Andrew Lloyd Webber never expected to win an Emmy for ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’

Sunday’s prime-time Creative Arts Emmys, preceding by a week the big-time awards, gave His Lordship Andrew Lloyd Webber another title. Symbiotic, it was their 70th year and his 70th.

Already lorded by Her Majesty, ALW’s now an EGOT — Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony — winner. He’s a bigger shot in Britain than Meghan Sparkle.

Honored for this year’s live TV concert of his 1970s “Jesus Christ Superstar,” he said: “I never thought we’d get this award. Something I never expected. When we did the show originally, I wasn’t well known. None of us were. Not producer Craig Zadan, whom we just lost, and whose dream it was, or lyricist Tim Rice who also got an Emmy.

“I loved this TV version. Thrilled NBC did it the way we wished it had been done 45 years ago. It was live and felt live — but I thought the Broadway production loud and vulgar. What happened was the recordings became a hit in America before the show was really ready, and I hated it.”

Comes another Andrew honor at the American Theatre Wing Gala on the 24th. So how does he follow all this specialness?

“Do something else I’m working on. Like a new version of Cinderella. I have projects on the shelf at home. And my movie of ‘Cats’ starts in a month.”

His wife Madeleine: “I’d crossed my fingers, but you’re resigned to probably not hearing your name read out.”

At this moment Madeleine, in a stunning, sexy pink outfit, was approached by another stunning, sexy pink outfit — on RuPaul. Said fellow honoree Ru:
“Please let me play glamour cat Grizabella.” Purred Andrew, “You can’t. Griz is past her prime — and you never age!”

ALW’s phone call with me came seconds after his win in LA. However, my Yorkshire terrier, age 16, has a 55-year-old bladder — and we were out. I rang back.

I’ve blown moments of Extreme History not just because I’m a lousy reporter, but because of my Yorky. When Donald’s wall finally goes up, I might miss it because Juicy, 3 ¹/₂ pounds, will be peeing.

Well that wouldn’t be sly

Could Sylvester Stallone maybe tell me if it’s true that payment for his part in 1974’s “The Lords of Flatbush” was 25 free T-shirts . . . Takes strength to tap a map. WNBC’s A-1 weather lady Janice Huff at Midtown’s A-1 Tuscany Steakhouse . . . Justin Daly’s film, which previewed at Metrograph, is “The Big Take.” The big take-away is he’s Pia Lindström’s son and grandson of Ingrid Bergman.

It’s all wrong

Our world’s great: Disney’s selling booze, New York’s allowing pot, Facebook’s dumping privacy, Germany’s veering ultra-right, Village Voice went poop, more bicycle lanes will ease traffic, Paris putting toilets on the street, Greece is financially in the toilet, athletes earning millions in this greatest country on Earth flopping for the national anthem.

A War-haul!

A California celebrity who could use a few bucks sold a cache of Andy Warhols.

An art pro handled the sale. Some Warhols — even the not-superfamous ones like those of big shot people that have been shown in galleries, magazines, newspapers, wealthy collectors’ homes and reports etc. etc. and blaah blaah — have fetched $105 million.

In this particular transaction of a bunch of canvasses — where the seller did not want to find poverty on his/her/their dancecard — the dealer paid $1 mil apiece.

Question from seniors: “Why are all the dresses too short and the films too long?”

Asked only in New York, kids, only in New York.

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