THE director Mira Nair could be forgiven for hewing to one subject on a recent Friday night. Her new film, The Namesake, was having its premiere in two New York theaters: uptown at the Paris Theater and downtown at the Angelika Film Center.

Ms. Nair (rhymes with fire) was drinking scotch on the rocks at Bemelmans Bar at the Carlyle Hotel and fidgeting with anticipation over the debut. Her entourage included Jhumpa Lahiri, the author of the novel cum film; Arjun Bhasin, the films costume designer; and Lydia Dean Pilcher, Ms. Nairs longtime producing partner.

Kal Penn, the films star, was off shooting the sequel to Harold and Kumar but was there in spirit as the group recounted his story of a very confused friend who couldnt understand why an Indian book had a Japanese title: The Nah-muh-sah-kay. The name stuck, and the cast and crew like to joke about it. So the Nah-muh-sah-kay gang a bunch of giddy, giggling adults piled into a car and arrived at the Paris for the 7:30 show.

Ms. Nair, 49, tumbled out of the car, nothing cool and collected about her as she sprinted to the marquee, past a man pleading with the ticket seller for a seat to the sold-out showing. But her bliss was momentarily marred by scaffolding that blocked the marquee. Steel bars and all, she took a photograph for posterity.

Ms. Nair surveyed the crowd indoors, looking as if she wanted to embrace each and every person simply for being there. She turned to a manager of the Paris, Stavroula Toska, and said reverently: I studied film in this theater. This place is a citadel for me. Barely pausing, she added, Could you turn the volume up? The music is so beautiful and there are so many people, you cant hear it.

Shes always directing something, Mr. Bhasin kidded.

Afterward, referring to the crowds, Ms. Nair sighed and said, That was something else.

Every so often she would train her large, warm eyes on her colleagues, as if to register: yes, this thing we dreamed of is happening. She wore a coat made of old cloth from Uzbekistan called a suzani, which was faded black with embroidered red circles and yellow and white zigzags.

She said she wore it monastically while filming, having decided it was a literal reference to Gogols short story The Overcoat, which figures into The Namesake. (Plot spoiler: it is not a Russian film.) The movie is rolling out across the country over the next several weeks.

Ms. Lahiri was subdued, perhaps because she is something of a recluse, but she was also fighting a cold. (The cold seemed to be ahead.) She did, though, kvell over the movie. I feel like the grandmother, she said, all of the joy and none of the pain.

At Omen, a Japanese restaurant in SoHo, Ms. Nairs 15-year-old son, Zohran, arrived bearing flowers, and it looked as if his mother might melt. Everyone cooed over dishes of avocado and yam salad and black cod, until Zohran made an edamame gaffe: Oh, God, Im eating the eaten part, he said, putting down the bowl of discarded shells.

After dessert, Ms. Nair and company headed to the Angelika for a 10:20 showing. Peeking her head into a theater for the opening credits, Ms. Nair signaled to the vice president for operations standing nearby.

So many people, she said, the volume could go up.

She added: This is an important theater to me. I saw many of the most important films here.

There is no denying Mira Nair could charm the skin off a snake and then sell snakeskin boots back to the snake. If snakes wore boots. Up went the volume.