Archive | Categories

Mercury Retrograde Runneth Over

I’m fairly certain my birthday present to myself this year will be combat boots and it has me giggling. I keep remembering that old ’70s insult: Your momma wears combat boots. Nowadays, that’s a badge of cool, like flaunting your tattoos while picking the kids up at soccer. Not that I’d ever get a tattoo since a. It doesn’t adhere to my chief rule of style, WWAD (What Would Audrey Do), and b. I can’t imagine such a commitment to anything besides a cat. For that matter, not that I’d ever have kids. (I have, however, been known to fetch godchildren at sporting events. For those weirdos I’d do anything.)

Overall, I was glad for the giggle because I’ve not been laughing much lately. Mercury is retrograding something fierce so far. Yesterday I was all set to appear on HuffPost Live to give my two cents on the Golden Globes, but an hour beforehand—just before I started fiddling with my hair—a producer called to say that not only had our segment been cancelled but HuffPost Live itself had been cancelled. That’s some serious M.R. mishegos: the dissolution of an entire communication channel. Continue Reading →

The Neo-Lolita Horror of ‘Lamb’

Oona Laurence is a remarkable actor. Barely a tween (and a small tween at that), she is technically a child actor. But because she’s hampered by none of the people-pleasing tics that doom most kid performers, it feels more accurate to simply describe her as an actor; if she chooses to, she’ll probably be just as deft at using her age as an instrument seventy years from now. Already she can look like an old woman in repose, which I attribute to the old-soul sadness she channels in films like last year’s “Southpaw” and “I Smile Back.” It is the grief of children who’ve already learned to cry without expecting comfort, and she takes it to new levels as the protagonist of “Lamb,” the adaptation of Bonnie Nadzam’s unsettling 2011 novel.

Laurence plays Tommie, the runty eleven-year-old daughter of parents (Lindsay Pulsipher and Scoot McNairy) so checked out that they don’t even bother to look up from their beers when she comes home in the middle of the night. She’s ripe, in other words, for some adult attention, which comes in the form of forty-seven-year-old David Lamb (Ross Partridge, tripling as writer/director), whom she approaches in a parking lot on a dare. Decked out in heels and a forlorn pink purse, she asks him for a cigarette while her friends titter; ostensibly to teach her a lesson, he hustles her into his SUV and then drops her off at home. Continue Reading →

Stone Soup at Your Service

I have a powerful urge to start this post by rumbling, “Now is the season of our discontent.” But since I’ve decided this is going to be a great year, all Richard III references are null and void even if 2016 has been off to a rocky start. The good news is I don’t really think a new year begins until your birthday, and mine isn’t for another few weeks. I’m in what astrologers call the “balsamic” phase, which means this slow start is not really a start so much as the wrapping up of last year’s business. Hence the mother of a flu I’ve had: a total detoxing of all of 2015’s bugs.

A few days ago I forewent a fancy-schmancy event to get acupunked–it seemed unwise to traipse around in black-tie finery in subfreezing temperatures while hacking great gobs of phlegm–and was rewarded yesterday by feeling well enough to go on one of my long walks. And lo! what a walk it was. I wandered back to Brooklyn from the Flatiron District, stopping off to greet various friends and neighborhoods and to wolf an enormous burger and fries at Diner. Continue Reading →

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy