Archive | City Matters

Brooklyn’s Finest: Old-School BK on Film

Even before Brooklyn became the nation’s hottest borough, it figured prominently in cinema. Its image has changed drastically over the years, though–from a working class, matter-of-factly multicultural bastion to the hipster playground that’s mocked and celebrated today. Not to malign triple-shot almond milk lattes and bearded men in skinny jeans, but for those longing for old-school BK (and regular coffee!) these movies are a good place to start.

A Tree Grows In Brooklyn (1943)
Elia Kazan’s first film is not his finest–it took a few years before he shed that studio system staginess–but it is an affecting adaptation of Betty Smith’s beloved novel set in 1900s Williamsburg, Brooklyn. A theater director initially, Kazan excelled at working with actors; under his tutelage, Peggy Ann Garner, whose real-life father was fighting in World War II, was heartbreaking as Francie, a scholarly girl with an alcoholic dad, played equally movingly by James Dunn, the Hollywood veteran derailed by his own love affair with the bottle. (He won an Academy Award for this performance.) A beautifully blue valentine to early twentieth-century tenement life. Continue Reading →

No Ordinary Love

“Stevie Wonder, just like I pictured him.” Seeing Stevie perform every number from Songs in the Key of Life last night at Brooklyn’s Barclays Center was to participate in four hours of joyous hilarious heartbreaking musical prayer with some of the best musicians alive—including a six-piece horn section, two drummers, six backup singers, members of the Brooklyn Symphony, India.Arie, Nathan East on bass (amazing), and, oh yes, the man who’s sung me through every significant love of my life (and I’m not just referring to love affairs). Generous and genius, he played at least four instruments and led long passages of jaw-dropping improvisation. When he sang “If It’s Magic” I broke down in happy tears, and I’m guessing that, along with everyone in attendance last night, I’ll be weeping them all week long. “Don’t block your blessing,” he told us as a reminder to treat everyone with the love and compassion we each deserve. We couldn’t have blocked his bright brilliant beauty if we’d tried.

The Poetry of Errands

I love everyone who works at my local library branch so much that I’m constantly repressing the urge to hug them. (I started a film club that meets there bimonthly; come next Saturday!) Ditto for my sixtysomething dry-cleaner, who tenderly reinforces the buttons on my coats while her husband glowers from his corner. Ditto for the espresso jerks and Muppet critics at my local coffee shop, who wake me up as much as those Americanos do. Ditto for the sweetly serious Fairway cashiers, who slip me so many coupons that I can afford tulips and freesia with my fish and kale. Ditto for the gas attendant who calls me Amish Lady because I do my errands in floor-length polka-dotted nightgowns that I consider too pretty to only wear at home.

This afternoon I have been spring cleaning—laundering everything (even the curtains), changing my duvet cover, emptying out drawers and cupboards and the refrigerator, scrubbing out the microwave and the oven, organizing my closets. I even toted to Housing Works great bags of clothes I’ll never wear again, either because I’m no longer so willowy or because of stains and holes I’d been ignoring. Crisp and clean, that’s Spring 2015. It’s such a neat little poem that it rhymes, a fact I’m admiring with permakitten Grace as we watch the world waltz by our window and I sip a fancy drink with many juices. No sugar, thank you; just so much love.

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