[Photo: Getty Images]

In one of the biggest premieres ever held in Los Angeles, the Bay juggernaut — about a race of alien robots trying to gobble Earth — will take over not one, but four Westwood movie houses on June 27, with 4,000 seats available, not just for swank "Transformers" stars like It-boy Shia LaBeouf or executive producer Steven Spielberg, but for actual members of the public.

The premiere will be followed by a party on Broxton Avenue in Westwood that is open to anyone who attends one of the screenings at the Landmark Regent Theatre, the Mann National Theatre, the Mann Bruin Theatre and the Mann Village Theatre.

Organizers have managed to keep the upcoming event's biggest set piece a secret, a stunt which we can now exclusively reveal: As fans file out from the various Westwood venues, the director himself will roar into the center of the throng in a custom-made Lamborghini, rip an undisclosed number of tire-scorching donuts, then proceed to blow what's left of their minds by transforming the car into a 30-foot-tall, robotic version of himself; once Bay feels the mob has been sufficiently paralyzed with awe, he'll then use the spectacular machine's specially calibrated claws to pluck the two most attractive, scantily clad women (twins, preferably) from the crowd and lumber off into the night, crushing the occasional Hummer beneath its feet just to drive his busty hostages wild with desire.

[Image: MichaelBay.com]

• Shia LeBouf and cast to 'transform' L.A. film fest [LAT]
• Transformers [LAFilmFest.com]

You can view the whole gallery here.

[All photos: Getty Images]

Not only do they let the porn star who ran for governor into your premiere party, they allow her to be photographed in front of the already ridiculous, giant photograph of you in a powdered wig, perhaps hoping that some moviegoers will turn out because they think you signed up for a period porno flick while you were in the middle of a particularly bad bender.

• CA: Premiere Of Universal Pictures "Man of the Year" - Arrivals [Getty Images]

At last night's premiere at the Chinese Theater, Jackass Number Two star Steve-O, subtle master of physical comedy, sensed that having a baby alligator chew his scrotum or allowing one of his co-stars to attack his genitals with a jackhammer would be too showy a display of the playful irreverence that is the troupe's trademark, even on such a special occasion. Instead, he opted for the simple, elegant act of urinating on the red carpet, much to the delight of the throng of fans, wire service photographers, and tourists transfixed by every drop of his golden stream.

Gawker notes that the photos were too hot for Reuters, but the folks at Getty Images seem a little less prudish about Steve-O's performance art. A completely NSFW version of the photo is after the jump. You've been warned.

[Photo: Getty Images]

At last night's Grauman's Chinese Theatre premiere of Beerfest, once octogenarian star Cloris Leachman was gently lowered back onto her feet by director Jay Chandrasekhar after completing a potentially life-threatening, five-minute keg stand, she punctuated the unexpected display of her incredible drinking capacity by hoisting aloft the fully drained keg and emitting a belch so powerful that it cracked the slab of concrete in the nearby courtyard containing Judy Garland's handprints. "Top that, you little bitches," challenged Leachman as she strolled past her much younger, tragically lightweight castmates and into the screening.

[Photo: Getty Images]

• CA: Warner Bros. Premiere Of "Beerfest" - Arrivals [Getty Images]

We begin our report about last night's Snakes on a Plane premiere at the Chinese Theatre, held back by New Line until the very last possible minute to prevent critics from having uncharitable opinions about a movie whose pre-release hype became so overwhelming that the mere mention of the title could induce grand mal seizures in anyone in possession of a valid press credential, with a disclaimer: After almost exactly a year of writing about this movie and its unstoppable march across the internets, our weariness of various combinations of the words "motherfucking," "snakes," and "plane" may have lowered our expectations to an absurdly low point. All we wanted from the 'Lil Airborne Reptilian Infestation Movie That Could was for at least one guy to have his genitals fanged-up while in the process of bodily waste elimination, and God bless their pandering little hearts, they delivered the mandatory junk-chomping scene with cynical aplomb. Once that lone condition was satisfied, we were more than happy to laugh at lines of dialogue both intentionally and accidentally hilarious, hurl ourselves forward in our seat with delight when the areola on a bare, surgically enhanced breast became a targeting mechanism for a mamba strike, and generally stop giving a shit about how someone might smuggle several hundred angry predators aboard a red-eye even with the aid of the most corrupt of airport security regimes. Motherfucking snakes were on the motherfucking plane (see how easy it is to fall back into it?), they were biting everything in sight, and that was enough for us, as we are constitutionally incapable of not enjoying a well-executed fake-titty attack. Call us easy to please or New Line Kool-Aid chuggers, but we can't see any reason why anyone who would be interested in the film based on the title alone shouldn't get a little drunk and watch Samuel L. Jackson shout expletives while he carries out his snake-elimination duties. That's all we can muster by way of a review.

