New Quad City

The first time I was at the Quad Cinema was also my last. I love a good independent, arthouse -style movie theatre--I grew up enamored of the Gateway in Fort Lauderdale, its '50s style marquee still in use after decades, the films that ran through there that you wouldn't be able to find anywhere else alongside an occasional run of Rocky Horror.

My first time arthouse cinema in New York was the Quad. Based on my previous experiences at the Gateway, I was excited to go to another small theatre I imagined would be like it in New York, where the arthouse cinemas like Film Forum and the Angelika were (and still are) the stuff of legend. They were places where you know you can always find something good, be it a classic or an independent film or a new foreign film or an old foreign film or a documentary, or what have you.

But my experience was not exactly what I had thought it would be. I was there to write what ended up being not exactly a student film, but very much the film of a young person just out of college who had not yet, shall we say, found their way as a director. The theatre was fairly empty save for the maybe 8-10 people seeing this one movie. Ragged, dirty purple carpets dotted with red and yellow polka dots led from the entryway on W. 13th Street to the bored, pimply teenager working the concession stand at the back of the cinema. Fluorescent lights cast a strange, greenish/gray glow over the space. It was so...depressing. Even so, I thought I might come back one day--you never know what films might come in, and it may be a place worth going again. But whenever I looked up film listings, there wasn't anything that stood out to me there. I didn't go back for something like six years.

Until last night, that is.

In time for its 44th year of business, the Quad Cinemas got a total makeover. And not like Tai in Clueless makeover, where she was cute before but now she's stylish...this was like a facial reconstruction surgery, where there was something broken that needed to be fixed so a person could survive. There had been articles popping up about the new Quad, yes, but I didn't read any of them. What caught my eye, actually, was that they were doing a film series on a director I hadn't heard of, Italian filmmaker Lina Wertmüller. Suddenly, after years of having no reason to go to the Quad, I finally had one, where I'd be able to see her films over the course of two weeks if I really wanted to. Her film Seven Beauties, aka Pasqualino Settebellezze, would be showing on Friday. I asked if AR wanted to go with me and, always down for a new experience especially one involving film, he did.

We walked up to the cinema and I hardly recognized it. Now outside there was a sleek, metal and light sign bearing the letters QUAD in a slim, squarish font. We walked in through pristine glass doors to find a foyer of walls of red lacquer adorned with lighted movie posters, then a ticket counter of the same red lacquer where we walked up and bought our tickets. The entire transaction I was 'oooh' ing and 'aaah' ing, staring at the vintage movie posters like Breakfast at Tiffany's and The Fortune Cookie, but written in Italian, hung on a gray wall over plush leather seats, barely able to concentrate on paying for my ticket. The carpet was a clean black pattern, the lights were a bright, warm tone, the concession stand was now on the side of the theatre in the same red lacquer, and where it used to be there was a wall of square televisions all projecting images from films that would be shown in the space in the coming months. The place was swarming with people.

I kept looking around, agape, saying "Oh, look!" and "Look what they have!" Square tote bags and square mugs bearing the theatre's name. "Quaffee" for sale at the concession booth, alongside ice cream from the beloved Ample Hills Creamery in Brooklyn. An adjoining bar where you can go after the movies to, as the cinema says, "meet fellow cinephiles and argue about great cinema over a glass of great wine or beer."

It was like a totally new experience, a totally new theatre that was worthy of the films it would be showing--which, incidentally, I found out about by picking up its elegant yet modern brochure, also in a square, detailing all of their programming for the next month or so. The films of Lina Wertmüller and a new Maurizio Cattelan documentary, alongside other classics like The General, The Day of the Jackal, Quadrophenia, and an ongoing series where they'll have notable New Yorkers introducing classic art films they've never seen. For example, tonight Greta Gerwig is introducing David Lynch's Blue Velvet, and on Sunday night gallerist Jeffrey Deitch will screen Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders From Mars. In May there will be a program of Goldie Hawn movies, a retrospective of films by director Larry Cohen, and more.

