Summer may be coming to a close, but that doesn’t mean the season for drinking margaritas is over! In fact, we’d argue that every season is the right time for relaxing with a freshly made marg—especially if it’s prepared with Sauza Blue tequila. Really, when you think about it, there’s no better way to celebrate the arrival of autumn than a sip of a well-mixed Sauza cocktail. (more…)
Until a few years ago, I didn’t understand the appeal of Brussels sprouts. At my house growing up, they were usually one of many side dishes at Thanksgiving or Christmas, steamed or boiled and redolent of unpleasant cabbage-ness. But on a crisp, fall day several years ago, I had my “Eureka!” moment of Brussels sprouts, the kind of personal discovery that everyone else new all along, like “whole milk tastes better!” and “cherries the fruit taste nothing like cherry-flavored candy!” It is that Brussels sprouts, when properly caramelized, are insanely delicious. They’re the perfect chilly weather food. And there are several places in our fair borough that really do those suckers justice, culinarily speaking.
This week in “I’m sorry, what?” two members of Occupy Weed Street, an Occupy Wall Street offshoot focused on legalizing marijuana, have started a fight club. The first rule of 420 Fight Club is: get high beforehand. The second rule of 420 Fight Club is: …we forget. (more…)
The worst thing about Friends isn’t the laugh track, or the canned storylines, or the impossible West Village apartment. It’s not even the fact that six twenty-somethings in New York City never go to a bar, and instead sit around at sort of a shitty open mic night for ten years. No, the worst part of Friends is that it won’t go away. In fact, in celebration of the twentieth year of Ross, Rachel, Phoebe, Monica, Chandler, Joey, and then more of Ross and Rachel, there’s a pop-up Central Perk café in SoHo through October 18. But why? (more…)
It is in part the precariousness of her circumstances as a young artist recently arrived in Paris, a transplanted ingénue in search of a job, a place, a life, a love. It is in part her particularly delicate, moodily puckered, characteristically sassy, perfectly coy handling of her character.
In part, too, it’s her eyeglasses. In part, her amusingly constant translucent raincoat.
It’s also, in part, her nearly slow-motion blinks, and her deep yet weightless sighs.
It’s her dancing about, too. And singing, too—now peppy, now pensive, now breathy, now pop.
Anna Karina, in Anna, is an absolute jewel. And there are more than two or three reasons to see her as such.
In this film produced as the first color feature for French television in 1967, only to then slip into relative obscurity, Karina plays a role so tailor-fit for her that it is also at least partially (auto)biographical. So it’s perhaps no surprise that she’s more charming than ever, that she soars maybe even higher than in the comparable genre pastiche Une femme est une femme, an earlier film by Godard in which Karina plays a marvelously singing, dancing, ocularly explosive—those blinks—emotive centerpiece.
Karina, here, is at the pinnacle of everything you’ve always loved about her, so you could see this film solely to indulge in all that is Anna. But the loose narrative, breezily tight cinematography, lush palette and now melancholic, now acceptably saccharine soundtrack are other splendid elements—and other great motives to seek out this unduly overlooked feature.
It’s a musical and a most adorable love story. A fairy tale and a subtle reality check. It’s also a prescient—or at least today rendered especially relevant—take on the variable forces of an ardor born of a fleetingly taken photograph. Should you ever seek out a sort of sweeter source for casual contextualizations of Barthes, Derrida, et. al., well, voilà.
A must-see for Karina fans, of course, Anna is also, as a film, many things. If you’ve ever seen the rather extractive videos for songs like “Sous le soleil exactement” or “Roller Girl,” then you’ve seen the previews.
Go forth now to see it in full. And go with a fellow Karina fan, or bring someone you think should be welcomed into the fold.
Just don’t miss it. It’s here only for a teasingly, ticklingly short time.
Thanks so much, Spectacle, for making this happen.
That’s probably somewhere in Bay Ridge or Ditmas in the background, incidentally.
The opening credits proceed with a deliberate, understated sense of showmanship. The star’s name isn’t just above the title, but intertwined with it: the credit says “Liam Neeson in,” and then the title A Walk Among the Tombstones appears. It’s a simple and logical distinction: Late-period Liam Neeson, reborn from mentor figure to action-thriller star, is the reason this movie got made, and his movie star status is why people will probably see it. Strange, that writer/director Scott Frank’s detective-ish adaptation of a long-running series of crime novels about ex-cop and investigator Matthew Scudder (Neeson) is considered something of a passion project. The character was previously and only briefly incarnated as Jeff Bridges in 8 Million Ways to Die (1986), but like Jack Reacher, the Scudder franchise seems like a perfect fit for the star/thriller boom market of the 90s (that is to say, a poor but entertained man’s version of the kinds of thrillers proliferated in the 70s).
It’s appropriate, then, that A Walk Among the Tombstones: The Motion Picture has been reconfigured as (brace yourself to feel either old or confused) a 1999 period piece.
Walking into a new cocktail bar in your neighborhood is often one of the more confusing experiences you can have. The lighting is dim, the music is eerie and strange, and the menu is a long, thoughtful list of words, strung together in an improbable sequence. “Would I drink a Handsome Alvarado or is that some new band I don’t know about that I should?” you wonder to yourself as you scan the menu for anything familiar. It’s the same burbling anxiety that fills your stomach when you look at the lineup for CMJ, or, say, Northside Festival(wink, wink) and realize that the names on the roster are interchangeable with the menu from that dark, wallpapered bar you were at the night before. Don’t worry, we’re here to help. Take a look at these names, and test your knowledge of hip drinking establishments and dark, sticky-floored music venues. Answers are after the jump.