This is what greets you at the 50th Street Station (on the 1). At first I thought it was adorable -- who doesn't love a little Alice in Wonderland mosaic montage? Then I remembered this, and this, and this. Not so adorable anymore...
-Lida
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Futterwacken (Fudderwackun?)
This is what greets you at the 50th Street Station (on the 1). At first I thought it was adorable -- who doesn't love a little Alice in Wonderland mosaic montage? Then I remembered this, and this, and this. Not so adorable anymore...
-Lida
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Lida's Second Best Night Ever
Hello, world. Yes, it's been a long time since Strug last posted (thanks to some little things called FINALZ and TRAVELING HOME and CHRISTMAS). But now it's post-Christmas and I'm getting a little antsy. So to combat this, I'm gonna go back and write some posts about some things that happened sometime in November. Yes, technically they are passe. But good shit happened, and I got decent-to-great pictures, so I want to write about it. Let's go.
First off, I want to write about the second best concert night of my life: November 15th, 2010, also known as the first of two performances by Mumford & Sons at Terminal 5.
GUYS, THIS IS A BIG DEAL FOR ME. This is the only band where I like every single song of theirs. That had never happened to me before (until I started a love affair with the Black Keys that continues to this day, but that's a totally different story). I had bands where I liked one album only to not mesh with the rest (hello, Arctic Monkeys and Jack Johnson). I had bands where I liked several songs off the album, but I despised, and therefore was always skipping through, a bunch of songs (yes, you, Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros, Justin Timberlake, and Sufjan Stevens). Then there were the bands where I liked a majority of the songs, but if I listened to them for more than, say, 10 minutes I slowly slipped into music-induced vegetative state (thanks, Bob Marley & the Wailers, Tim McGraw, and Aretha Franklin) -- that might work for some people, but I liked being an active listener, singing along and slowly bobbing my head with the music, my mouth contorted into a pose my dad likes to call the "White Man Overbite" (that's three separate links, folks: 'tis the season of giving).
But oh no. With Mumford, I start the album (Sigh No More for all y'all out there who aren't as diehard as me), and can listen all the way through, frequently singing along, maybe adding some foot stomping if the song calls for it and if I'm gettin' cray-zay.
Blah blah blah, I ramble.
Lady of the River
But the concert was Mumford, in all their British folksy acoustic poetic glory. And I loved every second of it.
Here's the setlist (if you want, I've included links to clips of the performance):
- Winter Winds (I was so happy that they played this, seeing as it's one of my faves -- in DC, they somehow skipped it, and I didn't leave until a good 30 minutes after the encore ended, thinking they'd come back on and perform. False. I was upset.)
- Below My Feet (Hadn't heard it before, but, duh, love it)
- Timshel
- I Gave You All (Sorry the link is so shitty. I had two clips to choose from, and the other one had some bitch singing along the whole time, so I was stuck with this.)
- Little Lion Man (SO MANY LIGHTS.)
- Lover of the Light (YES to multitasking: singing and drum playing at the same time.)
- After the Storm (Technically not from the night I saw them. Oh well.)
- Awake My Soul (Extra nice because they included a gorgeous fiddle part, a lil' bit of Secret of Roan Inish meets Braveheart.)
- Dust Bowl Dance (Always glad to see they can get a little angsty.)
- Lady of the River (ENCORE! With the two opening bands. And a killer fiddle solo. Maybe the single most entertaining song I've ever seen live.)
- The Cave (ENCORE! A standing bass is lifted into the air! Madness all around!)
Groovin'
Lady of the River
Lady of the River
ALSO, I have to give credit to the opening bands. First was King Charles, whose costume and hair were more memorable than his music (his songs were entertaining, but no great shakes).
Then there was Cadillac Sky, whose lead singer (the one who looks like a garden gnome) somersaulted onstage then proceeded to do a rendition of "Bootylicious," while a band member, wearing pretty flamboyant checked pants with even more flamboyant striped socks, looked on. Their songs were like, country-bluegrass-rock clusterfucks, but totally awesome. You know how sometimes there's a band, but no one can actually play the instruments (I'M LOOKING AT YOU, TAYLOR SWIFT), so they become more of a "band." Not the case with Cadillac Sky. Every damn member killed his respective solos. Like, woah. Take a listen to Trapped Under the Ice, Human Cannonball, Hangman, and Pitiful Waltz.
King Charles during Encore, With Hair, Minus Costume
Then there was Cadillac Sky, whose lead singer (the one who looks like a garden gnome) somersaulted onstage then proceeded to do a rendition of "Bootylicious," while a band member, wearing pretty flamboyant checked pants with even more flamboyant striped socks, looked on. Their songs were like, country-bluegrass-rock clusterfucks, but totally awesome. You know how sometimes there's a band, but no one can actually play the instruments (I'M LOOKING AT YOU, TAYLOR SWIFT), so they become more of a "band." Not the case with Cadillac Sky. Every damn member killed his respective solos. Like, woah. Take a listen to Trapped Under the Ice, Human Cannonball, Hangman, and Pitiful Waltz.
Gnome Man from Cadillac Sky
Cadillac Sky
Cadillac Sky
Cadillac Sky
-Lida
Monday, December 13, 2010
It's Christmastime in THE CITY
Before viewing, open this link and use as a soundtrack: SILVER BELLS.
SPOTTED: CHRISTMAS IN NEW YORK CITY.
Enjoy.
-Lida
SPOTTED: CHRISTMAS IN NEW YORK CITY.
Enjoy.
-Lida
An ice sculptor carving a Nutcracker. Columbus Circle.
A Santa hat-clad mariachi band (not singing Christmas carols, however). Columbus Circle.
Tree lights. Columbus Circle.
Salvation Army person. Extra points because she was caught mid-dance. Probably to this song. 5th Ave.
