The Manhattan This Photo Portrays Is All But Vanished From Existence!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                            The recent disappointment of my recent visit to the renovated Child's--now pretentiously renamed "Kitchen 21," at Coney Island--brought this to mind.

                             The photo is from "Annie Hall," and the scene is my favorite, when Alvy detects a pompous, pretentious blowhard, in a movie line, pontificating on Marshall McLuhan, and Alvy takes him aside, and shoots him down, by retrieving McLuhan himself from behind a giant review card.

                             Now, in the scene, they are going to see Ingmar Bergman's "Face To Face."  For starters, where are films like this, anymore?  Even in Manhattan?  And remember when Alvy takes Annie to see "The Sorrow And The Pity," which I have never seen--and maybe never will???????  Because, when was the last time that film was shown, anywhere????????????

                              Like me, Alvy also has to see a film straight through.  He cannot go in, once the film has started.`

                              The artistry of films such as these, or book stores as gathering repository places for the intelligent, that once made Manhattan a destination place, is quickly fading.  When I watch "Annie Hall" now, I mourn, more than I laugh, because of what we have lost

                               Even the pretentious pontiff type is gone.  I cannot recall the last cohesive comments I have heard, standing in a movie line, unless coming from my husband, friends, or myself.

                                I would love to march out this afternoon, and see "The Sorrow And The Pity."  These days, count yourselves lucky if you even get "The Enchanted Cottage!!!!!!!!!!!"

                                 I know "Mother" has opened, and though I am going tomorrow, and will report on here, I have my doubts.  I thought I had an idea of where the film was going, but the little I have read indicated that I was wrong.  At least Jennifer Lawrence still has her lovely, creamy skin.

                                  Those times, they are a'changin', and not in a way that I like.  The suburbs I chose to escape from as a youth seem more erudite now, and Manhattan more like the landscapes of my youth. Is it still possible to have an artistic experience?????????????????

                                   Or does it just all boil down to the masses having a collective bowel movement??????????

Now, The Dumbing Down Of The So-Called Intelligensia!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  Now, girls, I never considered Sally Quinn an intellectual world beater.  But I had read some of her pieces in The Washington Post, and the lady could write.  When she made her debut, along with Hughes Rudd, on the CBS Morning New, on August 6, 1973, "TIME Magazine" called it "the year's most ballyhooed fizzle."  I always felt she got a raw deal.  I mean, she was no dimwit, like that Deborah Norville!

                                  And Sally bought, owned, then sold Grey Gardens!  Too bad I could not have bought it, or that she converted it into a museum, which would have served as a shrine for gay men.  The Lourdes of The Hamptons!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  I always had respect for Sally--until now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  I love the "By The Book" column "The New York Times" runs, covering noted people and their reading tastes and habits.  I don't need The Times, dears.  They can find out all they want about me, simply by reading these posts.

                                   In this column, Sally was profiled yesterday.  Within a question regarding classics, she stated having recently read "Middlemarch," by George Eliot.  Then came the comment that shook me.

                                  She said, "I liked it.  I did not LOVE it."

                                   Sal, hon, are you crazy?  Do you have any intelligence, at all????????

                                   Any reader who is of serious literary bent, reveres "Middlemarch."  Its narrative is compelling, as are its character studies, and Eliot's prose is among the most gorgeous in the English language.  What is there not to LOVE??????????????????

                                   I was scandalized by this remark!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Not to love "Middlemarch"--why it is practically a desecrating remark about all of English literature!!!!!!!!!!!!  The nerve of her to say this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                    Sally, I will tell you right now, you may look good for 76, but your mind is going putrid.  If I were you, dear, I would hang it up, now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                    Stick to your Grey Gardens profits, and read Beverly Cleary.

                                    That is about as much sophistication, as you can handle!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Get Over Yourself, James!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                         Remember the wonderful Lance Kerwin show, "James, At 15?"  There was a slight controversy over the character losing his virginity, after which the series became "James At 16."