I found out that tonight was actually the grand reopening of the theatre. It explained all the people, but I also hoped it would stay that way for the future. According to The New York Times, the theatre was purchased in 2014 by film distributor Charles Cohen, who felt there were too few art cinemas in the city, interestingly enough. He also perhaps wanted a place where he could ensure his own films--which include many foreign and older, restored films- would be screened. In its previous incarnation, it was a space where newer filmmakers (perhaps like the one whose film I was first there to see) could rent a theatre to screen their work. Less a curated art house than a pay-to-play gallery of sorts.

The Quad was actually the first multiplex in New York, and Cohen "wanted to return the space to its former glory," hiring not just a team for the renovation, but for the programming. On the staff at the Quad are now people who were once in charge of choosing films to show at the IFC Center and the Film Society of Lincoln Center. To celebrate the theatre in its new look and its 44th, almost 45th, year many films with "quad" or "four" in the title will be screened in the coming weeks (see the aforementioned Quadrophenia as well as The Four Feathers, Rocky IV, and Four Weddings and a Funeral, among others).

The film we were there to see began seating 10 minutes before it began, and we got in line for what ended up being "Theatre U"--each theatre now had a letter of QUAD as its title--I dug how the branding was clever yet ever present--and went up a short stairway where the same sleek, square letters of the theatre beamed back at us. We took our seats in a room painted red, in cushy chairs (apparently from Norway) that leaned back if you wanted them to. I have since learned that the number of chairs in the four theatres have actually been decreased--as opposed to the typical moneymaking tactic of increasing the number of seats and jamming them close together so more people can fit--from a total of 570 to 430 so patrons can be more comfortable and have better sight lines and actually enjoy seeing the films they've come there to watch.

We sit down and the seats are as comfortable as they look. Director Amy Heckerling (of Clueless and Fast Times at Ridgemont High fame) introduces the film and speaks shortly about Lina Wertmüller. I'm shocked I don't know more about this woman, the first woman director ever nominated for an Academy Award (whatever those awards mean these days, anyway) who is known for her signature white-frame glasses, but I also learn that I can find out more about her in a documentary that will be showing soon at the Quad. How about that. I will be back this time after all.

The Things That Scare Us

People always say it takes guts to go after the things you want, and I think that's true, but I also think it takes a certain level of blindness, an inability to see or understand the implications of what you're trying to accomplish.

I find myself constantly afflicted with this aforementioned blindness, though usually, thankfully, it seems to work out in my favor. I think because if you do have that blindness, a negative response to your actions doesn't really phase you. So maybe bad things have happened when I've blindly gone after the things I've wanted, but I've just never noticed them. What's that saying about ignorance being bliss? And what on earth am I talking about?

In the past, people have asked me how I've been able to do certain things--how did you get so-and-so to appear at your reading? How did you get your article in such-and-such publication? "Well," I always say, "I just asked." There's really no big secret to it. On many of these occasions, I have been blind to negative outcomes and I just do what I want to do. If it doesn't work out, okay; or, in the immortal words of my mother, "NEXT!"

Such was the case again this week when I was presented with an interesting dilemma--there was an article from the February 5, 1985 issue of The Village Voice I wanted to read as a reference for an article I was working on for another publication, and I couldn't find it online. The piece, titled "I Spy," was written by famed former Voice film critic J. Hoberman, Jim to friends. I contacted him and asked if he had a copy I could read. I didn't think there was anything really special about doing this. I guess my mother had also told me to simply go to the top first, and if that person can't help you, then try someone else. So I went to the source, and to my delight, he responded in the affirmative--yes, he did have a copy I could read, but he didn't have a scanner. Could he mail it to me? Or, he said, I could find the Village Voice archives at the NYU Bobst Library. If he mailed it to me, the piece wouldn't get to me until after my deadline. Would I be able to meet him in person? I asked. I would be glad to get him a coffee or whatever pastry his heart desired as thanks. While I waited for his response via email, I called up the libraries just in case he wasn't available.

