Hey, It Was Only an Opening Night and a Party

The Scene: Thursday night’s premiere of “It’s Only a Play” at the Doolittle Theatre in Hollywood. A reception followed at the Hollywood Athletic Club. The evening was part of the ongoing 25th anniversary celebration of the Center Theatre Group.

The Buzz: The play is a comedy about a theater company waiting for opening night reviews. It’s jacked up with inside theater jokes, and it drew much comparison to Robert Altman’s behind-the-scenes Hollywood comedy, “The Player.” Just as at the recent premiere of “The Player,” guests agreed that the show was uproarious, looked around to see if the director was in the vicinity, and then wondered aloud whether “It’s Only a Play” might not be too much of an inside job.

The Party: The Hollywood Athletic Club is one of those upscale billiards parlors where grubby pool hustlers are replaced by a bunch of faux grubby, Nautilized actor types with designer tattoos. (It’s not whether you sink the eight ball but how you look while you’re doing it.) The party was held in several small rooms in an upstairs area--very New York. Unlike Manhattanites, though, Angelenos don’t know how to move in a crowd. Many people were seen rotating in place, trying to figure out their next move.

Who Was There: Playwright Terrence McNally; director John Tillinger; producing director Gordon Davidson and wife Judi; cast members Charles Nelson Reilly, Dana Ivey, Sean O’Bryan, David Pierce, Zeljko Ivanek and Doris Roberts. Guests included Steve Allen and Jayne Meadows, Carole Cook and Tom Troupe, Bud Cort, Charles Durning, Nancy Dussault, Michael Feinstein, John Glover, Helen Hunt, Anne Jeffreys, Cloris Leachman, Garry Marshall, Brock Peters, Henry Polic II, Michael Spound, Lily Tomlin and Jane Wagner, Mary Wickes, Betty White and one man with a large “Howard Stern for President” sign.

Dress Code: Black-tie, which was very loosely interpreted. One man wore a black leather fanny pack with his tuxedo.

Entrance of the Evening: Was that Ivana Trump getting out of that white stretch limousine? (She is in town promoting her new novel). No, it wasn’t Ivana, but her Hollywood doppelganger, Loni Anderson. In a Trump-esque cotton candy hairdo and red suit, Anderson graciously received photographic panic while her chauffeur (who wore a bejeweled Old Glory pin on his cap) stood by and played bodyguard. The Burt was nowhere in evidence.

Chow: Several buffets of tasty but unidentifiable finger foods. One woman, a restaurant critic, complained, “I can’t even tell you what the food is. I asked a waiter, and he didn’t even know.” There were no plates or flatware, so the mystery treats had to be balanced on tiny cocktail napkins.

Charles in Charge: Reilly roamed the party in manic style, braying jokes, hugging and kissing men and women alike and cutting up for photographers. Spotting a reporter, he yelled, “There is no truth to the rumors of a feud between the director and the playwright.”