Is there any street name in Manhattan more intimate-sounding than Little West 12th? I would venture to say that there is not. And yet, Little West 12th Street has been up to some mighty corporate things lately – part of a thriving vicinity where green grocers have been gobbled up by Hugo Boss, corner stores by no-name nightclubs. This particular stretch of Lower West once ran mild with nostalgia, one of the few remaining pockets where one could go for peace and quiet. Slow-walking frame-by-frame through Brian Rose’s Metamorphosis, it’s difficult not to long for the romanticism of that period. Brick warehouses, rotting fence posts, white box trucks where the gays would get it on for fear of beatings. To look at how and why it’s changed, well, it hurts so much you ache for more.
Brian Rose has done the same for the Lower West Side with Metamorphosis that he and Edward Fausty previously did for the Lower East via Time & Space. Both exhibits ooze sweet melancholia, reminiscent of a scene from Season One of Mad Men during which department store heiress Rachel Menken explains: “Utopia – the Greeks had two meanings for it: eu-topos, meaning ‘the good place,’ and ou-topos, meaning ‘the place that cannot be.'” Time and again, Brian Rose has done an exemplary job of negotiating a 30-year difference between the two.
(Metamorphosis continues at the Dillon Gallery through August 15th, Free, 555 West 25th Street.)
Five More For The Offing:
Edward Hopper & Photography @ The Whitney Museum ($20 general admission, through 8/3, 945 Madison Avenue @ 75th Street)
Charles James: Beyond Fashion@ The Metropolitan Museum of Art (Free with suggested donation, through 8/10, 5th Avenue @ 82nd Street)
Capa in Color @ Governors Island (Free, Thurs-Sun, through 9/28, Building 4A in Nolan Park)
William Adler @ Danziger Gallery (Free, through 7/31, 527 West 23rd Street)
Twenty minutes into Vincente Minnelli’s 1952 classic The Bad & The Beautiful, Kirk Douglas – portraying a budding Hollywood producer – poses the question, “What scares the human race more than any other single thing?” While the real answer is the unknown, Douglas presupposes the answer to be darkness. And he’s right, at least as it pertains to cinema. To deprive people of what they’ve been conditioned to expect is to prey upon their insecurity. To do so in a pitch-black theater is to induce a certain level of hysteria.
That said, it takes a master manipulator to transform all of that fear into a story. In the majority of cases – at least the well-documented ones – any production’s reliance on ancillary effects to create the illusion of unspeakable evil is largely a matter of necessity. Forced into a corner, the crew pushes creativity to its limit, using visual devices and cues to conjure what cannot be shown. Be it a matter of sheer cunning or happenstance, these six horror classics changed the genre for the better, proving in the process that there is no threat more potent than the one inside our heads:
1. The Blair Witch Project (1999). At the time The Blair Witch Project was released, found-footage wasn’t even a sub-genre. And that worked to themovie’s advantage. America hadn’t fully immersed itself inside the digital culture, which meant an independent movie that marketed itself as “a true story” could fly under the radar long enough to sprout wings. Could it be real? This grainy footage of three film students unfolding up on-screen? A tight-knit trio, lost in the woods, hunting down some urban legend that was closing in around them? Blair Witch‘s no-frills production all but begged the question: If it wasn’t real, why shoot a motion picture like this? The answer, of course, resided in a major lack of financing (the initial budget was set just under $600,000). Blair Witch would go on to gross $250 million worldwide, inspiring a grassroots revolution in the process. Cloverdale, V/H/Sand Paranormal Activity (among others) … all built off of a similar formula. Draw the audience in, funnel through some rising beats, then lower the boom with 30 seconds
left to go.
2. Friday the 13th (1980). Friday the 13th somehow managed to turn a one-off cheesy slasher film into a multi-decade franchise, this despite an original screenplay which barely featured any draw. Director Sean S. Cunninghamcashed in on the idea that you never knew when or where the tension would heighten. Will it happen when she steps outside? When she dips her toes into the water? The original Friday the 13th, inspired by John Carpenter’s Halloween and produced on a $550,000 budget, was much more about the sudden gasp than it was about some serial killer. As a matter of fact, you almost never saw any killer throughout the original. It wasn’t until a year later, when that hockey mask appeared, worn by a second-generation pyscho who was apparently undead, that the franchise made its turn toward one character. Having reached the point of reboot (along with several features on this list), perhaps it’s time to put that Voorhees kid to sleep.