It turns out I could only go to Bobst Library if I had an NYU student ID (nope), an NYU alumni ID (also nope...and neither did HanOre, an actual alum, so I couldn't even borrow it), or permission from the New York Public Library in the form of what's called a METRO pass to use Bobst--meaning that whatever I needed was not available in the NYPL system so I, sad and pathetic researcher that I am, had no place left to turn except Bobst and they would take pity on me. So, before wandering down that path, I called up the NYPL--did they have what I need in microfilm? No--they only had the July to December issues of the Voice, or so it seemed. Well, that was one element crossed off my list. Now it was time to call Bobst, to see if my treasure was buried in their microfilm...and it turns out it wasn't there either. Jim was now my only hope.

And to my delight, he was available. We would meet for coffee. "See you there then," he wrote. "I'm a grizzled guy with glasses." I chuckled.

*

"Hi Jim, I'm here outside of the Anthology Film Archives in a leopard coat and cowboy boots. Thanks again for meeting me today, and I'll see you soon!" is probably on the list of the most "me" things I have ever said. 

But I am easy to spot (no pun intended), and shortly Jim appears, in a maroon beanie and black leather jacket pinned with some kind of band button I can't decipher. His beard matches his self- description and I appreciate his self-awareness. We attempt one coffee shop, but it's full so we try another. Shortly I have a latte in his hands and a tea in my own and we are sitting and chatting. He takes out a padded folder and removes his piece, a perfect photocopy, and hands it to me. After all of the library-calling and emailing, it feels less like a treasure map and more like the treasure itself. I am so excited to read it, but I am also excited to chat with him about his work and the golden age of The Village Voice. He tells stories and laughs and we talk about freelance writing, and it's a lovely time. He shares details of his life--his teaching gigs at Cooper Union and, soon, Columbia; his past and forthcoming books; growing up in Queens--and asks me about mine. I am honored that he has been kind enough to take an audience with me, but also that he is interested in my own life. On our way out, I ask him if he hates it when people ask if he's "seen any good movies lately." He does, he laughs, then we shake hands and part ways. He says he is interested in reading my piece when it comes out.

This is where the blindness comes in for me, I think. I didn't just say, Jim Hoberman, legendary and accomplished film critic, I am going to ask you to coffee! I just said, here's some research I need to do, and this is how I'm going to get it done.

So yes, Jim was the film critic at The Village Voice for almost 25 years; he has written several books about film, has taught at Cooper Union, Harvard, NYU and, shortly, Columbia; and he has twice served on the board of the New York Film Festival; and, as he writes in his website biography, "the thing of which he’s most proud is surviving for over 35 years in New York without the benefit of a normal job." But he's still a person, as we all are. We all put on our pants the same way. Some of us have just been putting them on for longer and in more distinguished places, but those of us who haven't have the opportunity to catch up and get there, too.

And this is not to say that I haven't been scared meeting other people in the past. I was notably fearful about what kind of salad I should order while having lunch with James Wolcott. But I was still there--courage is not the absence of fear, after all; it is acting in spite of it. 

I am scared of so many things, often without reason--failure, butter, rejection, every time I pitch Vogue, texting guys I am dating, mayonnaise--but I try to notice what scares me, recognize the fear is holding me back and do it anyway. Eat the butter, text the guy, pitch Vogue, fail, get rejected, then get back up and do it all again.

I guess if you ask me how end up doing certain things, if I am ever scared, this has been the very long-winded version of my answer. I just never let fear stop me.