Part The Second: After-Parties On A Rooftop [after the jump]

The after-party, as you might expect, was done up in an airport theme. Upon reaching the roof of the ArcLight parking structure where it was held, guests marched through a metal-detector and X-ray machine gauntlet just as unattended as the ones in the world of the film must have been, making it easy for one of the party's "passengers" to sneak in any Samsonite set jammed full of death-adders, shampoo-bomb, or low-grade nuclear device intended to reduce the world's population of free booze drinkers by three hundred or so. Servers of both sexes dressed in retro flight attendant gear either pushed around airline-style carts full of candy or gyrated atop platforms as go-go dancers. Boxed meals, possibly purloined from a poorly secured supply shed at LAX, were served. The aforementioned free booze, as it must, flowed. And in perhaps the event's most eerily airport-accurate touch, t-shirts upon which various SoaP-themed decals were ironed-to-order were handed out from behind replica ticket counters, causing interminably long waits and feelings of "we're all gonna die before we ever get to the front of this line" dread perfectly simulating those encountered by anyone who has ever needed a boarding pass printed by a human being. The New Line party planners were nothing if not psychotically dedicated to air-travel verisimilitude.

Among the celebrities we managed to see during the few moments we weren't standing on line were star Kenan Thompson (accompanied by a very hot, very gaudily bosomed date in a porn-appropriate evening gown), biggest-deal-within-two-square-miles Chris Rock, Kelly Osbourne, cast members Bobby Cannavale and Lin Shaye, various cast members whose names we can't recall without cheating on IMDb, and two guys from The Office (the one that Steve Carrell is secretly gay for and the one that Pam shouldn't be marrying). Rumors of Samuel L. Jackson's presence at the event were rampant, but we didn't personally lay eyes on him. We imagine he was quite busy politely pretending that each variation on his "motherfucking snakes" line was the first he'd heard. He seems like that kind of guy.

As we were headed to our car, we stumbled upon a clearly confused Rock and his date in the act of pretending they knew where they'd parked. After several seconds of spinning around and craning their necks in a search for the vehicle they'd left on a lower level, they passed us on the way down the stairs, and a Legitimate Journalist friend of ours asked Rock what he'd thought of the movie. "It was incredible," he said, noticing the reporter's pad and not breaking stride, "better than The Godfather." Because we must bring this full-circle: Dude, Snakes on a Motherfucking Mobster.

[Photo: Getty Images]

• Seemingly Endless 'Snakes on a Plane' Coverage [Defamer]

"World Trade Center" will have its red-carpet premiere tonight at the Ziegfeld Theater, but celebration will be kept to a minimum.

In one striking departure, there will be no gala reception afterward.

That's because the audience will include not just the film's stars and handlers, but also survivors of the terror attacks and others shattered by the loss of loved ones.

"It seemed inappropriate to do something festive," said Michael Shamberg, one of the film's producers.

"While the film celebrates the best in people, the night will be low-key," he added.

So low-key in fact, that Paramount has taken explicit steps to make their audience feel as if there was nothing celebratory about the evening at all: For example, all attendees, including the victim's families, will be approached and asked to contribute the $11.75 it would have cost them to see the movie in a theater, 50% of which the studio will selflessly donate to an 9/11-appropriate charity.

• 'WTC' debut a no-glitz zone [NY Daily News]

It's been a long absence since your movie premiere restaurant critic had a chance to spread his wings. I've spent the last 11 months touring the world on a Ford Foundation studying the great event foods of the world. But after all my travels, I can soundly state that no one does event food like a Hollywood premiere. And so it was with a song in my heart that I came home to Westwood, easing back onto my beat with a dinner at Monster House.

The screening was held at the classic Mann Village Theater with the party down the block. After being awestruck by the wonder of seeing 3-D animation in 3-D, the question hung in the air - after shelling out all that dough for the fancy cartoon effects, would there be anything left to spend on the buffet?

The answer, fortunately, was a qualified yes. As we entered the lot where the event was held, decorated in a sort of Halloween carnival theme, the signs of Wolfgang Puck's handiwork were immediately evident—which at an event can mean a taste of Spago or one of Puck Express. On this night, the food was tailored to a kid's junk food theme - along with his signature chicken salad and beef in a corn-relishy sauce, there were chicken tenders, fish and chips, macaroni and cheese and hamburgers.

Hollywood wise man Rob Long, in an exclusive interview with this critic, noted the great cycle Hollywood cuisine, reflecting the cycle of Hollywood entertainment where we now "hire Wolfgang Puck to serve us In N Out burgers." That said, the chicken tenders, served with a very sweet barbeque sauce, were pretty good. The macaroni and cheese was a bit bland and the hamburgers looked too thin and dry to try. But the beef was very tender and quite edible.

The kids theme was taken a bit too far, I thought, by the trays of Mountain Dew circulating, a soda which makes a funny punchline but few want to take it so far as to drink with their dinner. There were also, thoughtfully, some shooting gallery games set up for the children so that they would be kept out of the way of the adults doing the serious work at the buffet tables. Jason Schwartzman and his bowlcut perched by one for much of the night. Jason Lee held court at a table in a distant corner. I noticed Larry King hobbling by using his six year old son as a crutch.