3. Halloween (1978). Halloweenhas been discussed via this website before – the ingenuity, the $2 mask, the bare-bones crew, the terrifying silence. In the early days, the only thing Halloween had going for it was John Carpenter, a man who built the story, rigged the set, wrote the music, and hired Jamie-Lee Curtis. What Carpenter lacked was sufficient funding (Halloween‘s initial budget was only $300,000). As a result, Carpenter hired Tony Moran, an old college buddy, to play Michael Myers at a cost of $25 per day. Halloween would go on to inspire an entire decade’s worth of slasher films, proving – yet again – that great movies could be made on miniscule budgets. Nearly 40 long years later, Halloween is still the only movie in demand throughout October. This is welcome news for Carpenter, who signed a back-end deal worth 10%.
4. Jaws (1975). Most people are familiar with the legend: faced with a malfunctioning mechanical shark, Steven Spielberg and his unit were forced to develop an impromptu system for suggesting that the shark was there.They did this by employing a variety of techniques, chief among them a visual cue involving floating yellow barrels, accompanied by the two most memorable piano notes in cinematic history. Those notes – the brainchild of John Williams – were played at varying speeds to identify how near or far the shark was from its prey. Under no circumstances were they used to bamboozle the audience. That is to say, if the music wasn’t playing, the shark could not be there (notice the eery silence throughout the “cardboard fin” scene). For the first full hour of the movie, Spielberg seems consumed with story, all the while reinforcing the presence of some evil out at sea. By the time that grisly beast appears, Spielberg’s audience is fully vested. As a result, viewers wind up rooting for The Orca all the more.
5. Psycho (1960). The shower scene, the use of chocolate as a surrogate for blood, killing off your main character, keeping the identity of your killer a guarded secret … the back story of Psycho is so shrouded in mystique as to rival Coppola’s Godfather, or even Spielberg’s Jaws. Initially rejected by Paramount, Alfred Hitchcock took the reins, agreeing to shoot the film in black and white, hire a television production crew, finance it himself and bypass his director’s fee (in lieu of a back-end deal). Hitchcock was coming off a rough patch, his genius reconsidered, and the only thing that would restore the studio’s faith was a major coup de grace. And so Hitchcock obliged, working off a back-lot set inspired by Edward Hopper’s House By The Railroad. Psycho‘s initial budget: $800,000. Its box-office take: $60 million. Despite middling reviews, Hitchcock’s movie was also nominated for four Academy Awards, none of which it won.
6. The War of the Worlds (1938). “At the time that you were giving this role, were you aware that terror was going on throughout the nation?” So said a reporter to Orson Welles less than 24 hours after his original CBS broadcast of War of The Worlds.Much like Jaws, Psycho and Friday the 13th, Welles was working off of someone else’s source material. Unlike those others, Welles nearly caused an interplanetary incident. Radio bulletins describing an alien invasion, each of them relayed during a period when there was no easy way of confirming. People were fleeing their houses, flocking to churches, sucked in by a ruse that couldn’t have existed on TV. War of The Worlds required one minor troupe, an intimate studio, zero visuals and a captive audience. Given the fallout, Welles’ broadcast remains a primary example of how to manipulate the fold.
