but i am a baldwin brother

Planning to crash tonight’s Vanity Fair Oscar bash at Mortons? Be prepared to slip by three checkpoints (a block from the restaurant, in the driveway and at the door), 45 TV camera crews and 100 paparazzi.

Prospective party-goers do woo the magazine’s staff with offers of cash, flower bouquets and booze, says Vanity Fair public relations director Beth Kseniak. The volume of faxed requests for this year’s gala, which could host 1,500 attendees, fills two 4-inch-thick ring binders. In true Hollywood fashion, many are rejected, though a TV camera crew that brought a porker as a “Babe” prop made it past the ropes in 1996.

Some desperadoes try to finagle invitations by impersonating Hollywood insiders on the phone, most commonly agents. “As if we don’t know who these people are,” Kseniak says. For the unwashed masses, the only real shot is in latching onto the entourage of a Hollywood heavyweight big enough to wield an unlimited guest pass. (Good bets this year: Kevin Spacey and Annette Bening.)

So what will you be missing? Two giant topiary picture frames, each containing 20 TV monitors that will broadcast images from the party; an outside lounge with band and DJ; and designer cookies, shipped from the Cookie Studio in Manhattan and painted, using edible dyes, with photos of Oscar nominees. “Some people trade the cookies or save them,” says Kseniak. “But eventually you end up eating them because they’re so good.”