                         That is sixteen, not "James, Post 60!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

                          This week's winner of The Raving Queen Bitch Of The Week Award, James Woods, used to be a respected actor.  He started out with Meryl Streep in "Holocaust."  Don't you mess with her daughters!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                           Now, I don't want to get into the whole Woody Allen-Roman Polanski thing, though perhaps I must.  Whatever lapses of judgment both have made, they have never lost their artistry.

                            Woods' career tanked so long ago, I cannot remember.  Now, he trolls Hollywood, indulging in that community's three favorite activities--drinking, drugging, and whoring.

                              Not that that does not go on in New York, but we are more sensible here about things like craft and artistry.  Forget "La La Land."  New York is still THE place!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                             Woods fancies himself some gift to underage women, according to Amber Tamblyn, Russ' daughter.  After propositioning one girl, only to be told she was only sixteen, Woods simply replied, "Even better."

                             Hey, James, have you looked at yourself in the mirror, lately?  You have no career, the looks you had are gone, and the only women who would go out with you are biddies from the nursing home, or rehab center, where you are due to end up, who have yet to have their cataract surgery, so they cannot see how ugly you are!

                             You pig!  You're finished!

                              Grab a tube sock!  It's your only chance!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"AHS: Cult" Was Such Fun, Last Night!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                         It may not ending up being the best season of the series, but its potential is highly enjoyable.

                         Yes, Sarah Paulson, as Ally, is still running about, like a hysterical nut, though she may have a point this time.  And John Carroll Lynch, as the lovable Twisty, made another brilliant appearance; he has GOT to be given more screen time.   And Billie Lourd is still stealing the show as the creepy Nanny, Winter Anderson.  What is it, with those Judy Garland, Dorothy of Oz braids?  And the rest of her dressed like a prostitute?  I love when she gave Oz a Twisty doll; she could give me one.  But, I am telling you, I think she is up to something, and I think I know what."

                          The cult is slowly closing in on Ally and Ivy, and Oz, though I cannot imagine why, except that, in a representational sense, they are the New Mainstream that the Old is trying to keep at bay.  When Evan Peters, in one of his two big scenes, as Kai, said to Sarah Paulson something about "them coming for you," I knew that he, Winter, and those creepy new neighbors, the Wiltons, he who raises bees, and she who stays out of the sun because of cancer--or is it vampirism????  I really cannot tell--are all aligned, and in on something, and they are closing in on the lesbian couple and offspring next door.   If you think Ally's hysterics are pointless now, wait; eventually she is going to have something to get genuinely hysterical about.

                          I can see this coming, as clearly as my husband knew Ally was going to shoot the Mexican (but born in San Diego) grocery clerk, Pedro.  Which was a tragedy, though whomever murdered that faux chef wannabe and power monger, Roger, should get a metal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                          A fun evening was had by all, darlings!  Now, it is just a matter of sitting back, and seeing if I am right!  And waiting for the coming of Lily Rabe, Frances Conroy, Kathy Bates, or whomever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                           That media whore, Ryan Murphy!  If he could get Charles Manson to make an appearance on this show, he would!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Back To The Brat Pack!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                        I am happy to report the return was satisfying.

                                        "Brightness Falls," written in 1992, is the first of a trilogy that continues with "The Good Life, in 2006, and ending with "Bright, Precious Days," a decade later.  McInerney seems to want to write his all encompassing history of New York City, during the time when his generation, and mine, the Baby Boomers, were coming to the fore.

                                           Maybe that is why "Brightness Falls" is also the longest of the three.  Which was not a problem, because the characters were fascinating and the story had a lot of scope.

                                            Let's start with Russell and Corinne Calloway.  He is a publishing house exec on the rise, she works in a brokerage firm.  Both have the capacity to be the city's movers and shakers, but Corinne wants to chuck it all, and have a baby, while Russell latches onto what today would be called a Ponzi scheme, and rides with it, to the sad end.  In between, are secrets both hold about their successful author friend, Jeff Pierce (a stand in for McInerney?  Except he is not the narrator).  Corinne has slept with him twice--before and during her marriage to Russell-- and hubby is jealous of his friend's literary success.