“When we talk about personal expression I’m often reminded of [Elia] Kazan’s film America America – the story of his uncle’s journey from Anitolia to America; the story of so many immigrants who came to this country from a very, very foreign land. I kind of identified with it and was very moved by it. Actually, I later saw myself making this same journey, but not from Anitolia. Rather from my own neighborhood in New York, which was in a sense a very foreign land. I made the journey from that land to movie-making, which was something unimaginable. Actually, when I was a little younger, there was another journey I wanted to make. It was a religious one. I wanted to be a priest. However, I soon realized that my real vocation – my real calling – was the movies. I didn’t really see a conflict between the church and the movies, the sacred and the profane. Obviously, there are major differences. But I could also see great similarities between a church and a movie house. Both are places for people to come together and share a common experience, and I believe there is a spirituality in films, even if it’s not one that can supplant faith. I find that over the years many films address themselves to the spiritual side of man’s nature, from Griffith’s film Intolerance to John Ford’s The Grapes of Wrath to Hitchcock’s Vertigo to Kubrick’s 2001 and so many more. It’s as if movies answer an ancient quest for the common unconscious; they fulfill a spiritual need that people have – to share a common memory.”
Spike Lee is a New York City director known for writing and directing several of the greatest summer movies of all-time – lyrics poems that ooze of place and culture. The setting: One or all of New York City’s big-five boroughs. The time: either now or a period in the not-so-distant past.
Spike Lee’s movies are consumed with racial tension, predominately as it exists from an African-American perspective. Most of his screenplays operate like a springboard, immersing central characters into conflicts rife with faith, ethnicity, ideology and derision. The five Spike Lee “Joints” that are listed below – set during the summers of 1977, 1989, 1994, 2005 and 2011 – represent some of the richest social commentary ever put on film, both highly entertaining and emotionally charged. They symbolize a high-end fraction of what Mr. Lee has had to offer, being, as they are, his top five summer movies of all-time:
5. Red Hook Summer (2012). In May of 1977 Spike Lee traveled north from Morehouse College in Atlanta to spend the summer in New York. For lack of any ongoing employment, Lee borrowed a video camera from a friend, then spent the bulk of his vacation filming everything around him. That footage would provide the foundation for Spike Lee’s first student picture, Last Hustle In Brooklyn. It would also provide the impetus for what would eventually become Spike Lee’s Summer of Sam.
And so here we find Mr. Lee, 35 years down the line, filming a coming-of-age tale set in Brooklyn, during Summer, the central character a boy named Flik who’s up from Atlanta, documenting his experience via iPad. This is Spike Lee riffing on himself, in what turns out to be a vibrant-looking motion picture. Having said that, Red Hook Summer also demonstrates just how far Spike Lee has fallen from the tree. Lee is revisiting the stomping grounds of Do The Right Thing here, but he’s doing so in a time and era that no longer belongs to him. Despite a miniscule budget and a slew of substandard acting, Red Hook Summer still manages to feel honest, but not about anything particularly enthralling. As a director, Spike Lee winds up looking like an elder-statesman – an acclaimed auteur pushing 60 who no longer resembles us so much as them (and I am speaking here in terms of generation).
Notable Members of The Ensemble: Thomas Jefferson Byrd, Jackson Lee, Spike Lee, Clarke Peters, James Ransone.
4. Clockers (1995). Spike Lee is adapting original material written by Richard Price here, and it proves to be one of this movie’s many limitations. There are plot holes, particularly toward the end, and some questionable casting choices (It’s worth noting that Mekhi Phifer, who cut his teeth as the lead character in Clockers, never appeared in a Spike Lee movie again), but there are also several Spike Lee staples, including: Jesus (pronounced Hay-Zeus), Brooklyn, life in the projects, a black man chiding a white man for using racial epitaphs, John Turturro, the double-dolly and the sudden cut.
Best-selling novelist Richard Price went on to become a writer for HBO’s The Wire, and more than half the actors from the Clockers‘ housing crew went on to portray key members of the Barksdale organization on that show. There are early hints of The Wire throughout Clockers, particularly regarding the way crack is sold inside the ghetto. Spike Lee nails that aspect, while failing to account for several foregone realities as the story lingers on.
Notable Members of The Ensemble: Michael Badalucco, Thomas Jefferson Byrd, Keith David, Michael Imperioli, Hassan Johnson, Harvey Keitel, Spike Lee, Delroy Lindo, Arthur Nascarella, Mekhi Phifer, Fredro Starr, Mike Starr, John Turturro, Isaiah Washington.
