visited Williamstown for a heady weekend led by incoming Managing Director, Strategy & Transformation, Raphael Picciarelli, who is ushering the Williamstown Theatre Festival into the future.
And was invited to Wall Street to what I thought was a “coffee house” and ended up spending two fascinating hours in a subterranean maze of a wild theatrical adventure called Life and Trust. It’s the brand new immersive sensation from the Sleep No More producers, and I’ll be back for more! Afterwards, I had a fun conversation over a cup of the aforementioned coffee with NPR sex symbol Ira Glass and we agreed that a joy of the summer was another nearby theatrical experience, Cats: The Jellicle Ball at PAC. (Downtown really IS where it’s at — I have an invitation from my pal Margot Robbie to attend a weekend preview of a brand new musical, The Big Gay Jamboree, at the old Stomp-ing grounds, The Orpheum, on Second Avenue.)
I flew to London for the closing performance of Frozen. I was seated directly across the aisle from Disney heavy Tom Schumacher, and the producer Thomas Swayne who both seemed genuinely moved by the wild crowd response. We New Yorkers tend to think of shows based only on their Broadway runs, so it’s always eye-opening to be reminded of the international endurance of these Disney titles (I’ve seen Tarzan three times in Germany). Theatre Royal Drury Lane’s “landlord.” Lord Lloyd Webber (say it three times, fast) was not in attendance as he was hosting the nuptials of son, Billy. I also attended Webber’s classic Starlight Express, which has always been one of my personal favorites, and I can report is back and better than ever in this totally reimagined production.
And, finally, I made it to Mexico City, where I was beckoned by the Frida Kahlo family for an off-the-record conversation about plans for the upcoming musical project. I’d tell you more, but I’m honor bound not to.
Now, back in New York: I attended the American Theatre Wing Gala, paying tribute to the theater’s Unsung Heroes, and got so tipsy on Cipriani’s famed Bellinis that I got lost on my way back from the loo and accidentally wandered backstage, startling Joshua Henry, who was just about to perform. Heather Hitchens, the organization’s CEO and President, kindly escorted me back to my seat.
I was also front-and-center at the opening night of The Roommate as guest of Jamie DeRoy, Meena Harris and Wendell Pierce (what a party!) and loved the hilarious Jen Silverman play, about a tough and tender friendship that blossoms between two middle aged women from vastly different backgrounds. But what really makes the thing an event is seeing Mia Farrow and Patti LuPone together onstage — directed by the great Jack O’Brien with his usual deftness. I left the theater moved, satisfied, and absolutely thrilled to live alone.
Tidbits from around town…
Spotted first-daughter-in-waiting Ella Emhoff chatting up “SNL” breakout Sarah Sherman at Rachel Antonoff’s NYFW show, which featured a ton of celebs escorting a ton of adoptable canines through a mock dog show. Only one model urinated on the runway, but I won’t say who.
Ran into the aforementioned Ms. Antonoff at a final-week performance of the superb Eddie Redmayne and Gayle Rankin in Cabaret at the KitKat Club, where she was sharing bottles of Möet with Fred Hechinger, star of the surprise summer hit Thelma, but offered yours truly nary a sip!
Saw rock icon Patti Smith entering Electric Lady Studios, where she recorded, among other things, her debut album “Horses” in 1975.
Caught REM frontman Michael Stipe buying lottery tickets at a bodega in Soho.
As always, a toast of something sparkling to you and yours!
Kisses,
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