Given the kids theme, dessert, as expected, was where the real action was. Mini-cones of vanilla cheesecake and blueberry cheesecake ice cream. Halloween-monster-shaped cookies and little spiders made of chocolate mousse. All were very fine, the ice cream quite refreshing on the warm Westwood night and most people seemed to have the sense to leave room for at least two cones.

All in all, a decent return to my old haunts, an ease back into the best of entertainment. Based on the food, I predict modest but acceptable grosses for Monster House at the box office. It tasted like a 18 mil opening weekend to me.

• Defamer Food Review: Tray Tables Fully Upright And Locked At "Red Eye" Premiere [Defamer]

I just got in from the after-after-party for the Superman premiere at a house on Coldwater Canyon in Beverly Hills. The best part of the entire night is that it was this fancy mansion, all the stars, even Superman (who likes to eat chocolate eclairs, btw), and they had these signs with the Superman logo directing people to the bathrooms. And when you went into the bathroom, there was this sign— I guess Warner Bros. couldn't spring for the owner to get the plumbing fixed at the house ahead of time. Hollywood is so classy.

In defense of the hosts, it's probably better to post some embarrassing signs than have to ask the guest of honor to use his super-powers to save hundreds of guests from an evil tidal wave unleashed by some villain who's too drunk to figure out how to use the toilet.

ANNE Hathaway says Stanley Tucci was a real hands-on guy when they made "The Devil Wears Prada." "He would just smack me in my boob and elbow me," Hathaway told journos at the New York premiere. "If you're a girl, you know that hurts, so, after about the fourth time, I finally said: 'Stanley, can you please stay away from my t - - s?' He got really flustered and said: 'What do you expect? You're flinging those melons around like it's harvest season.' "

It's really the perfect premiere-night anecdote, a light-hearted tale from the set that demonstrates the chemistry between the movie's charismatic, up-and-coming star and her quirky, supporting castmate with an endearing, if occasionally violent, breast-on-elbow fetish.

• MELON HARVEST [Page Six]

• CA: Premiere Of HBO´s "Entourage" - After Party [Getty Images]

[Photos: Getty Images]

[Photos: Getty Images]

• Previously: Citizen Paparazzi: The Governor Shops At Barney's [Defamer]

Savor him while he's still with us, people. You are witnessing the finest premiere party actor of his generation.

[Photos: GettyImages]

• Previously: Vin Diesel: Portraits Of Ecstasy [Defamer]

• Brian's Inferno [WOW Report]
• Previously: Brian Grazer’s Secret Sauce [Defamer]

At the risk of gloating, I enjoyed my greatest accomplishment in 5 years of working in Hollywood in just one evening: I attended both Michael Bay's Christmas party and The New World premiere after-party last night.

First, Michael Bay. My girlfriend and I got concerned when we discovered he was throwing the party at his office in Santa Monica, but then we remembered the brilliance of Pearl Harbor, and realized that the creative genius behind that would surely not let his guests suffer a mediocre party. At the risk of offering up too many boring details, here's a list of what we noticed:

1. Michael Bay can't get many people other than assistants and Jerry Bruckheimer to come to his parties. I wonder if The Island is to blame.
2. The sexy Christmas elves standing at the door looked really really cold.
3. Inexplicably, the floor of the outdoor tent seemed to be heated. And they were projecting abstract video onto the wall next to their parking lot.
4. In all the conversations overheard, not one was about anything other than film.
5. For a guy who has made billions of dollars at the box office, he sure had a meager food spread. Limited to one counter in their office kitchen, the food consisted of shrimp and chicken skewers, prosciutto/mozzarella/sun-dried tomato skewers, veggie thai spring rolls, and crudites. No dessert, Michael?

On the way out I stopped to go to the bathroom but couldn't find it. Thinking only of the Red Bull (ugh!) pressing against my bladder, I wandered upstairs, pushing my way past a guy on his way down. Unfortunately, he wasn't on the way from the bathroom, he was on the way from his office—I should've known by the stone-washed jeans that I was wandering into the inner sanctum of the man himself, but I wasn't thinking clearly. He was oddly unfazed, only slightly curious. I guess being totally oblivious is just as effective as being confident in getting access.

The New World party, held at the Regent Beverly Wilshire hotel, was a big contrast. Since we hadn't been at the movie, we ended up beating the crowd to the party. They had a great line-up of period costumes as guests walked into the ballroom, but the real highlight of the party was the food, appropriately colonial. Highlights included the second-best salmon I've ever had in my life (with a very slightly smoked flavor—-awesome), tiny sweet potatoes and yams, baby shrimp in a creamy sauce, roasted root vegetables, clam chowder, mashed potatoes (in martini glasses!) corn bread, and some meat that looked like wild boar but was probably beef at two carving stations. For dessert they had creme brulee, baby caramel apples, apple tarts, blueberry tarts, mixed fruit cobbler, and a variety of cakes.

