Peroni monster

Wednesday. The theme of the Baramount Bictures Bome B'ntertainment Buarter Bour Baunch Barty (take that, random Googlers!), held at the Overseas Passenger Terminal in Circular Quay, was "Home Of The Heroes". Essentially, the function was a thanks-in-advance piss-up with action-oriented eye candy. Parked outside were a big rig custom-painted with "Transformers" designs and a tank. The entryway was tres cool – an airlock with blue-lit smoke and automated warnings playing in the background. An MC popped up intermittently to set the scene. Video presentations on jumbo screens hyped upcoming DVD releases. Actors dressed as the Watchmen stood statue still inside glass cabinets or wandered the floor in character. Funky dancers on podiums and positioned throughout the throng performed to a medley of hits from Hollywood musicals. A decent hip-hop group occupied the stage, then a trio of female DJs. In a quiet(ish) area, there was a line of "Dance Dance Revolution" machines on freeplay. What else? A familiar black and yellow Chevy Camaro revved its way into the middle of everyone. That dude from MTV's "The City" mumbled lame As to Qs. G.I. Joe Blow came smashing through a door, then stalked off in search of his quarry. Yes, dull moments were kept to a minimum - and stomachs were as extravagantly catered for as peepers. The fab finger food included cubes of pork belly dusted with chilli powder and Peking duck pancakes with orange marmalade. Plus, there was as much Peroni, spirits and wine as ya could guzzle. Three specially concocted cocktails as well – the Starscream (vodka-based), Bumblebee (tequila-based) and Snake Eyes (???). CM and I needed only the S/E for the trifecta when the bar's stock of fruit/juices was exhausted by the massive demand. We drowned our sorrows by returning to beer. What else? Ran into journos I vaguely knew. Attempted to take and shake the hand of a "Top Model" star who, perhaps understandably, recoiled in horror. (Bah, I never liked her.) But proving I'm not a completely loathsome creature, I later got along fine with a former reality TV host, who invited me to his house-warming. Alas, poor light put paid to the brilliant idea of photographing my pal pretending to sock The Comedian in the jaw. The willing punchee was even gonna cinematically spit at the moment I snapped the shot. There was an after-party at Cruise Bar, which is merely a separate section of the O/P/T with insufficient loos. By chance, I spoke to a coupla prominent Paramount staffers - a senior account manager (if memory serves) and the woman who actually buys the movies. Colour me impressed. A business card would've been handier than digits for a mobi I rarely switch on. Somewhere betwixt midnight and 1am, I'd reached my limit of gratis grog, was repeating silly phrases and had mislaid my goodie bag. CM retrieved said holdall, then herded me downstairs and into a taxi - like the top mate that he is.


L: "How Did Hannibal Cross The Alps?", a Stanford University History Department podcast available on iTunes.