Is it hot here or is it just Jason Momoa's swimsuit? Scenes from the Vanity Fair Oscars.


Lisa Bonet and Jason Momoa arrive at the Vanity Fair Oscars. He always showed up with the powdery pink velvet suit that stuck to his skin at the 91st Oscars, but for the after-party – and it's so crucial – he lost the pesky shirt . (Danny Moloshok / Reuters)

We push through a grove, a dense grove of brocade and tulle, when two beautifully weathered faces emerge in a clearing. But they travel on opposite vectors, these familiar little strangers, so we have to choose:

Are we following Sam Rockwell or are we following Willem Dafoe?

That's the brutal calculation of the Vanity Fair Oscar night. You will never be surrounded by as many adepts as at a gilded party – but if you lose a special person in the crowd, you may not find it again. Regina King will enter the room with a golden man of eight kilos on hand and, suddenly, ottoman. Glenn Close will disappear on your side before you can apply your patented body language body language analysis to his post-loss mood.

We fall behind Rockwell and we quickly find ourselves in a convoy because it turns out that he pulls Taraji P. Henson across this grove of bodies. At the next release, he delivers Henson to a tall, dark-haired woman who not only kisses the actress, but also reaches out for – whale, whale, whale – Hit her downstairs. Now, she must be Someone & # 39; a, that creature with such luminous skin and awesome spanking privileges with a veteran Oscar nominee, who is now helping to reattach the clasp that clasps Henson's neck. Rockwell, meanwhile, has found Chris Evans, wearing a turquoise velvet tuxedo jacket, tonight, and they blossom happily.

"Let's do it!" Says Rockwell to Captain America. "Let [effing] do it, man! Then he walks into the clearing to hit the black-haired fox, and it's really a party now! The bright lady is Leslie Bibb, an actress and longtime friend of Rockwell – thanks, Google. We follow this growing lineage of fun and spanky celebrities heading for the dance floor. What do you think we will do? But an arm reaches out to Henson near the bar.

"Jon Hamm!" She screamed, clapping her hands and bouncing a bit before succumbing in her arms with a little shiver of pleasure. He gently explains the source of his magic: "It's a corduroy tuxedo."

Sam Rockwell and Leslie Bibb were two of the celebrities of the brocade and tulle thicket that characterizes the Vanity Fair Oscar Party. (Danny Moloshok / Reuters)

It was a relief to see this whole list amusing. Last week, the The New York Times caused a foul odor by stating that the Vanity Fair party, a Hollywood institution since 1994, had lost its heat – that its legendary exclusive guest list had been diluted by an influx of senior executives. corporate and filthy journalists, while the elite party organized by Jay-Z and Beyoncé had stolen his thunder. In return, Vanity Fair disavowed the party correspondent to the newspaper and very divided opinions were shared on Twitter. All of this has made us so sad because we love everyone and want everyone to be friends and not ruining our senior year.

And the truth is that the Vanity Fair party is pretty much the same as it has ever been. There has always been a refined and more secret party somewhere in the hills where the most popular kids disappear at some point in the night. There have always been lots of non-famous guests in the mix. But celebrities do not really care about being around rich corporate costumes, and they do not really notice we. They have so much to do here.

Rami Malek has not arrived yet, but here is Sacha Baron Cohen, the man who dropped the award-winning role of Freddie Mercury at the Oscars, his body language exuding a good sportsmanship here tonight that could have been the his and who is not.

He sits on a couch in a position where we all find ourselves, neither in conversation nor in another. On one side, the wife Isla Fisher looks up and talks with a woman ravaged by a goblin; For his part, Mindy Kaling also turned away from him, throwing arms and legs against his former boyfriend, B.J. Novak, regardless of the situation. But Cohen keeps his face engaged, looking straight into the room, concentrating his eyes – God bless him – do not look at his phone like some of the husbands here. He wears fancy socks with candy stripes.

"Hello, I'm Jeff," says the richest man in the world to Gerard Butler. They make fun of laughing and make weapons in their hands. Jeffrey P. Bezos settles down on the patio where he promises to Jon Voight and some women who could become models that he will then see them at Jay-Z or Madonna. (Maybe Bezos, who owns the Washington Post, could take some notes for us there?)