3. Inside Man (2006). What’s that you say? Inside Man is not a summer movie. Well, on that count, my friend, I beg to differ. Inside Man was filmed during the summer, set during the summer, and it opens on a panoramic shot of Coney Island after dawn.The costumes feature short sleeves, pastels and cream, suit jackets carelessly slung over shoulders. Viewers can feel the August daylight breaking hard against stone walls. Twilight shadows drift to orange and the cast members are sweating. Not exactly a summer movie upon the order of, say, The Wackness, but a summer movie, all the same.
Inside Man was not written by Spike Lee, but it most certainly retains his imprint. The majority of Caucasians are white-collar criminals, the two hero detectives are black, and the “Inside Man” is a masked vigilante with a Herculean axe to grind. Lee sneaks in references to some of the all-time New York crime thrillers along the way, including (but not limited to): Serpico, Dog Day Afternoon, The Godfather and Kojak. He even throws a bone to Dirty Harry, a west coast hero who made an impact way back east.
Inside Man features a slew of unexpected twists and turns, a brilliant screenplay (“Respect is the ultimate currency.”) written by Russell Gewirtz, and a traditional dramatic score provided by perennial Spike Lee collab, Terence Blanchard. It all adds up to one engaging two-hour heist film, the likes of which we’ve never known.
Notable Members of The Ensemble: Willem Dafoe, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Jodie Foster, Peter Gerety, Clive Owen, Christopher Plummer, James Ransone, Denzel Washington.
2. Summer of Sam (1999). Mr. Lee is toiling in his wheelhouse here, exploring an epoch of New York’s history so steeped in controversy the ripples would be felt for decades. The punk scene, the fag scene, the disco scene and Son of Sam, all of them converging and then filtering out in unison. Toss in record heat and rising tensions, rolling blackouts marred by riots, and you find Spike Lee’s approach to New York City throughout Summer of Sam laid the groundwork for David Fincher’s approach to San Francisco throughout Zodiac. Both films provide a classic treatise in the butterfly effect, the various ways in which a single person or event can reverberate throughout a community, refracting back in shades of chaos.
The Zodiac and Son of Sam shared a similar pathology. The primary difference – at least in terms of cinema – being one was never caught and the other came and went in less than a year. That minor concentration makes Summer of Sam feel like a powder keg, perennially waiting to explode. By the time the opening notes of “Won’t Get Fooled Again” hit, it’s already too late. The Bronx is not only burning, it’s smouldering out of control.
Notable Members of The Ensemble: Michael Badalucco, Jimmy Breslin, Adrien Brody, Jennifer Esposito, Ben Gazzara, Evander Holyfield, Michael Imperioli, Anthony LaPaglia, Spike Lee, John Leguizamo, Patti LuPone, Bebe Neuwirth, Michael Rispoli, Michael Sorvino, Mira Sorvino, Mike Starr, John Turturro.
1. Do The Right Thing (1989). 1989, A number, another summer. One block, one day, one hood in Brooklyn. A hot day. A scorcher, a snow-cone day (no, Mister Softee), a day for buckets and cold beer, a day for beach umbrellas and unplugged hydrants, midday showers and Love Daddy; a day for Buggin’ Out and Mother Sister, Da Mayor and his doctors, M-M-Mookie, Booboo the Fool, Radio Raheem and Night of the Hunter, Famous Sal and Sweet Dick Willie, Alberta Hunter, Dexter Gordon, Oliver Nelson, Dana Dane, Marley Marl, Marcus Miller, Terry Lewis, Jimmy Jam, McCoy Tyner, Fred Wesley, Wayne Shorter, Roland Kirk, Monk and Ellington, Armstrong and Basie, Wynton and Branford, Mahalia and Janet, Whitney and Dionne, Miles Davis and Coltrane; Ella Fitzgerald, Aretha and Pendergrass; Al Jarreau, Little Richard, Sam Cooke and James Brown; Keith Sweat, Big Daddy, Rob Base, Salt-n-Pepa, Sugar Bear, Biz Markie, Kool Moe Dee, Otis Redding, Ray Charles, Public Enemy, Bobby Bland, The Isley Brothers, Tracy Chapman, Bobby McFerrin, Jackie Wilson, Marvin Gaye, Lionel Richie, Bob Marley, George Clinton, Stevie Wonder, Luther Vandross, Michael Jackson, Prince, Anita and Sade; Quincy Jones and Vic Damone, Frank and Dean, Bruce Springsteen; Perry Como, Pavarotti, Al Pacino, Bobby D., Sylvester Stallone and John Travolta; Bird and Magic, Tyson/Ali, Cain and Abel, Kunta Kinte, Tawana Brawley, Eleanor Bumpurs, Jesus Christ and Pope John Paul, Louis Farrakhan and Elijah Muhammad, Jesse Jackson and Mandela, Malcolm X and MLK; Donald Trump and Mayor Koch, Bull Connor and the Reverend Moon. Just another day in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, here today and gone too soon.
