Months ago I told you the JRoids were feeding sports writers farina. I told you Alex and Jenny could not get the Mets.
I told you neither had the bread and moneymen they approached said uh-uh. Like when she conned the media saying she’d get an Oscar for last year’s stripper movie? LA pros had told me “in her dreams.”
The pair sell newspapers. Make good copy. Headlines back, it was Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Couplings make good press. First they meet, then date, then hide, then deny, then ecstasy, then an engagement, then a wedding, then a divorce. This pair’s p.r. people hit home runs. Just that it ain’t nice to con the public.
Also. Jenny from The Bronx is a sworn Yankee fan. Check the clips. Wore Yankee caps, NYY striped pinstripes. Once she took my Yankee ring off my hand, put it on hers, took photos, flashed it around, promised me the picture and — despite repeat requests — never sent it. She doesn’t give a fig about this other team. To her, a Met is an opera house. Her idea was celebs in stadium seats. Flavor Flav and A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie sitting over home plate really helps the team.
Remember asked about taking enhancement drugs, Rodriguez replied, “Who, me? Not me.” What’s better for an owner of an all-American sport than for a player to con his own team?
Meanwhile, she needs him because of her multiple menfolk habit. He needs her to stay in the news. So they’ll plop back again. They’ll gin up a co-Latin shtick. Or buy more houses to resell for income. Listen, I am definitely not alone in knowing there’s more to tell. Wait.
NYFF goes outer borough
The public can now purchase tickets for Lincoln Center’s 58th New York Film Festival, which runs Thursday to Oct. 11. A week longer than before. No in-house screenings. They’re at Bronx, Queens and Brooklyn drive-ins. All press interviews conducted over computers. No in-person appearances. No red carpets.
It’s 25 films. Opening night is Amazon’s sensual “Lovers Rock.” An anthology of decades of films lighting on London’s West Indian community. It’s daring Steve McQueen in a bold mode. An intoxicating, 1980 set is a house party one night. Reggae, liberated bodies in biiiig motion. OK?
Centerpiece is Searchlight’s “Nomadland,” which hits theaters this fall. Frances McDormand plays an itinerant older widow with the backdrop of the American West. One year in the life of a stoic, stubborn lady, forever in a now-defunct company town, who sets off in an old van in search of seasonal work.
Closing night Sony Pictures Classics’ world premiere of “French Exit.” Michelle Pfeiffer plays an imperious socialite whose wealth went kaput so she escapes NYC by cruise ship, relocates to Paris with son Malcolm (Lucas Hedges), plus their cat who, although voiced by Tracy Letts, does not upstage Michelle.
Plus 22 more films.
You’ll have to hold it in the Hamps
The Hamptons International Film Festival. Oct. 8 to 14. The slate includes “One Night in Miami,” “a conversation with Leslie Odom Jr., plus documentaries. Same drive-in deal. Only hang-up is if you need the john, you have to back up, turn right, make a left at the Montauk sign and a quick three miles down the road across from a fallen pine is a gas station.
Book is ‘4’ him
Boy, 3, spies a dog. Overheating. Frothing. Wandering, lost. Checking its ID, the father locates owner James Frey, who raced to reclaim Priscilla. She’d wriggled from her leash. Frey once had a TV spanking when Oprah discovered he’d fabricated his best-selling “memoir” “A Million Little Pieces.”
Now, 10 years later, this son doesn’t enjoy reading. Frey, whom nobody adored before, is running hot with a best seller that he co-wrote under a pseudonym, “I Am Number 4.” Father Stu Slotnick phones congratulations. In thanks, Frey sends a collection of his works. The sci-fi books fascinate Noah, now 13, who today cannot stop reading.
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.
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