The people-watching wasn't quite as good as the food. Maybe they were worn out by watching a three hour movie with almost no plot. I was really hoping that Colin Farrell would beam in on a video conference from rehab, but maybe the sight of all the fun would have sent him back to the painkillers, so no luck. We saw Q'orianka Kilcher, who plays Pocahontas—I think she's like 15, even if she looks older. [Favorite line of the night, my friend disappearing after saying, "I'll be back, gotta go hit on Pocahontas."] Casey Affleck was nearby with some guys of unknown origin. Saw Ryan Gosling, whose hair is really really short and almost in a mohawk—he seemed like a shockingly nice guy, taking time to talk warmly to fans and holding the door open for his friend when she got into her car. It made me like him a lot more. No sign of Rachel McAdams, or her nipple. I kept seeing Jim Caviezel, but I didn't realize it was him until today. Also saw Ashton Holmes, the kid in A History of Violence. I don't even know if Terrence Malick showed up, but his wife was there. I think a lot of cast members were there, because I saw more Native Americans in that room than I thought existed in Los Angeles. Maybe because it was a benefit premiere, the crowd seemed older and better-dressed than usual. I saw no evidence of peace pipes or genocide, but I may have missed out on a side room.

• Previously: Johansson: Michael Bay’s A Lousy Gift-Giver [Defamer]

Kudos to Universal for handling all these people with the organization that they did. After the premiere, we were shuttled on buses to Pier 92 where a vast jungle had been recreated complete with waterfalls, vaudeville scenes (this Kong is a period piece), fake snow (which proved to be a hazard as it was more slippery than the real stuff), Kong video game setups, and plenty of free food and booze to go around.

Some of the stars of the movie were there (we happened to spot Adrien Brody, Colin Hanks, and Jack Black) but I was a bit disappointed that the giant Kong had not been moved (or at least duplicated) from its Times Square location. They even had a replica of the tram steamer Venture when you entered the pier, water sound effects and all.

We must say, even by our spoiled LA premiere standards, this one sounded like a must-see. We're left craving more details: Did Jack and Adrien delight the crowd with a take-no-prisoners synthetic-snowball fight? Did the hors d'oeuvres and beverages have cleverly themed names ("Two more Fay Wrays, please, extra cran!")? Was Naomi Watts present, and if so, did she resist the urge to wash down her celebratory cocktails with a handful of Heavenly Blues? And perhaps most of all: Was Lindsay Lohan the only one in attendance who came down with a nasty case of food poisoning, causing her to miss her appearance on Live With Regis and Kelly this morning? Just a heads up, Universal: one batch of bad Skull Island Springrolls and you're looking at a class action lawsuit.

• King Kong Attacks Manhattan [Towleroad]
• King Kong returns to New York [AP]
• Lindsay Lohan Stands Up Regis & Kelly [Gawker]

• Power Seating [WOW Report]

Tuesday night (11/29) at the clusterfuck Brokeback Mountain premiere in Westwood - Jaime Lee Curtis and Christopher Guest gave us the “we’re rich people!” eye as we ate our mini quesadillas at Baja Fresh beforehand; New SAG president and Marg Helgenberger lesser half Alan Rosenberg did his schmoozing, "I’m going to take over the world one DVD royalty at a time" thing in the lobby of the Mann National before the movie; Bryan Greenberg, he of the “his penis is so cute I want to knit a hat for it” Prime fame, talking to some friends, and perhaps needing to carry around some facial oil blotters if he knows what’s good for him;...

...extremely nice “Hey! It’s that guy”! Jon Polito and I shared a moment in the crowed lobby; Gay substitute gardener Ryan Carnes and dead Mama Solis Lupe Ontiveros, who no longer have jobs on Desperate Housewives, were mulling around the theater; pocket-sized James Madio, Perconte from Band of Brothers, sat a few seats down from us and it took everything within me not to yell “Where’s Gonorrhea?!”; Randy Quaid was not wearing a man muumuu, thankfully; Kate Mara is absolutely stunning; In the bathroom, Crazy Piper Laurie and her big purple coat apparently distracted me from noticing The Lohan and her makeup being attended to by her 5 person entourage. Whether the 5 of them were previously in a stall together, for an undetermined period of time, I do not know. However, I can tell everyone that when I finally saw her at the after party, SHE WAS EATING. FOOD! A decent amount of it, in fact! Glory be! And finally, “See, I’ve got manly facial hair! I’m not Toothy Tile, really!” Jake Gyllenhaal was holding court in a corner of the restaurant, with Linda Cardellini and Busy Phillips nearby, while Miss Maggie Gyllenhaal and her bf Peter Sarsgaard mixed more with the industry plebes in the middle of the room. I’d give you a Defamer Food Report, but I didn’t eat any of it. It looked chi chi, meh, and pretentious, much like the film itself.

[Photo: WireImage]

• Previously: Defamer Premiere Report: “Thumbsucker” Goes Through The Motions [Defamer]

Mark our words: No more! In 2006, the humans will rise again and return to red carpet dominance.