                                           This is all played out against the cataclysms of the stock market crash, and the AIDS crisis, among other things.  Nell's gets a mention--oh, the days of Nell's, darlings!!!!!!--but the author here is more interested in telling a story than dropping names of places.  How refreshing!
Another Brat Packer who can actually write.  You cannot imagine how pleasing that is!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                           Even if the trilogy were not known, it is obvious, from where the author leaves his characters, at the end, that there will be more!  And I cannot wait for it.

                                             So, now we are forming a hierarchy of the Brat Pack.  Donna Tartt, the High Priestess, Tama Janowitz, following, and Jay McInerney on the third branch of the tree.  Will there be room for anyone else???????????????????

                                              Stay tuned, and find out, dolls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You Want To Hear About "It???????????" Here We Go!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                Yes, it starts with Georgie.

                                 But, even before he is sucked into the drain by Pennywise, (a very good Bill Skarsgard, but, face it, Tim Curry owns the role) this "It" showed every sign of being different, because, in an almost far too graphic scene, the kid's arm is ripped off, before he goes plunging into darkness.  The director, Andy Muschiettti, lets everyone know he is going to push the boundaries of the 1990 telefilm.

                                 My husband did not like the film.  While "It" is no artistic masterpiece, its ensemble of child actors is very good, though I doubt this film will do anything for their careers.  They are the pawns used to tap into what the story is really about--the manifestation of fear.

                                 And fear abounds all through this film.  Not just Pennywise, but an evil, leering pharmacist, a Munchausen by proxy afflicted mother, a sexually abusive father, not to mention sewer drains, the best haunted house seen on film in years, and the kind of film special effects that allow It to splinter into whatever It wants--a disintegrating clown, with tentacles coming out of its mouth was the best.

                                 As well as Muschietti evokes fear in his young actors, the drama is in the visuals.  This film is worthy of prizes in the categories of set design and art direction.  They supply the necessary fear, and it is they who elicit the scares from both the children in the film, and the audience.

                                The film it as well constructed as a good amusement ride, providing, basically, the same thrills.  This movie wants to be so much more, but does not succeed.

                                You want to float, darlings?  Find a swimming pool that is still open, or indoors!!!!!!!!!!!!

We Thought This Would Be the Social Event Of The Season......It Was Not!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                             For lo these many years of going to the Mermaid Parade, at Coney Island, with my beloved and friends, there has been structure, past the Parachute Jump, that has fascinated me.    It is this imposing structure, with a nautical theme, going back to the Golden Age of Coney.  I had always thought it was a bath house, but those old enough to know have told me it used to be a huge restaurant, called Child's.

                              Back around April, this structure had been renovated and refurbished; its lush outdoor exterior restored.  It still, for me, conjures up thoughts of the Sondheim musical, "Follies," or Herk Harvey's 1962 film, "Carnival Of Souls.  I had always wanted to see it from the inside, even in its squalor.

                            Well, like the song says, "baby, look at you now."  The atmosphere, apart from this picture, is so dark and cavernous, it feels like one is inside the pavilion of the Carnival Of Souls.  I was waiting for the streamers to come poring down from the ceiling, and the souls of the dead to begin their maniacal dance.

                               Which actually would have livened things up, darlings.  Because, outside of atmosphere, there is really no other reason to visit this place.

                                  The food is pedestrian and over priced.  The staff is overwhelmed, because the place is so cavernous, with so many nooks and crannies to serve in, they need more staff.  On a lovely day, the rooftop bar is lovely, overlooking the ocean and boardwalk, but why should the customers ask for what they want; what ever happened to customer service?

                                     Go once, darlings, because who knows how long it will last?  It is not bad, it just does not live up to what it could be.

                                       And how many people will trek out to Coney in the dead of our New York Winters???????????????????

                                        See and dine there, while you can!  

                                        The drinks are fabulous!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!