August 23, 2007 | 4:53 pm

‘Rush Hour 3’ director Brett Ratner doesn’t care to show up

Posted by Danielle Berrin

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I didn’t anticipate the buzz. But then Brett Ratner got profiled in The Miami Herald and my grandmother called to tell me alllll about the nice Jewish boy from Beach High who became a big Hollywood director (and subsequently invited his grandparents to cohabit his Beverly Hills mansion). The headline declared, “Rush Hour 3 director Brett Ratner doesn’t care what critics think.” Well, that’s good, considering it doesn’t take a critic to know ‘Rush Hour’ isn’t exactly Oscar material.

In the article, Ratner had more flattering comments for the enemies of the Blockbuster film. ‘‘Critics are snobs. People like [Roman Polanski] know that it’s easier to make a pretentious art movie than a movie that makes f- - - - - - $500 million.’‘

Nice? The Jewban—once removed (Ratner is a U.S. native while his family hails from Cuba) is known for throwing lavish, star-studded parties at Hillhaven Lodge, the Beverly Hills estate that looms high on a hill near Benedict Canyon. He’s also known for a devil-may-care attitude and infamous for womanizing. Nice Jewish boy. But when I got invited to his house, I had to go.

150-or-so Hollywood heavy hitters were chaffeured up the hill and granted entry to his not-quite-as-sprawling as I had imagined backyard. The large pool glowed, particularly luminous among the predominantly dressed-in-black business set present for tonight’s grand affair: The Foundation for Ethnic Understanding‘s Los Angeles Benefit honoring two of the biggest agents in the biz, Charles D. King (William Morris Agency) and Steve Smooke (Creative Artists Agency), along with Randy Spendlove, President of Motion Picture Music for Paramount and still riding the waves of a brilliant job with “Dreamgirls.”

There was mixing and mingling, though not quite the kind you see at a J-Date event. This was hardcore Hollywood. I could hear deals being made. Moguls shook hands, blackberrys were at arm’s length, talk of money, money, money.

The usual, compulsory and quite boring award ceremony took place at the top of the steps, in the shadow of the brick-and-mortar built lodge. Rabbi Marc Schneier spoke long and hard, with interminable pauses between each word so all I managed to cull from his address on ethnic understanding was, the importance of amicable race relations, the importance of ethnic communities working together, and how proud he is of the new anti-racism/anti-Semitism public service announcement starring Russell Simmons and Jay-Z. Simmons basked in the glow beneath the hanging tree-lights—-or was that bright spot just his forehead? He delivered an eloquent message, although I can’t remember much of that either…

I was preoccupied watching Jamie Foxx uncomfortably crouch into the corner at an event where he was not the most powerful or best-loved among the crew, but the only real celebrity present. He seemed to oscillate between discomfort (or nervousness?) and genuine enjoyment. Smooke is his agent and he seemed proud.

After that, I hit the road. The buffet line was way too long and I was hungry. On the way out, our driver peeled off the property, sped down the hill (in reverse!) and gave a big, bad bodyguard a hard time for parking his monster Escalade in the middle of the driveway. He tried excuses but she wasn’t having it. She was in control and very pregnant.

I thought, ‘only in Hollywood does a superstar director host a benefit at his home, not even feign intention to be there and get away with it.’ I’m told this sort of “generosity” in donating one’s lawn to charity for an evening affords lovely tax deductions. At least we know Ratner is smart and savvy.

And Gram, when I can afford a house like that, you’re welcome to bunk with me.

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