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Luhrmann’s film doesn’t quite square with Bangs’s counterman source there. After the screening, he tells Vanity Fair that Elvis at this point of his life was completely co-opted by his questionable manager, Colonel Tom Parker, who only let him tour in America and sometimes made him play up to three times a day.

Parker had him in Las Vegas, playing nightly, for close to a decade. “He’s fatter, he loses his spirit. He’s deteriorating, that’s what you’re seeing. Imagine wanting to tour overseas and doing that for seven years?” Luhrmann says. “But Clive Davis told me to this day he still has never been to an opening night as great as that Vegas show was.”

Indeed, while some moments of the film show Elvis sweating, sluggish, and struggling to get through his set, others show his once-in-a-lifetime performing prowess, like when he belts out Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge over Troubled Water.” For those of us who weren’t alive when Elvis was, it feels like an a-ha moment: where you finally get why the generations of the past were obsessed with the guy. (As well as the artists of the present: there is no Mick Jagger or Harry Styles without Elvis.) Oh, and his costumes? Bejeweled and amazing. “Elvis didn’t have a stylist,” Luhrmann notes. His stage costumes felt like a forebear for Alessandro Michele’s Gucci, with its flamboyant colors and ornamentation. And, frankly, they probably were the reference.

Why, after the success of his dramatized Elvis film, did Luhrmann decide to do another? Part of it was the richness of source material—in a speech to the crowd, he describes going to the MGM archive and discovering 67 boxes of negatives. Another part of it was, well, artistic duty. At one moment in the documentary, Elvis, blue eyes wide, tells the crowd that one of his life wishes is to perform in New York or Britain. He never got to do so in his lifetime. “We’re giving Elvis the world tour he dreamed but never had,” Luhrmann says, gesturing around the crowd at The Crosby. Indeed, EPiC opens worldwide on February 27, bringing The King and his rich baritone to the global masses. Who knows, maybe it’ll start a new wave of Elvis fervor too.

At just after 8:30 p.m. on Tuesday December 9, the burlesque performers showed up at Raoul’s. 8:30 p.m., yes, seems early to see a little bit of titty. And yes, Tuesday also seems early in the week to see a little bit of titty. But shimmy and sashay they did—to a jazz rendition of Britney Spears’s …Baby One More Time—with one dancer even climbing atop the spiral suitcase near the bar.

It was an occasion to throw propriety to the wind: The SoHo bistro’s 50th anniversary. Although Raoul’s has often been described as a downtown institution, now, it felt like an indisputable fact. While the neighborhood has transformed from warehouses and art galleries to designer boutiques and chain megastores, the dark and moody Raoul’s has remained the same—as has much of its clientele. In the seventies, it became a go-to late-night spot for the Belushis, Aykroyds, and many other cast members from Saturday Night Live. Half a century later, it remains a haven for artists, creatives, and New York City’s cool kids.

I’m going to get straight to the point: Carbone has a miniyacht. Its name is Fortuna. Its port of origin is the Bellagio Fountain in Las Vegas, whose 8.5 acre chlorined waters reach thirteen feet at their deepest point. A captain named Mike technically could floor it, but he’s not gonna, because that would make you spill your glass of champagne, or your potato chip loaded with Petrossian caviar. There’s also olives and bloody-mary spiced cashews, but that feels like less precious culinary cargo in the grand scheme of things.

And the schemes are indeed grand: the Fortuna sails for forty five minutes to an hour as the fountains Bellagio erupt behind you in a choreographed sky-high water dance to a soundtrack of your choice, which can be anything from Bruno Mars’s “Uptown Funk” to Frank Sinatra’s “Luck Be a Lady” to Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On”. Is the latter an odd choice for a boat ride? Yes. Did I still make it? Also yes.

The boat is invite only. I was invited because I was writing about it, but in general, you need to be some sort of celebrity, influencer, a Bellagio V.I.P. or a F.O.M.C. (Friend of Mario Carbone.) The kitchen can whip you up a bunch of different things, but they suggest champagne and caviar, because the yacht experience is best before dinner or after dinner. And that dinner will presumably be at the soon-to-open Carbone Riviera.

Carbone Riviera isn’t your typical Carbone. It’s not dark and clubby but rather maximalist and airy: blue and gold stone mosaics adorn pillars and a ceiling is painted with tan and taupe swirls. (The interior designer is Martin Brudnizki, who designed Annabel’s in London as well as Fouquet’s in New York City.) In the center of the room sits a cornucopic arrangement of roses, oranges, and artichokes. A cherub holds up a bowl of lemons. On the walls hang Mirós, Renoirs, and a Picasso.

About that Picasso: it’s from the restaurant that used to be here, which used the artist as its namesake. Picasso was a legendary fine dining staple on The Strip for 26 years, before it closed in 2024. After the chef, Julian Serrano, retired, MGM Resorts (which owns the Bellagio) knew it had tough kitchen whites to fill.