[Photos: Getty Images]

• Livestock flock to the movies [Variety]
• Previously: Vin Diesel: Portraits Of Ecstasy [Defamer]
• Inside VPage: Dakota Fanning, Pretty Dreamer [Defamer]

[Photo: Kevin Winter/Getty Images]

• VPage: Sony draws swords [Variety]
• Previously: Inside VPage: The “Stealth” Premiere [Defamer]

[Photo: Kevin Winter/Getty Images]

• Horse play [Variety]
• Previously: Inside VPage: Grazer A Little Tight At “Flightplan” [Defamer]

[Photo: Kevin Winter/Getty Images]

• Vpage: 'Flight' takes cover [Variety]
• Inside VPage: Piven Goes Rabbit Hunting [Defamer]

Amanda Scheer Demme wins again!!!! Not only is she the current queen of the velvet rope (sorry Pantera Sara)....but apparently she also has a direct line to the man (or woman) upstairs. I knew things were too good to be true the minute I was actually allowed to step foot inside Scheer Demme's gilded, palm-laden paradise, aka The Trop. I have to admit, the atmosphere was pretty great and my gums practically started tingling the minute I entered the bathroom stall. But alas, a mere 45 minutes into the Flightplan premiere party the heavens opened up and most of us were forced to scurry for the exit. Think of it as a social cleansing. I mean, was Sheer-Demme really going to let a bunch of Hollywood no-listers like myself ruin her playground? I think not.

As far as the premiere party goes, it was surprisingly well put together. The food was excellent: curry shrimp, the best mac & cheese I've had in a long time, chicken, cheese spread and fantastic brownie bites. Jodie Foster couldn't have been more down to earth and I was even blown away to overhear that Brian Grazer had personally donated 1 million of his personal coin to The Red Cross relief efforts for Katrina. Nice to know that his relationship with the urban community extends beyond "Nutty Professor" sequels. The highlight of my night, however, was the following conversation I had with a front desk clerk at The Roosevelt before my departure.

Me: So....I was thinking of recommending your hotel to some friends coming in from out of town. Will they be able to use the Tropicana bar and pool area during their stay?

Her: Yes. (Though I could tell there was something she was hiding!)

Me: Even at night?

Her: Yes...if they rent a cabana booth it won't be a problem.

Me: What if they just want to come for a drink?

Her: (getting nervous) Well....as long as there isn't a 'private party'.

Me: And how often are there 'private parties'?

Her: Most nights.

Me: And when you say 'private party', you mean like a premiere or other such event?

Her: (starting to break) You see....the thing is....well....we only technically own the property until 7 PM. Then it's taken over by another entity who uses a guest list.

Me: (playing dumb) Oh....so they just need to call some number and it won't be a problem?

Her: (giving in) To be honest sir, they don't check their messages that often.

Me: So...if they come and stay here, they are not guaranteed to be able to patronize the bar at the very hotel they are paying to stay at?

Her: They are free to use the property up until 7 PM.

Me: I think I know what you're saying. Have a good night.

For those who find renting their own cabana a little too pricey, but are still desperate for a taste of The Trop's trademark starfucking experience, they do offer a budget option, The Ten Minutes Underneath John Popper Plan.

• Tropicana Cooling Off? [Defamer]
• Behind The Velvet Rope: Understanding Amanda Scheer Demme [Defamer]

It was another night of star-studded anticipation at the storied Cinerama Dome, site of so many classic lead-ins to some of the great buffets of modern times. And last night had all the signs that Hollywood dining history would be made again—on the screen, a young woman named Emily Rose battled heroically against the demons that had possessed her body, while in the seats, I battled no less heroically against a gnawing, consuming hunger not for immortal salvation, but to eat and eat lavishly in the style of Hollywood kings of yore.

A little background for the uninitiated into premiere dining. Hollywood premieres almost universally kick off with an 8 PM movie screening. However, by the time all the C -ist stars are dragged away from their paparazzi mugging on the red carpet and into their seats, it is 8:30. Which means that after two hours of watching Emily Rose twist herself up in "there's a demon inside me" yoga poses, the demons were telling me to gnaw off my own hand if I was going to live long enough to enjoy the buffet.

The party, however, was mercifully close by, at the Cabana Club, site of so many classic Movieline advertiser promotional shindigs throughout history. The location was well-chosen for a premiere party; not as cold and loud as the cavernous Athletic Club, where many post-Dome fetes seem to be held. The floor was spacious enough for one to move around with a minimal number of elbows in your face. There was actually seating available, with no more than 3/4 of the Cabana-themed cabanas reserved for VIPs.

So on at last to what we all came for: the all-you-can-eat banquet of the finest in entertainment cuisine. Buffet-bound, I nabbed a couple of circulating hors d'oeuvres—large (but somewhat bland) crabcakes and shrimp cocktail. The downside of shrimp cocktail, of course, is that once you finish it, you are stuck with a shrimp tail in a rolled up napkin in your hand. If you are quick, you can bite off your shrimp while the waitress is still in your presence and deposit it back on the tray. Otherwise, be prepared to incur the scorn of event security when you toss your napkin in the Cabana club moat, as I did.

And then I came to the first buffet. The spread was ample, not breathtakingly imaginative, but generous in portions. Cold asparagus, mashed potatoes, sautéed spinach, cheese ravioli, grilled chicken in mushroom sauce, and roast beef with a peppercorn sauce. Standard banquet fare one might receive at a wedding rehearsal dinner anywhere on Earth, but fine. The grilled chicken was especially notable. I finished my plate, satisfied that I'd had a good lead in and enthused for the next buffet.

