Archive | City Matters

Hilton Als on ‘Voyage Au Congo’

It’s not an overstatement to say Hilton Als is one of the most important cultural critics working today. The theater reviewer for The New Yorker, he also is the author of the essay collections The Women (1996) and White Girls (2013), both highly original takes on the intersection of class, gender, race, and sexuality.

At Brooklyn’s packed Light Industry venue on July 16, he discussed author André Gide’s “Voyage au Congo,” a 1927 silent documentary that examines African “natives” with an appallingly detached curiosity. Als called it out with his characteristic mix of compassion and candor.

“This is a messed-up film,” he began, clad in a seersucker blazer and white bucks that put the resident hipsters to shame. “But it taught me not to look away.” He went on to discuss the abundant nudity in the film: “Gide had a lot of trouble with the black female body,” he said, and acknowledged the many other white male authors who had the same trouble, including poet Arthur Rimbaud. “Even educated people can be rude and ridiculous,” he said, and discussed recent instances in which colleagues and students had made nasty comments about his own physicality. (Als sometimes refers to himself as a “negress.”) “Perhaps this film would best be shown as a double feature with something by [black folksinger] Carole Walker. Perhaps cinema is not the best way to examine how black bodies have been treated.”

But he went on to say it is important that films like “Voyage au Congo” continue to be watched, so long as films made by people “in the margins” are watched as well. “We need to take in this material and change how it fits into our story and our society. As the world changes, this is our right and our responsibility.”

The applause from the usually too-cool-for-school audience was deafening.

I Sing a Song of Zucchini

Right now the produce is so pretty that it practically assembles itself. First thing this morning I hightailed it to Tompkins Square Park to hit my favorite greenmarket–the winking fishmonger who calls himself a retired radical; the Muslim-Jewish couple with the perfect kale and purple onions; the Close Encounters homage to composting. It’s the New York City I miss every day. I came home with a bounty of pale striped green zucchinis spilling out of my arms. My Sunday: A Study in Zucchini. Sautéed zucchini with mint and purple onions and poached farm-fresh eggs for breakfast; penne with heirloom tomatoes, fennel, basil, thyme, serrano peppers, green garlic, ricotta and zucchini for dinner. It may be miserably swampy outside but tis not my summer of discontent.

Little Big Hearts on the Evening Train

I was on the subway tonight, sitting in the small enclave between the sliding doors and the passage to the next car: two-seat benches on either side of the aisle. Next to me was a weary-looking woman with a beautiful headwrap and big earrings. In her arms was a baby with the saddest, brightest eyes I’d ever seen on a human. (I see eyes like that on dogs and sometimes cats.) His sadness didn’t seem to stem from any mistreatment; though visibly tired, the woman was holding him with a tenderness that seemed constant to me. His sadness felt soul-heavy, as if he registered her pain and wished he could do something about it. More than that, he seemed like the kind of very small person who’d been worrying about everything and everybody even before he was sprung from his mother’s body. Perhaps I am a sadist: It made him cuter to me. Continue Reading →

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