A screening of Bleecker Street’s “Mafia Mamma.” The invitees’ wardrobe rated four oys. Skirts so tight wearers were set for a colonoscopy. Squeezing it all in was enough for a mammogram.

Forget Paris collections — unless it’s Paris, a town in Arkansas: One blue floor length marabou wearer’s long back zipper had an open broken hook.

Another in short short green rayon so tight a lima bean’s fatter. Another’s snugsnugsnug dress featured a slit higher than the designer’s IQ.

A pink one barely covered what the wearer was born with. Spanx were outlined through fake feathers. Even their bras probably had sequins.

Looking gorgeous, star and producer Toni Collette — onetime “Little Miss Sunshine” — wore a magnificent white flowered and embroidered floor length Valentino. So why did she produce this?

“I’m a curious person. I wanted to learn and I learned by trusting. This has already been sold to all over the world so we were able to get our financing. I’ve loved every minute of doing this. The pleasure hasn’t ended yet. For me it was a beacon of light.

“Best part was doing this in Rome. What’s more exciting than working three months in Rome. And teaching them to work with women who’d been overlooked in the industry. Previously it was all men.”

When her Valentino loaner got stepped on, it diverted her attention to some hard-hitting reporter from the Knockturnal.

Everyone posed for photos. This group kept smiling toward cameramen who were still in Jersey. Even their beading was at attention.

It was “Real Housewives” from consignment shops. Spike heels. Right foot extended. Boobs out. Rears squeezed. Hands on hips. Longlonglonglong hair down to shortshortshortshort hems.

Invitees loved the movie. It was their mirror.

Eggs expensive? Milk costlier than shoes? Rent’s so high that buying the building’s cheaper? Try Springsteen at the Garden.

Confusing MSG signage indicated how/where for a ­ticket-scanning entrance machine. Also, this person’s particular machine didn’t work. No human to assist. Scaffolding everywhere.

Then, sit where? No usher. Ticketmaster was $800 “for bad seats,” they said.

Also, everyone in the surround kept talking. You couldn’t enjoy the big star’s singing for the big mouths talking.

So much technology that maybe should be less on keeping enemies out and more on welcoming fans?

IL Monello. On the Upper East Side 34 years. Owner Steve ­Haxhiaj, ex busser and waiter, now has it in quieter territory, 49th Street’s Turtle Bay. A regular is Mets owner Steve Cohen. So it’s Chilean sea bass and Tuscany porterhouse. Go.

And expanding bagel shop Kossar’s long ago promised Upper West Side windows bore the sign “Open soon.”

Still closed so, taped on the door, was someone’s scrawl: “Like when?!”

Only in New York, kids, only in New York.