Archive for February, 2010|Monthly archive page


In Uncategorized on February 20, 2010 at 12:15 pm

Luca (Yawn) Luca Fall-Winter 2010

After being annoyingly dissed at the Luca Luca show last Sunday (the three seats we were previously assured of were not to be had due to our NOT BEING ON THE LIST – the ineptitude, unprofessionalism and, yes, downright evil, of so much of the fashion world be damned – I caught the show anyway online and realized I missed nothing. The clothes looked expensive but boring – ideas culled from old St. Laurent collections with some Marc Jacobs steals, and way too much gray (the color of the season, unimaginatively used and sans any accents in eye-popping hues for much-needed contrast). They reminded me of an S.N. Behrman line in the play FANNY, when a bourgeoise woman asks someone his opinion of her dress and is told, “You look like a very rich woman, visiting the poor.” I was glad we bailed Bryant Park, rather than wait until the ticketed crowd had been seated – all these little children obnoxiously skipping in – for a fuckin’ standing room position.

Fashion has always struck me as a gorgeous poison – often lovely to look at and so alluring, but skin deep and severely toxic beneath, with absolutely no heart and a price to pay that sometimes goes beyond money. Being treated thusly should have come as no surprise: more than one person has observed this week that what really killed Alexander McQueen more than anything else was the fashion business. If such a worthy, deserving eminence of this particular world should be made so miserable by it, why should a “nobody” like me – even with the supposed correct credentials for a paltry B-list event – expect any better?

Yet it’s the artistry of those rare talents like McQueen which will always make fashion compelling and, desperate to see some real clothes, I went to his boutique on 14th Street. A not overwhelming but tasteful amount of floral tributes and cards lay on the ground in front of the store, which I have never seen as busy as it was that day. Before McQueen’s death, it always had that chilly, empty ghost town look to it, but now it was as abuzz as any Marc Jacobs shop on Bleecker Street. The staff – which I heard had been in tears when a friend of mine went there a few days before – seemed invigorated by the business and their friendliness felt genuine, as well as sweetly touched with rue.

A jock-ish straight guy -yes they have their fashion victim moments, too – was struggling to get into a tailored blazer which frankly looked ridiculous on him, eliciting a salesperson’s comment: “You’re built like a linebacker!” I marveled at the gorgeous prints of the designer’s final Darwin-inspired collection, which resembled the vertebrae undersea creatures, and was everywhere struck anew by the edgy elegance which was always a hallmark of McQueen’s vision.

And then I French Vogue editrix Carine Roitfeld, solo and fully living up to her rep as perhaps the world’s chicest woman, working vicious bondage strapped heels and a tailored Tom Ford coat, fiercely sprouting fur. She had the intriguingly predatory aspct to her as she prowled the racks, looking like she’d just stepped out of some Helmut Newton fever dream of a dominatrix layout. I’d always imagined her to be more accessible and less famously icy than her American counterpart, Anna Wintour, and wanted to approach her for a comment about McQueen. I was, after all, wearing one of his signature 1990s 18th century-inspired frock coats in pine green wool over a whole lot of Galliano. But, as I tried to catch her attention, she merely looked right through me, in that ever-so-slightly disdainful, studiedly incurious way that has become the engage-me-not norm of the more exalted present-day members of the fashion flock. Indeed, a far cry from the time when icons like Issey Miyake, Antonio Lopez or Loulou de la Falaise warmly, approvingly would check you out, giving you instant entree for even the briefest of pleasantries if not much more…..

McQueen Spring 2009

COPYRIGHT: davidnoh2009


In Uncategorized on February 14, 2010 at 2:21 pm



In Uncategorized on February 14, 2010 at 2:08 pm

Having loved Santino Fontana’s vibrant, star-making performance in the sadly shuttered BRIGHTON BEACH MEMOIRS last fall, I was both anticipating seeing him in A VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE, and happy that he’d managed to get such a new plummy new job. Sadly, due to a concussion he sustained during a performance over New Year’s weekend, he had to leave the show, and was replaced by his understudy, Morgan Spector, who, at the performance I saw January 26, while adequate (though hobbled by a lousy blonde wig), wasn’t half the actor Fontana is.

While some sources claim that Fontana’s injuries were not a result of a fight scene between him and cast member Liev Schreiber, a mouthy little birdie told me that Schreiber – perhaps intimadated by how good Fontana was – had terrified the actor throughout rehearsals, saying he was “going for reality” in his physically abusive scenes. Additionally, Schreiber supposedly had taken complete control over the production, overriding vet director Gregory Mosher, and giving notes to other cast members, including Scarlett Johansen. If this is all true, maybe Schreiber should be redoing his Shakespearean role of Iago, rather than Arthur Miller.

COPYRIGHT: davidnoh2009


In Uncategorized on February 14, 2010 at 1:39 pm

Marge Champion and Donald Saddler (photo by Rachelle J. Hruska)

At the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s EYE ON DANCE January 29 screening of KEEP DANCING, the charming little doc about dance veterans Marge Champion and Donald Saddler, directed by Gregory Vander Veer and Douglas Turnbaugh, Turnbaugh was fuming over high society queen Anne Bass. Her film, DANCING ACROSS BORDERS, was being shown after KEEP DANCING, but, according to Turnbaugh, she had “shanghai’ed” the entire evening, forcing him to have his post-screening reception BEFORE the movie instead of after, as she needed that time to transform the Frieda and Roy Furman Gallery, normally used as the party space, into an environ posh enough to suit her invite-only audience (evidently she’d bought up all the tickets for an event that was supposedl open to the public).

Douglas Turnbaugh

KEEP DANCING’s sold-out crowd, which included lifelong friends and fans of Champion and Saddler, who was also celebrating his 90th birthday, including TCM’s Robert Osborne, dancer/author Sondra Lee, dancer/choreographer John Ollom, the artist Colette, Rialto vet Harry Haun and others, were forced to uncomfortabl cram like sardines into the tiny lobby of the Walter Reade Theater. “It’s so robber baron,” sniffed Turnbaugh, glancing at the screens which had been put up to shield our eyes from the “top secret” renovations being done in the gallery, “we should just storm those barricades!”


COPYRIGHT: davidnoh2009


In Uncategorized on February 14, 2010 at 12:48 pm

The real reason the fashion world is so afraid of the JERSEY SHORE cast attending the shows in Bryant Park:

Nicole “Snook” Polizzi was already sucker punched once this year on her show….

No one wants to see it happen again when redoubtable journo Suzy Menkes discovers she stole her “do.” That could REALLY be ugly!

(Mauro Cocilio)

COPYRIGHT: davidnoh2009