The photocopy of Jim's piece

Celluloid City

When the weather doesn't even have the decency to be in the 20-degree range, falling instead blisteringly below into the teens, sometimes all I want to is curl up on my couch with a giant blanket, my La Cage Aux Folles mug filled with raspberry tea, my space heater, and a good movie. In celebration of snuggly nights in, and in spite of the current temperatures in the city, here are some of my favorite films set in New York should you find yourself in similar weather conditions in the not-so-distant future (or even if you just love a good flick!). New York has inspired countless filmmakers, and I know these films have certainly inspired me, be they in terms of writing, costume, cinematography, or what have you. This is by no means an exhaustive list of my favorites, just a few--maybe you've heard of them and maybe you haven't! So grab your popcorn or your own favorite fruity tea and enjoy.

The Thin Man (1934)
William Powell stars as the clever, charming, martini-swilling Nick Charles in the film based on the book of the same name by author Dashiell Hammett. Myrna Loy matches his wits as his feisty spouse. Nick is a former detective, but now enjoys a lifestyle of leisure with Mrs. Charles; the two decide to solve a murder, well, just for the fun of it. Cue witty repartee, gorgeous gowns, men who can wear fedoras without looking like idiots, sleazy underground mobsters in tuxedos, crime solved in high style, and plenty of martinis. If you like this one, it's the first in a series of Thin Man films Powell and Loy made together.

You Can't Take It With You (1938)
The Sycamore-Vanderhof household is bursting with eccentrics--a daughter who dances her heart out in pointe shoes at all hours of the day, a grandfather who refuses to pay taxes and goes to graduation ceremonies for fun, a father who makes fireworks in the basement, and a mother who started writing plays when a typewriter showed up at her door, among others. What happens when their more straitlaced daughter takes up with a young man who comes from a wealthy banking family? Chaos and lessons in happiness ensue. Directed by Frank Capra, it won the 1939 Oscar for Best Picture.

The Seven Year Itch (1955)
How could I not put a Marilyn Monroe movie on this list? The Seven Year Itch was actually originally a hit Broadway play, but came to the screen with my beloved Marilyn and Tom Ewell in 1955. Named for the point in a marriage at which a man feels he may start to stray, the film follows Richard Sherman as he awkwardly and hilariously crushes on and gets to know his very delightfully oblivious and very curvaceous blonde upstairs neighbor. It capitalizes on the infamous New York summer heat to tell the story, especially with Marilyn's now-famous 'white dress on the subway grate' scene.

The Apartment (1960)
The Apartment is the story of C.C. Baxter, played by Jack Lemmon, a lonely yet affable man who allows higher-ups at his company the use of his apartment for affairs with women who aren't their wives, hopefully in exchange for career boosts. One of these women is Fran Kubelik, played by Shirley MacLaine, an elevator operator in the building where he works. One night, in despair, she ends up staying longer than either of them anticipates, and the film follows the development of their interaction. The Apartment won the Oscar for Best Picture in 1960.

Cactus Flower (1969)
For a long time, dentist Julian Winston (Walter Matthau) pretended to be married to avoid commitment to his girlfriend, Toni (Goldie Hawn). But he falls for her and now has to dream up a wife to divorce, so he asks his loyal dental assistant Stephanie (Ingrid Bergman) to help him. This movie is in so many ways what I think of when I think about the phrase "the swinging Sixties"-- groovy music from longhaired musicians at cafes, love beads, record stores, and lots of eyeliner. The cast is utterly perfect, and Hawn even won an Oscar--it was her first starring role.

The Owl and the Pussycat (1970)
Felix Sherman (George Segal) is a quiet, nebbishy writer who gets annoyed when his neighbor Doris Washington (Barbra Streisand), a part-time prostitute, is making too much noise. He lodges a complaint against her, she loses her apartment, and foists herself upon him, demanding he give her a place to stay. Throughout the film, they are hilariously at each other's throats, sometimes in more ways than one.

Next Stop, Greenwich Village (1976)
Set in the 1950s, aspiring actor Larry Lepinsky moves out of his parents' home in Brooklyn and into a studio apartment in Greenwich Village. He encounters a cast of unique, bohemian characters, all the while trying to be an actor, save his relationship and deal with his overbearing Jewish mother (Shelley Winters). At the time, except for Winters, most of the cast were unknowns (including a very young Christopher Walken).

