On Wednesday in
I ate fish and chips at the Bulldog Café
with Bonnie, Ginny, and Sarah as a last-meal type of thing. My flight to Newark
went smoothly, Instead of dying, I ended up in New York City. Harbison, SC
Upon arriving at 1350 Avenue of the
(a tall glass building), I could not find the Dolby 88 theater. The people in
the bank were snooty. They did not know. I explored the side streets. Two women
carrying a printout reminded me of movie-goers. I followed them into the bowels
of the bank. A guard motioned me in, past some electronic barriers. Americas
Two young men – hipster types with those black glasses and skinny pants -- found my name on a list and I was “in.”
The seats were plush and reclining. The room was about 120 degrees too hot. I barged into the center of the seats and plopped myself next to a bored New York couple (jeans, long hair, air of chic superiority) on one side and an older white British woman sharing M&Ms with a black British guy on my left. Neither side was up for conversation (with me, anyway) so I shut up.
We were all sweltering. An older New York man stood up behind me and bellowed – “Hey, turn on the air conditioning! We’re burning up in here!”
“Thank you!” I said to him. That’s what I like about New York. People are NOT afraid to speak up.
Six out of ten for the Coen brothers. The movie bumps along because you feel for the musician and want him to succeed. It’s frustrating because he does not. Why cast a guy who is not Italian and call him half Italian? It doesn’t work. We can see through all that. We can look at his body, and we can interpret the names of the cast.
I wanted Llewellyn to learn something. I wanted him to sign the correct contract and earn royalties. I wanted him to join the merchant marines. He did not.
As usual, Justin Timberlake saved the day with his acting and his hilarious song, “Mr. Kennedy, don’t send me into space.”
Now, off to the Shadow Box Film Festival.