James Gandolfini | Screengrab In Exile

I knew it wasn’t going to end with a sneeze.

If you haven’t seen the original 1974 version of The Taking of Pelham One Two Three, that’s a mild spoiler…but if you haven’t seen it, what are you waiting for? It’s a tight little meat-and-potatoes heist flick, with plenty of ’70s Noo Yawk atmosphere and attitude and a trainload of crackerjack character actors, including Walter Matthau, Robert Shaw and Martin Balsam. The new version is…well, it’s a Tony Scott film.

That’s not entirely a bad thing in this case, and I can think of worse ways to while away a hot, sticky summer afternoon than ducking into the air-conditioned comfort of the multiplex for a couple of hours worth of jacked-up, seat-rattling, subway-heisting action. Read more…

Host Doogie Patrick Harris emerges on stage eating a plate of sushi, mentioning how the raw fish gives him so much energy he’s decided to eat it every night during the run of his next Broadway engagement. In the audience, Speed the Plow actor Raúl Esparza exchanges knowing looks with the rest of the thespian community, while in L.A. Jeremy Piven undoubtedly does something douchey.
For some reason, Bret frickin’ Michaels shows up during the fantastically great opening medley of Broadway musical numbers — and LIP-SYNCHS. As punishment, Dionysus, the god of theater, caused the quasi-talented venereal disease to smash into a stage set — and then, adding insult to injury, Stockard Channing, Dolly Parton, Allison Janney and just about every other single person in Radio City Music Hall proceed to wipe the floor with the pansy-ass by actually, y’know, singing the rest of the number.
Liza Minelli, still batshit crazy.
The three adorable youngsters who play Billy Eliot in the musical version of Stephen Daldry’s eponymous 2000 film about a coal miner’s ballet dancing son jointly win the Tony for Best Performance by a Leading Actor in a Musical and stand on stage giggling in their little tiny tuxedos, then eventually get around to thanking their sisters, parents, teachers and Elton John while 80 percent of America’s theater geeks (myself included) let out a collective, “Awwwwww!!!!!”
Even the squeaky clean, bewigged, Up With People hippies of the current revival of Hair turn out to be incapable of ruining “Let the Sunshine In,” and actually manage to improve the musical’s title song by using it as an excuse to leap into the audience and shake their booties in close proximity to James Gandolfini’s giant head. Meanwhile, the erstwhile Tony Soprano proves himself 100 percent cooler than the Piv by not only laughing along with the potentially annoying antics, but also wisecracking with Edie Falco throughout the ceremony, joking about his physical resemblance to Shrek and, of course, actually showing up for performances of his Tony-award winning play, God of Carnage. — Andrew Osborne