Notable Members of The Ensemble: Danny Aiello, Rick Aiello, Ossie Davis, Ruby Dee, Richard Edson, Giancarlo Esposito, Frankie Faison, Samuel L. Jackson, Martin Lawrence, Spike Lee, Bill Nunn, Rosie Perez, Roger Guenveur Smith, John Turturro, Frank Vincent.
“That’s what you’ve to tell yourself, to completely relax, able to see everything that’s going on, your sense of anticipation is sharp. That can’t happen unless you relax. A man who’s worrying about getting hit is not going to have a good sense of anticipation. He will, in fact, get hit. And, most important, when you get hit, you get excited … when you get hit, that’s when you’ve got to be calmest. A professional fighter has got to learn how to hit and not get hit, and at the same time be exciting. That’s what professional boxing is about. You’ve got to be clever, you’ve got to be smart, and not get hit.
When you’re able to do this, you’re a fighter.”
George Whitmore, Jr. was standing in front of a Laundromat on Sutter Avenue just off of Amboy Street in Brooklyn. He was talking to a patrolman named Isola for the second day in a row. Only this time the patrolman arrived flanked by a detective, one who kept insisting Whitmore take a ride with them downtown.
Whitmore stood 5’5, 19, dark-skinned with pockmarked acne. He had been living in the Brownsville section of East Brooklyn for two years now … first with relatives, then on his own.
Whitmore was escorted to the 73rd Precinct, where he was asked to stand in front of an eyehole and repeat the following: “I’m gonna rape you, lady. I’m gonna rape you, and then I’m gonna kill you.” Unbeknownst to Whitmore, there was a sexual assault victim standing on the opposite side of that wall, and she emerged feigning hysterics, identifying Whitmore as the man who had assaulted her. Whitmore was held over for questioning, a 24-hour interrogation during which he was denied the right to an attorney, along with ongoing requests to submit his answers via polygraph.
At some point it became apparent that Whitmore was not only being questioned in connection with an attempted rape, but also a trio of homicides, two of which had occurred in an apartment on the Upper East Side. Whitmore maintained his innocence, insisting that not only had he never been to the Upper East Side, but that he and several others could account for his whereabouts throughout the day in question. Whitmore could be sure of it, he contended, because the murders took place on August 28th, 1963, an afternoon during which he was seated in a vast and empty catering hall at the Ivy Hotel in Wildwood, New Jersey, watching Martin Luther King deliver his “I Have a Dream” speech on a black-and-white TV. Continue reading →
“In the old system of broadcasting, you were fundamentally limited by the amount of space in the airwaves. You could only send out 10 channels over the airwaves for television, right? Or even with cable, you had 500 channels. On the internet everybody can have a channel. Everyone can get a blog or a Myspace page. Everyone has a way of expressing themselves. And so what you see now is not a question of who gets access to the airwaves, it’s a question of who gets control over the ways you find people. You start seeing power centralizing on sites like Google. These are sort of gatekeepers that tell you where on the internet you want to go, the people who provide you your sources of news and information. So it’s not only certain people who have a license to speak. Now everyone has a license to speak. It’s a question of who gets heard.”