Lupita Nyong'o arrived dressed in the most beautiful white feather duster, on which Lakeith Stanfield carefully removes her fingers. "You know I can not resist," he said with a sheepish smile.

Obviously, she did not receive the memo: you do not have to wear the same thing at the party you did at the show. Jennifer Lopez, who walked on the red carpet in a liquid disco ball molded to her singular shape, has turned into a silvery object that looks a little less stitching and a lot more comfortable. Laura Dern, exquisitely strapless on stage, is transformed into a looser dress, with a full skirt, held up by wide straps. But that does not stop her from teasing Sarah Paulson, who dropped to the floor in a cherry red satin basin to ease her feet: "I'm sorry, you can not take off your shoes, it's not appropriate. Oh yes? Tell Priyanka Chopra, who put his stilettos on a drink table on the smoking patio and drinks a cigarette at about the same altitude as his new husband, Nick Jonas.

Hey, at this time of night, comfort is the key. Melissa McCarthy and her husband Ben Falcone arrived dressed in matching black Adidas tracksuits – McCarthy still wearing her jewelery – a choice that delighted both James Corden and his hands on both sides of Falcone's face.

Jason Momoa always wears elegantly this spokesperson of a powdery pink velvet suit that clings to his imposing frame throughout the series, but now – and this is so crucial – He lost the pesky shirt. Just a little chest fur and love beads that breathe in the night air, thanks a lot, his hair in darling, while he drips at the edge of the dance floor until the "Happy" of Pharrell, all alone – no wait, his little wife Lisa Bonet is at his side. (Sorry, Lisa, your man was blocking us!)

Rami Malek did not arrive, but the DD continues to try to let him exist, first by thrilling the crowd with "Under Pressure," later with "Do not Stop Me Now." It does not work.

You know who's good at parties? Mark Hamill. Good listener. Ask good questions. A beautiful things to say. He talks about his stay at Keegan-Michael Key, where he floated through the Dolby Theater under an umbrella like Mary Poppins. How much did he have to repeat? Was it fun?

The party on the wires was great. "It was so carefree!" Says Key. "They asked me if I wanted to make a presentation, and I said yes, and then they said: we have this message, and I read it, and I said : it's amazing. " Hamill agrees.

Hamill asks Topher Grace for his role in "BlacKkKlansman" as David Duke. "I like the way you play it as so affable," says Hamill, and Grace seems blown away by the praises of Luke Skywalker, and suggests that this role would have been played a generation ago by Hamill. Then they left and discuss the alternative film history: "" Driving Miss Daisy "won and" Do the Right Thing "was not even nominated? C & # 39; crazy. "

Amy Poehler and Pamela Adlon have a group of comedians, just behind the band Frances McDormand / Maya Rudolph. "I was dying," Adlon said. "Dead, I am [effing] death. "Pause, go on to an optimistic tone." Otherwise, how are you? It's a great party!

They separate and Adlon turns to us. "I do not find my best gay friend that I brought to this party and he has my phone!" Oh, you'll find another here, let's say. Best gay friend, we mean. Ha ha, make a lame joke, sorry.

Rami Malek has not arrived yet and we are starting to panic. Did his publicist read the Times story? The phones are consulted – oh yikes. Rami Malek fell from the Dolby Theater scene? Paramedics got involved? The details are unclear: he got up and gave a press conference. But maybe it's better that he does not come tonight. Nothing personal! No strong feelings! Everything is fine!

Because we are now within earshot of Beck, who says to his winger, "Let's see Gaga, then divide us." Something like that. We are certain of the Gaga party.

They make their way up to the center of the room where a clearing larger than usual has appeared and she is in a pool of light. Beck is approaching and there are hugs, smiles and jokes, but we can not get close because there is a strange blank space around them, while unknown guests are hold in a circle, a discreet foot or two, and pretend do not look.

The numbers began to change. Soon we would be as much as we are, and we would be noticed. Beck was right. We had seen Gaga. It was time to separate.

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