Party Town Misses Its Millennial Moment

On Friday night, we learned two things: Fear sells humanity short, and greed is soooo played out.

Save for the exotically dolled-up glam crowd that populated such clubs as Wilshire Boulevard’s El Rey Theatre, New Year’s Eve was a dead man’s party.

Hollywood, you never looked so pathetic.

People bought into fear--buying overpriced batteries and hunkering down in their homes--while those planning to cash in got a well-deserved kick in the rear. Maybe next millennium, limousine services will reconsider that 10-hour minimum and television anchors will stop hyping panic.

Quite simply, Hollywood--the current party capital of the world--got caught with its pants down.

“Most people stayed home,” says Jennifer Gohr, the manager of the Saddle Ranch Chop House, a popular new venue on the Sunset Strip. “We probably did better than most clubs, but people didn’t want to leave their houses.”

The last time Tinseltown’s streets were so quiet was the night of the Northridge quake, when the only signs of life were a few brazen bar-hoppers hanging at the then-new Lava Lounge.

As it neared midnight on Friday, you could hear a pin drop in Hollywood. At 11:30 p.m., the only people standing outside the Conga Room’s entrance were a security guard and doorman. Pink’s, the legendary late-night hot dog stand on La Brea, was closed--no doubt bamboozled into battening down the hatches for an Armageddon that never came. Sure, people honked at midnight on the Sunset Strip, but try maneuvering through the congestion any Friday night. The most telltale sign of failure was present on New Year’s Day: There was no trash on the Strip--no confetti, no noisemakers.

That’s why the “HARDCORE” wrist stamp at the Big Top 2000, an El Rey Theatre rock ‘n’ roll carnival, was so fitting. Its colorful guests were among the few Hollywood revelers who didn’t buy into the “endadawoild” scenario.

“Bring it on!” said Darren Banks, an accountant from Covina, who came to the El Rey dressed in a leather codpiece and bustier. “Armageddon’s a state of mind.”

Clearly, the 400 outlandishly dressed guests came to experience something you can’t catch on the net: reality.

Harking back to the old-time carnivals of the 1930s, Big Top 2000 featured 15-minute vignettes with live-snake charmers and knife throwers. These weren’t slick Vegas-style production numbers either, but real blade-wielders and real targets.

From go-go dancers with wings and a tattoo that read “Mother” to a female dancing duo joined by a silver chain, Big Top 2000 was a big spectacle.

At nearby Cherry, the club held on Fridays at the Playroom on Highland Avenue, about 300 other glam devotees came to witness a special performance by Angelyne--that rarest of Hollywood creations, La Bimbo Eternal.

In a teensy-weensy pink dress adorned with glittery butterflies (and looking pretty good, we might add), the billboard Betty danced with guests and signed autographs for five bucks a pop, while a deejay played a Ramones rouser that features the fitting refrain: “It’s the end, the end of the century.”

But not even a rare appearance by Miss Cosmic Thang could save Hollywood’s end o’ the century revelry from itself.

Now we know why Johnny Depp--who owns the Sunset Strip club the Viper Room--has been living in Paris. The Eiffel Tower’s spectacular light show was light years ahead of Hollywood’s--a mere blip of the celebration it should have been.

Oh well, at least the jig is up. Time to turn off those tellies and experience reality again. Just ask the snake charmer: It doesn’t bite.