Skip to main content

Letter From Film Forum

 Three times, I have lured my husband to Film Forum -- for "Ninotchka," "The Third Man," and "Sunset Boulevard." 


There are unwritten codes in this space; if my spouse took me to a football game, I would expect to follow meticulous directions, and at Film Forum, the roles are just reversed. For example, an unstated rule: You do not try to use the men's room after 1 pm on the weekend.

Also: The front row is actually fine.

Also: It doesn't matter if the film is seventy years old. On a Saturday, it will sell out.

These are things I've learned the hard way -- through trial and error -- and I'm proud of the learning I've accomplished.

Seeing "Sunset Boulevard" with an appreciative crowd -- with a functional sound system -- you can't beat this. My spouse enjoyed the "gay" lines: "You there, why are you so late?" "Why not try the vicuña? If the lady's paying..." "I *am* big. It's the pictures that got small." ...I personally enjoyed the use of dramatic irony; over and over, we quickly learn crucial lessons that the characters themselves have not learned. 1. Don't trash a script unless you're certain your audience does not include the scriptwriter. 2. A new guest is not necessarily the man you have hired to bury your monkey. 3. Sometimes, a phone call isn't about a playdate; it's just a request to borrow your car.

At the end of the show, the crowd went wild. Discussions ensued. Yes, clearly, that was Cecil B. DeMille in a cameo, but did anyone notice Buster Keaton? Hedda Hopper?

I very much hope to return -- for "Tenement Stories" -- if only to see "The Asphalt Jungle." This is among my favorite spots in New York.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...