I turned to table two, where I was surprised to find - cold asparagus, mashed potatoes, sautéed spinach, cheese ravioli, grilled chicken in mushroom sauce and roast beef with a peppercorn sauce. Well, it happens. Stations will repeat themselves. I crossed the room to the third buffet table and my mouth dropped in horror when I found...cold asparagus, mashed potatoes...

Could this really be the complete selection? Here I was, at an extremely prestigious event in the epicenter of world entertainment culture, dining alongside the titans of entertainment, and this was it? I mean, it was fine, I enjoyed what I ate, I wasn't leaving hungry, but Showmanship, I cried, where art thy sting?

I moved up to the VIP area. Surely, I thought, they would not come to a red carpet premiere and settle for less than a king's banquet. Once I was able to worm my way around Endeavor superagent Phil Raskin, who held his post like a Beefeater guard outside beloved international star Shohreh Aghdashloo's cabana, I gazed to see the woman who charmed the world in "House of Sand and Fog" and "24" picking at her cheese ravioli. Two cabanas away, Emily Rose herself, the acclaimed star Jennifer Carpenter, worked her way through a plate of sautéed spinach.

And then, the coup de grace was struck against me. When, I asked a waiter, would the deserts arrive? He shook his head. There would be no chocolate fountain tonight.

In future centuries, entertainment historians will see there is no surer predictor of a film's success than the quality of the food at the premiere. Readers of my "Spider-man 2" food review will recall that film banked 200 mil domestic right there at the fried dough with powdered sugar stand. Based on this formula, I predict Emily Rose will do fine its opening weekend. Hungry audiences will get what they came for—they will eat. But as for repeat viewers, I predict there will be few coming back for supernatural creepiness and chicken in mushroom sauce.

Epilogue: Just as I was leaving, a waitress passed by bearing a plate of small desserts. The earlier waiter had lied. I grabbed a spongy little chocolate cake and a glazed lemon tart. They were both quite nice.

• Defamer Food Review: Tray Tables Fully Upright And Locked At “Red Eye” Premiere [Defamer]

I am a survivor of the recent PRETTY PERSUASION premiere at the ArcLight, the debacle with James Woods begging for seats, fist fights breaking out at the concession stand, and the long walk through the dark streets of Hollywood to the after party by girls in high heels. Just reliving it in writing brings on the sweats. So you can understand my initial reluctance in attending another premiere. However, I did manage to get back on the horse.

Last night the Egyptian theatre held a premiere for THUMBSUCKER with an after-party in the courtyard sponsored by Venice magazine, the magazine that all P. R. flacks have wet dreams about.

Things started with a cringe=worthy intro by the Sony Picture Classics rep where we were told that “it was uncomfortable to have this event with all that is going on in the Gulf Coast but there could be no better film at this time to show us the strength of humanity.” Memo to Sony execs…scrap those witty trailers and call CNN for flood footage. THUMBSUCKING saves the day!

Director Mike Mills brought up the cast and crew members in attendance. Of the cast, only Lou Pucci, Kelli Garner, Keanu Reeves, and Benjamin Bratt (Julia left me for a cameraman?) were in attendance. Keanu was in full Zen Lord of the Universe form. He had a slight beard growth and dark clothing and that distant look which communicates that he is pondering the universe - or wondering where he parked his motorcycle.

Mike Mills filled the front of the theatre with the crew and some members of Polyphonic Spree choir, but not all. They were a Polyphonic Spree Lite, if you will. It was priceless watching all these people stand there while Polyphonic Spree did an acoustic version of one the film's songs. Keanu seemed to be pondering the flute player no doubt absorbing her mastery of the wind instrument and what it means to the alchemy of the universe - or he was wondering where he parked his motorcycle.

To the film's credit it allows Keanu to use this Zen Master pose and play it up. his scenes with Lou in the dental chair are highlights. He seems to have fun poking holes in his persona - or else he was wondering where he parked his motorcycle.

Where was Tilda Swinton last night? Where was Vince Vaughn? One can only surmise that Tilda was reading Shakespeare in the country and Vince was locked up in the love lair with Jennifer Aniston.

[Photo: Getty Images]

• One Night At The ArcLight: “Pretty Persuasion” Fiascos, Keanu Reeves Models A Helmet [Defamer]

So after James Wood ushered at the screening and blew his noise on a jizz-hankie on screen, it was time to hit the most important part of any premiere—the after party! My genius friend convinced me that we would avoid the parking lot pandemonium by WALKING to the venue...half an hour and two aching feet later we arrived. Blew past the front check in, grabbed a free drink and made a much needed (after half an hour of WALKING-who friggin walks in LA??) trip to the bathroom. When I got out, friend is nowhere to be seen, I call, he's in VIP, tells me I just need to wave my bracelet, no problem. Walk up (more walking) to the bloated and crowded VIP/velvet rope section, obnoxious bouncer says (dead serious) "We're only letting celebrities in now." WTF??