Ask any number of film buffs who the greatest movie critic of all-time is and 80% of them will answer Pauline Kael. Ask any number of average moviegoers that same question, and 75% of them will answer Roger Ebert. Ask any random sample of people from either group who the top three film critics of all-time are, and Roger Ebert will be the only name that consistently appears across both lists.
Therein lies his strength.
Roger Ebert is the everyman, the glutton, the philosopher and the drunkard. He is the Pulitzer-Prize winner and the terminal cancer patient. He represents the intolerable and the cherished, the physically handicapped and the triumphant, the down-but-never-out, the raging underdog within us. Roger Ebert is the barroom poet, the wise, old sage, the blue-collar hero and the hometown troubadour. He is the reporter, the author, the screenwriter and the satirist. He is the celebrity, the TV star, the loyal father, friend and husband. He is our champion and our legend. He is our worker and our icon.
Like most champions, Roger Ebert found a way of maneuvering over whenever circumstances prevented him from moving up. When he hit the ceiling of the newspaper business, he found a new gig on TV. When he bottomed out on television, he reinvented his celebrity online. When Ebert became physically incapacitated, he found a way to inhabit a more vivid space entirely, using the same four basic tools – his eyes, his ears, his brains and fingers – that got him hooked on this whole gambit to begin with.
The beauty of it was – and is – that the closer Roger Ebert came to passing, the more untethered he became in terms of what he would and wouldn’t write. His life, as it remains, represents nothing short of a symphony, the type of thing – much like his memoir – you can return to time and again, like a warm blanket or a handwritten letter. Roger Ebert fell into film criticism by accident and he wound up reimagining it as an industry. He stuck with the gig, he stuck with his woman, his woman stuck with him, and Roger Ebert stuck with us. No jaw, no voice, no problem – Roger Ebert’s got it covered. He went through periods during which he could neither sleep nor eat nor drink, and through it all he just kept writing, writing posts in brilliant spurts until two days before he died.
I think about this every now and again, as I have occasion to attend various film screenings around the city. These screenings, they take place in tiny cushioned rooms. Prior to the house lights going down, there is a great deal of one-ups-man-ship going on (“I find his work a bit pretentious,” “I sat next to her one night in Cannes.”). For the most part, I keep to myself. In a room full of critics with its even greater share of hangers-on, I lack the interest or initiative to discuss why I post my criticism via a very small personal website. My work is good. I know that. I see no need for name-dropping as a means of getting over. And yet I mention this because I routinely find myself scanning the room, yet lacking any urge to wander over and humbly compliment any critic on her work.
Vincent Canby is dead. Pauline Kael is dead. And so now, too, is Roger Ebert.
Cancer. Parkinson’s. Cancer, respectively.
The good news is Roger Ebert is once again alive up on the screen, in what can only be referred to as the most triumphant coup of his career. If you were a fan, and if, like me, you read Roger Ebert’s memoir, then you really should go see this documentary. If you weren’t a fan, or, worse yet, if you are completely unaware of Roger Ebert, that’s all the more reason you should buy the ticket, take the ride. I quote directly here from Roger Ebert’s Life Itself (the book and not the film): “The main thing wrong with a movie that is 10 years old is that it isn’t 30 years old. After the hairstyles and the costumes stop being dated and start being history, we can tell if the movie itself is timeless.” The same can be said for a life. And looking back upon more than 50 years of brilliant living, it is clear now, perhaps more so than ever, that Roger Ebert was – and is – a classic. He changed the way film marketing was done.
(Life Itself opens in limited release this Friday.)
Is there any street name in Manhattan more intimate-sounding than Little West 12th? I would venture to say that there is not. And yet, Little West 12th Street has been up to some mighty corporate things lately – part of a thriving vicinity where green grocers have been gobbled up by Hugo Boss, corner stores by no-name nightclubs. This particular stretch of Lower West once ran mild with nostalgia, one of the few remaining pockets where one could go for peace and quiet. Slow-walking frame-by-frame through Brian Rose’s Metamorphosis, it’s difficult not to long for the romanticism of that period. Brick warehouses, rotting fence posts, white box trucks where the gays would get it on for fear of beatings. To look at how and why it’s changed, well, it hurts so much you ache for more.
