Although this blog centers around New York love, every once in a while METROPOLIS casts a thought to other U.S. cities. And it is undoubtedly true that an L.A. summer is a magical, mythical, quintessentially American concept. That's why I was so thrilled to come across the bohemian ode to the Los Angeles lifestyle in the form of the Weetzie Bat, young adult book series.

Despite the recent shooting of innocent moviegoes at the Dark Knight premiere in Aurora, Colorado, I was still willing to see the film when invited by a friend. Yes, I found the incident random and horrifying, but at the time little was known about the killer's motives. I was thinking, a crowded confined space is what it is. The nature of the film is just coincidence. It was only in sitting through the movie's first few minutes that I began to recognize the creepy violence of this series and coincidence began to seem more like causation.

Officially, the new Spiderman film also has a new name-- "The Amazing Spider-Man"-- separating it from its predecessors. Personally, though, I anticipate it being remembered as the Andrew Garfield Spiderman. The plot and aesthetics of this version differ in no discernible way-- it is only the actors' unique interpretations of their characters that make it a film worthy of a trip to the local cineplex.

1. RICKSHAW DUMPLINGS, MANHATTAN SKYLINE

2. S. AMERICAN CULTURE PARADE

I am sorry to say that I have recently been relatively disappointed in film. It started when I went to see Magic Mike in theaters-- a film which does not possess even the smallest fetal skeleton of plot or character development. And continued with a slow night spent in my dorm room watching a bizarre Netflix biopic.

So, relatively resigned to bad movies in general, back on my Netflix account, I began Michel Gondry's Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. My first thought was "well, if it's got nothing else, it's got the beautiful Kate Winslet." At the time it felt like a superficial throw-away, but, in retrospect, I realize that a lovely, talented actress is nothing at which to scoff.

            Common adjectives for a documentary might be “interesting,” “informative,” or “stimulating,” but it's not so often that a nonfiction narrative is "explosive." The directors often seem to conform to established filmic patterns rather than using their full creative capacity to really explore their subject. This Ain’t California is an exception to the rule.

1. MURAL DOWNTOWN

2. CRACKED CEILING: EDGAR'S CAFE- W. 92ND

3. LOUIS VUITTON PUMPKINS- CHELSEA

25 December 2010 (Christmas!)

INSTIGATORS: Mona Lisa Smile, School Ties, Dead Poet's Society, The Emperor's Club

SYMPTOMS: sinful quantities of red lipstick, vintage cardigans, hair ribbons, records, and attempts at coy fliratation

I have always been a sucker for the classic, fifties-era boarding school/college film. There is something immensely appealing about the pure wholesomeness and the good ol'fashioned values that go along with the land of rigid academia. I will admit however that the majority of the appeal does not seem to be generated by the few cursory minutes the students spend packed into the chapel for initiation or the few shots of them pouring over musty old schoolbooks. Rather, it is the hours full of close-ups of the gamine girls and roguish boys racing off with rosy cheeks, loosened ties, and bouncing curls to sneak in their evenings of rock n' roll and elicit cigarettes that keeps me coming back for more. 

I believe that the root of my problem can be identified in my childhood, beginning with my first year on this planet as the shy, introverted little squirm that I was, continuing all the way through my childhood and into my adolescence. I believe that much of my psychological instability can be attributed to a slight withering of the brain due to lack of exposure to the juvenile limelight. Even those who spent no time on the stage, the playing field, or the concert hall (and these children are few and far between) generally put on a show or two in the privacy of their own homes or at least did a few sing-a-longs with their friends. Yet I had absolutely none of this, too emotionally delicate to even spend time with children my own age, much less to ask them for their attention while I pranced and crooned and twirled. Instead, I spent much of my time hidden behind a book or a television screen, far more comfortable quietly reliving the fabulous adventures of others than chancing my own embarrassment in the real world. From there I contracted my disease, which has been designated the Latin name identicus anonymiticus. Lacking any discernible personality of my own, I took on the identities of my favorite film and book characters. As a young girl, I spent a good amount of time as Harriet (the Spy, not Tubman) and even more as Arriety Clock of The Borrowers. As I grew older and my taste diversified, I alternately tried out Holly Golightly, Susan Vance, Miranda Priestly, and even Danny Zuko (really my lifelong aspiration has been to be a greaser but for some reason or another that's really never quite worked out for me). As I've grown older and been exposed to more and more, my affliction has only become more severe (some films like American Beauty being quite dangerous for a person such as I). Thus, several of my therapists have suggested the documentation of my fluctuations on an online blog so as to externalize the infiltrators and attempt to connect with some personality of my own.

The trend began in 2007 with Ellen Paige's portrayal of a knocked-up teenage eccentric and made it all the way up to this year's group of screaming, dancing, vomiting bridesmaids; funny women have been making a comeback. There have always been countless film stars fulfilling the ideal of style, confidence, and poise; it's the classic quality with which they angle their heads, hold their drinks, angle their feet. Yet, I find that when it comes to filling the hours I allot in my schedule to mindless YouTube-ing, it is these new comediennes to whom I constantly return. It's Ellen Paige drawling "forshiz" and Emma Stone's adorable lisp and Kristen Wiig and Maya Rudolf dancing like fools. It's that I constantly find my friends and I parroting their lines to one another like fools, and that I constantly find myself assuming their facial expressions.

Watching tourists walk around Times Square, you can see them looking around in a big mass of fanny-packed confusion for an actual New York resident. The sad truth of it is that Manhattanites are simply too cool to hang on the streets. In the winter, they hole up in the contaminated warmth of subway stops or, preferably, in cozy corner cafes. And now that it's summer you certainly won't find them blindly searching through their sweat for the nearest Duane Reade. No, the people of the city have taken to the roofs; there is really no reason for them to leave these cool, concrete heights, up there you can find everything you need: art, gardens, restaurants. Moreover, the roof is a unique experience in that it possesses the hard-to-find combination of being both scenic and illicit. An excellent example of this phenomenon in the Rooftop Films festival, gracing the city's roofs every summer.

 

1. PERCHED PIGEONS ON GRECIAN FIGURE

2. INSIDE MOMA, AERIAL VIEW

3. UP IN ARMS