A minute later, the friend who invited me walks up and I go in with him...as I walk by giving the bouncer a look of death, a woman gang rushes the line, knocks over said bouncer and RUNS INTO THE VIP room. Pandemonium—they "block off" the line, friend is stuck outside, and I escape to get more drinks like the friend-whore I am. Saw Point Pleasant girl, dry heaved every time James Wood dance-humped his way younger companion, Evan Rachel in a hideous early 90s crushed velvet monstrosity (she was amazing though, must say), good times.

And on a side note, was totally expecting good food at this thing, as have been spoiled by Defamer's premiere critic...perhaps to go with the theme of bulimic, catty high school girls, it was fitting that the only food I saw was a lone, mangled Twinkie. Overwhelmed by the night's most obvious metaphor, I got my ass back to the Arclight to pick up my car.

But this time I took a cab.

Lastly, here's another spy's cam-phone picture of James Woods "yukking it up" with people in the crowd, some of whom he would soon assist in exiting the the overbooked screening.

• One Night At The ArcLight: "Pretty Persuasion" Fiascos, Keanu Reeves Models A Helmet [Defamer]

At the Pretty Persuasion event, readers report that things were so overbooked and disorganized that James Woods, the real star of the movie, found himself pressed into usher duty. Here's one account:

Last night I attended the L.A. premiere for PRETTY PERSUASION, an Evan Rachel Wood starrer that could be be described (in a lazy, development exec sort of way) as TO DIE FOR meets WILD THINGS meets CLUELESS meets CRUEL INTENTIONS. In other words, it was a slightly above par private school drama about a bunch of opportunistic, manipulative rich bitches in short skirts. [Ed.note—Our "Eh." experience with the Sundance cut is here. ]

After being passed from line to line like a cheap whore, I finally made my way into the screening room. My friends and I quickly grabbed spots, which was a good thing. After an uncomfortable interim whereby people walked around and tried to nab whatever seats they could, it became clear that there weren't near enough to go around. Soon, people were told if they didn't have a seat that they would have to leave and would be compensated (overbooked airline style) for the humiliation of being completely expendable. The best part of the night came when James Woods himself helped usher people out the door. Among those sorry losers? Agents! That's right. A diminutive agent I recognized didn't get a seat. My heart went out to him, as I pity any bottom dwelling agent who doesn't get his way.

I noticed that a teen-aged girl got up and gave Ron Livingston her seat. Apparently, Ron has enough clout (even after LITTLE BLACK BOOK) to merit his own private, pubescent seat-filler. Ron and I soon locked eyes. Some might think he just happened to glance in my direction, seeing as I was staring at him, but I'm convinced that we shared a very special second.

Outside of the theater, long lines at the concession stand threatened to plunge the ArcLight into Lord of the Flies-style anarchy. Another reader reports: "The line for popcorn took forever, making tensions run high. Two guys right in front of me started fighting (actual hand-to-hand combat, not angry looks), and then one of the popcorn vendors broke it up." Guys, guys! This is a luxury movie theater! If you want to bitchslap each other over some Junior Mints, take it to Burbank.

After the jump, a high-level Defamer spy interacts with Keanu Reeves, whose smart-looking helmet didn't prevent him from being baffled by another moviegoer's food selection:

Oh wow. Went to see The Aristocrats at the ArcLight last night (Tuesday) and the Pretty Persuasion premiere was going on. Security on this thing was pathetic. My friend and I cruised through the red carpet / paparazzi mayhem to get into the main entrance of the theater. No one seemed to care. My eye is probably in a few Wire Image shots. After passing Even Rachel Wood, James Woods and Selma Blair (all of which are in the movie) we passed a few of the people from Best Week Ever. No that exciting. So we are running a bit late but we still want to get some food before the show starts. So we are at the upstairs concession line waiting to get some popcorn and none other than the one and only Keanu Reeves gets in line behind us.... and he's wearing his motorcycle helmet (not the ones that go over your entire head, but the old fashion kind). He was with two girls that looked seemingly normal and not as fucked-up-seeming as he was. Anyways, he asks us if we are waiting in line. (um it is quite obvious we are, we weren't just lining up single file staring at the register for kicks.) The guy in front of us in line orders a bunch of hot dogs with a mess of everything on them. Keanu goes to us, "Whoa, that guy knows how to order. He has mustard and relish and ketchup and everything." Then he taps the guy on the shoulder and compliments him on his order. Then I say "Well, but you have to eat that in the dark- that's kinda hard." To which he becomes kinda confused. I swear he is Ted from Bill and Ted. So we get our food and rush into the theater. Keanu strolls into the theater sits down and is still wearing his motorcycle helmet - in the dark.