The Goodbye Girl (1977)
Based on Neil Simon's play of the same name, The Goodbye Girl stars Marsha Mason as Paula McFadden, an unemployed dancer and single mother who needs to rent an extra room out when her  live-in boyfriend leaves her. Enter Elliot Garfield (Richard Dreyfuss, who won an Oscar for the part), a quirky actor who first infuriates then charms Paula and her precocious 10-year-old daughter, Lucy (Quinn Cummings).

Once Upon a Time in America (1984)
This Sergio Leone epic (it's nearly four hours long) follows the lives of David 'Noodles' Aaronson (Robert DeNiro) and Maximilian 'Max' Bercovicz (James Woods), two Jewish kids turned gangsters growing up in the Bronx before and during Prohibition. As any epic should, it features elaborate sets and costumes and of course some excellent shots of New York. I'm named after James Woods's character.

Working Girl (1988) 
Working Girl,  directed by the recently departed genius Mike Nichols, is the story of Tess McGill (Melanie Griffith), a smart secretary from Staten Island whose Wall Street boss (Sigourney Weaver) double-crosses her. With the help of the enthusiastic finance executive Jack Trainer (Harrison Ford), she sets out to outsmart the woman. Prepare yourself for visions of the finance world in 1980s New York--big hair, big cellphones, shoulderpads, sneakers with suits on the way to work, fantastically dated computer technology--and a very uplifting story. You never know where the big ideas could come from, you know?

A Bronx Tale (1993)
Written by Chazz Palminteri and directed by Robert DeNiro, A Bronx Tale takes place in the 1950s and 1960s. It follows the life of Calogero (Lillo Brancato), a teenager whose friendship with a local gangster, Sonny (Palminteri) worries his father, a bus driver (DeNiro) who only ever wanted him to make good. It's based on a one-man show Palminteri did of the same name and features several events from his own life. One of the reasons I love this movie so much is because my dad is also from the Bronx, and watching it with him feels like seeing what part of his experience in the borough might have been like at the time. Excellent Bronx accents, excellent music.

Party Girl (1995)
Easily not just one of my favorite New York movies but one of my favorite movies of all time, Party Girl is about Mary (Parker Posey), a quick but aimless girl with an utterly amazing wardrobe--the movie is fabulous for the wardrobe change montages alone--who gets arrested for throwing an illegal party. Her godmother bails her out and hires her as a library clerk to make up the money, but doubts her ability and disapproves of her friends (which includes Guillermo Diaz as Leo, an aspiring DJ). Can Mary grow up? It's a rad look at '90s club culture in New York (cameo by Lady Bunny, hello!), fashion, and also saucily funny. Can I have a falafel with hot sauce, a side order of Baba Ghanoush and a seltzer, please?

 The Royal Tenenbaums (2001)
I actually saw The Royal Tenenbaums in theatres when it came out and I was struck by its dry humor and gorgeous cinematography. The film tells the tale of Royal Tenenbaum (Gene Hackman), a broke, disbarred lawyer estranged from his family--an archaeologist wife from whom he is separated (Angelica Huston) and three former-prodigy children (Gwyneth Paltrow, Ben Stiller and Luke Wilson)--who re-enters their lives only to tell them he's terminally ill (when the whole time we know he's not, and we get to enjoy visuals like seeing him eat a fast-food cheeseburger while hooked up to faux medical equipment). Another that's easily in the top 5 of my favorite movies of all time.

City Island (2009)
City Island is a comedy of errors that takes place on the eponymous island in the Bronx. In it we learn about the Rizzo family who, over a few weeks' time, don't share some major life events with each other and subsequently become embroiled in each other's drama without knowing it when an ex-con is invited to stay in their home. Andy Garcia is the family patriarch, Vince, and Juliana Margulies is his wife, Joyce. It won the Tribeca Film Festival Audience Award in 2009.

And that's what I got! What are some of your favorite New York movies?