Movieline On The Scene: Scott Caan's Book Launch
What is Hollywood besides a dream factory that gives wing to the most pure, visual expression that lies inside a poet's head? It's also a place for bitchin' parties! In a bid to reflect the star-studded, vodka-sponsored tapestry that is Hollywood nightlife, we sent our party correspondent Louis Virtel (found blogging regularly at our sister site Hollywood Life) to this weekend's biggest scene: the soiree for Scott Caan's new book of photography. Louis cornered some of the party's biggest stars (Jon Hamm!) and had the balls to ask Caan about, er, his own.
Take it away, Louis...
Scott Caan's "unapologetic" first collection of photography, Photographs, Vol. 1, is a black-and-white portfolio of brooding men from Ocean's Eleven, found Americana, and breasts. The book's celebrity-heavy release party, held Saturday at the Otero Plassart gallery in Hollywood, attracted equally unapologetic supporters like father James Caan, who motioned at several pairs of displayed breasts and announced, more than twice, "Those are my first girlfriends!"
While touring the white room of portraits that were festooned with alert female nipples, a partygoer might have been reminded of another R-rated photo involving Scott Caan: that pesky X17 snapshot of his scrotum (NSFW) that circulated online last December. But the artist assured Movieline that guerrilla, TMZ-style photography was not what the night is about.
"That's trash, man, all that stuff," Caan said. "In all respect, they're just trying to make a living too. I think you can tell a lot of that doesn't have any soul."
"Jeff Dunas has a photo book, and I love his photos so much, and that inspired me to take a trip and shoot the stuff I got all across America," Caan continued, adding that his choicest shot was the one decorating the north wall: a photographed pair of breasts sporting the eyeliner-drawn words "I (Heart) Paris" in their yawning rift. From the southwest corner of the picture, a foot is also visible, pressed firmly (almost comically) against the right bosom.
"I don't know her name," he said, after I asked. "She's a lady that I met when I was in Paris, and we spent a little time together." And there you have it, a Craigslist missed connection built in the stars.
As Caan accepted well wishes in the outdoor bar area, director Brett Ratner (who financed the print version of Caan's collection) set up shop in the gallery's side alcove and hawked the book for list price of $60. Other unapologetic star behavior: erstwhile Monkee Mickey Dolenz swanned about in a creamy-white Tom Wolfe suit. Fran Drescher and her klatch nudged each other in front of the heaping breasts. Anthony Kiedis wore a cap. Sheryl Crow was hot without an alibi.
Longtime Caan friend Soleil Moon Frye and her much-taller husband stopped to observe the coffee table book, tilted precariously on an unfixed plastic stand. She motioned toward the quaint shot of a small child flicking off the camera. "I love the way he captured the kids," said the 32-year-old Frye, whose hearty laugh reassured my suspicion that, if called upon, she could still mangle Tiffany Brissette's ass.
Later, five o'clock shadow connoisseur Jon Hamm circled the room absorbing each of the two dozen works, stopping at longer intervals for whimsical stills of Vincent Gallo and Dennis Hopper, arguably the most light-hearted efforts in the now-crowded room.
"I've known Scott quite a long time," he told us. "He usually has a birthday party every year and shows a lot of photography. His stuff is so cool and sexy and strange and encompasses so many styles. He has a great eye and picks out little moments."
Little moments, but never little busts! Caan's nostalgic chronicle of movie premieres, mammaries, and Highway 61 ghost towns attracted the attractive and directed them toward Ratner's makeshift cash register. If Jon Hamm didn't drop some Benjamins thanks solely to the sheer artistic merit on display, then I hope he came through in memory of James Caan's woebegone, unbilled first girlfriends.
Photo Credit: Maury Phillips/WireImage.com