And just for good measure, another reader's brush with Keanu in the snack line and inside The Aristocrats showing:

Arrived last night at The Arclight for what I thought was a screening of "Pretty Persuasion" but turned out to be the world premiere. After passing by a few B-C-D list celebs and realizing that myself and half of the line wasn't going to get in, I opted to buy a ticket to the 7:55 showing of "The Aristocrats". When I got in line for some popcorn and soda, Keanu Reeves was in line in front of me, with a few friends buying loads of food. He paid, his friends thanked him, and they were on their way. I hoped he would be in my auditorium but when I sat down I didn't see him anywhere. Movie starts, hilarity ensues, and then, there it was, like a sonic boom on a quiet night, the Keanu laugh. He was sitting in front of me, and when Gilbert Gottfried tells the joke and adds his "fist-f*cking" reference, Keanu and I both laughed so hard we practically fell out of our chairs. Leaving the theatre after the film, I thought my life was almost complete. Walking up the stairs and back to my car, a couple in front of me were discussing their favorite moments of the film. Just as I was about to interject an agreement, I realized the male was none other than Jon Cryer. It's nights like these, when I realize Los Angeles must be a pretty nifty town, and the only place on earth I can experience the world's filthiest joke with Neo and Ducky.

It's been a long, dry summer for this reviewer without a decent free buffet in sight. Call it The Curse of the Tentpoles, but these days it seems that if it's not Oscar season, you're eating on your own dime in this town. Where I ask, was my Stealth banquet? My Fantastic Four feast? Yes, I suppose it's possible I just wasn't invited. But whatever the reason, I take my predicament as a very woeful commentary on the state of the catering arts in the industry today.

But tonight, invitation in hand, I was dusting off the Hugo Boss and preparing once again to dine like a film tycoon of yore. The engagement: the gala world premiere of August's most eagerly awaited new thriller, Red Eye. The site: Westwood Village's historic Gardens restaurant, storied home to literally thousands of pre-prom dinners for the past two decades.

At 83 minutes, the film hardly gave me time to work up an appetite fit for the task before me. After watching Wes Craven's breakneck ride set on a crowded airplane, the crowd walked across the village from the Bruin theater abuzz with one question locked and frozen in each eye — Did DreamWorks SKG still have the moxie enough, the raw showmanship, to serve airplane food, (or at least airplane-themed food) at the party? Sure, imitating airplane food was an endeavor fraught with peril. Absolutely, potential pitfalls abound from diving into a culinary sector whose shortcomings launched an entire generation of hack comedians. But would the Dream Machine realize that nothing ventured is nothing gained, and, with their company on the ropes, gamble on one fantastic theme dinner?

Within moments of walking into the Gardens' central rotunda, we exhaled—a Caesar salad looming before us, the answer was a resounding "no." While the party planners had passed on the airplane food theme, it might well have been "airport food" themed—the unifying principle, if there was one, seemed to be generic "normal food": baked chicken drumsticks, little Reuben and grilled cheese sandwiches, pizzas. For a man who has drunk deep from the chocolate fountains of Closer and gorged himself on the monkey bread of Beauty Shop this was intolerable. If I want to eat at Hardees, I muttered to no one in particular, I will move to Nebraska. We come, I continued, to Tinseltown to live a dream and I'm being handed grilled cheese sandwiches? I turned a corner into the bar room and saw looming before me, mocking my every step, a giant bowl of nacho chips and salsa not unlike those found at SuperBowl parties and backyard mixers. I choked down hot tears of rage and strongly considered turning on my heels and storming out then and there. But then I realized: I was hungry, very hungry.

And, actually, once I got over the lack of a chocolate fountain, the food wasn't at all bad. The little Reuben and grilled cheese sandwiches were the perfect size to mingle with and munch on. I found the deep fried olive appetizers a gluttonous delight, although others found them horrifying. The chicken drumsticks were perfectly cooked, moist and plenty of meat on each with a very tangy dipping sauce. he pizza was nothing special and the mini-hamburgers were dry, but sticking with the sandwiches and the Caesar salad, I did alright.

The restaurant, with just a few medium-sized rooms, was a bit overcrowded. More importantly, other than the film's star (a now blonde Rachel McAdams), the Gardens seemed to be celebrity-free. Near the VIP tables, four guys who looked like the least threatening punks in history, and whom I imagine were a band, pressed through the crowd and drew some excited giggles. One young woman told them she loved their REM cover. I am going to guess they were Good Charlotte if that band still exists.

Dessert followed a similar trajectory to the main course: initially terribly disappointing and then not so bad. The mini-chocolate cupcakes were very moist and had a nice, light icing. The lemon tarts were good. I didn't try the oatmeal cookies. A wagon outside offered hot chocolate with whipped cream and your choice of flavored syrup. I chose hazelnut and was satisfied.

In the end I left still puzzled over what the theme of this party was—what was the message the party was trying to send me? On a basic level, the party was Rachel McAdams-themed with giant stills of her providing the only decoration in the room. More interestingly, half the movie (SPOILER ALERT) is set on the ground in no place particularly interesting, so the party may have been a reference to that. But in the end, while it may not have been the night dreams are made, there was enough quality food to have put me, DreamWorks, and Hollywood itself back into the game. And in today's entertainment industry, that is really what it's all about.

• Defamer Food Review: The 'Beauty Shop' Premiere [Defamer]
• Defamer Food Review: The Closer After-Party [Defamer]