BIG ASS Christmas tree. Rockefeller Center.
Nicki Minaj was apparently the inspiration for this window display. 5th Ave.
Christmas, Armani style. Saks.
Ornaments. Saks Christmas section.
Saks' own personal Santa. (Fun fact: I was next in line to sit with him when this group of children cut me. I was upset.)
Look! Charity! Salvation Army. Macy's.
Gingerbread Man. Outside Lincoln Center. (Was much less creepy in person.)
---------------------
**UPDATE: THE. SNOW. IS. STICKING. ON. THE. GROUND. HALLELUJAH.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Finals Fun Find
So we were sitting in Butler last night. Across the table from us, on a stack of Teachers College folders and notebooks and shit, was THIS:
Yes, that is some kind of fluorescent orange Furby thing. Oh, and in case you can't tell, it's attached to an orange bedazzled iPhone. Take a moment to soak it in. Yes.
-Lida and Chelsea
Yes, that is some kind of fluorescent orange Furby thing. Oh, and in case you can't tell, it's attached to an orange bedazzled iPhone. Take a moment to soak it in. Yes.
-Lida and Chelsea
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Dancers Without Feet
Last night I was on my way to Butler (the iconic library at Columbia for you non-Columbians) when I ran into a group of my friends waiting in the lobby of my dorm. They were all dressed up so I asked where they were headed and they replied "An Ailey performance!" I knew Ailey was at City Center this week, celebrating 50 years of Revelations and really wanted to see the performance so I voiced that fact. Then a friend told me her roommate was supposed to go but couldn't so she had an extra ticket. I thought it over in my head and weighed the options: a night of searching endlessly for a seat in Butler, procrastinating for a while, then maybe getting around to working on my research paper and calculus homework versus seeing a completely free performance of one of the most well known modern dance companies of all time. I jumped on the offer and off I headed to City Center with my geeky, red Jansport backpack in tow.
I soon found out that my ticket was for the second row, which I was originally super excited about, considering it was free and I was there completely spontaneously. I had of course been to City Center before, but had never sat that far front.
Note to dance-goers, sitting that far front is not a good thing. The stage was above my eye level, so I had to crane my neck ever so slightly to see the span of the stage. I was in the pit and it was the pits. Because of my unfortunate seat, if the dancers were anywhere from about three feet below the very edge of the stage all the way to the very back of the stage, I couldn't see their feet. If they were far back, I could see from about mid-shin and up. And if they were laying on the floor at all, they were completely out of sight to me. I then termed this dance show, "Ailey Without Feet". I spent a summer dancing at Ailey in their summer intensive, a challenging experience, but one that I would only do once and don't really recommend, and I know that feet were of utmost importance in Horton, Graham and Dunham technique. I distinctly recall my teachers sternly reminding us to stretch through the feet and plant them firmly on the ground as a solid basis for support in lateral T turns and leg swings. Then I get to the company's performance and I can't even see their damn feet. Irony.
Despite the absence of these appendages in my line of vision, the dancing itself, was superb. The show began with Uptown, a look into the Harlem Renaissance choreographed by Matthew Rushing. It did what dance should do, combine the athleticism, grace, versatility, drama, and poise of a dancer with an incredible story. Abdur-Rahim Jackson took the audience through parts of the Harlem Renaissance through short monologues about the pieces and outbursts of sassy, jazzy dance moves all while looking very dapper in a tuxedo. There was swing dancing at a "rent party", divas in feathers, powerful vingettes to the words of Zora Neale Hurston, Langston Hughes, and WEB DuBois, and all around music that made you want to get up and do the Charleston (which I totally did all the way down 55th St after I got out of the theater).
Coolest piece of the piece: the staging of this picture and dancing afterwards:
The next piece was called The Prodigal Prince, which emulates "the real and imagined life of Hector Hyppolite, the most notable of primitive painters in Haiti's history." (Quote from the program). Wow. After this piece ended, I as an audience member was exhausted. I felt like I was watching a tribal ritual, and I probably was. Through his lifetime, Hyppolite painted Voudou scenes (the dominant Haitian religion at the time) with vivid colors and intense passion. Both these elements were strongly seen in the piece as the entire ensemble stomped, spun, and leaped in costumes like these:
Ailey dancers are known for their athleticism, raw power, and technique. This piece wholly defined that. Hector Hyppolite was danced by Kirven James Boyd, the sudden replacement, and he was incredible. He was strong and powerful yet perfectly emulated the sensory overload that a young painter would have experienced during scenes such as these. Then, he strips into only a thong covered in puka shells, and we love him more.
It was such a visually stimulating piece that I could have gotten so much more out of if I were farther back in the Orchestra, or even up in the Balcony. I could tell, from my below the stage view, that the dancers were making interesting patterns and moved in directions that could only be seen from above. From my worm's eye view, I saw everything at a completely different angle that I think took away from the piece as a whole. I couldn't see Boyd writhing around on the floor, or anyone's feet. I was so close, I saw waaaaay to much of Clifton Brown's body whenever he was downstage right....and he was wearing a thigh-high slitted loincloth that went all the way to the floor...he's also really scary looking...and has massive, creepy, alien-like muscles...
What I really loved about this piece was it's complete break from the technique driven, structured movement (lateral T's, hinges, etc) of Horton, a main technique used in much of Ailey's repertoire. The dancers looked free and released as they bounded across the stage and through the air.
Then the next piece was Ailey's finest, probably the most well known piece in all of modern dance Revelations. It was of course, fantastic, and it should have been considering it's been around for 50 years. In my opinion, once you've seen it over three times, it becomes the same. Though, because it's the last piece and you've just seen the same dancers in the first two pieces, you have picked out your favorites and you begin to compare their roles in each of the ballets to this one and you see how incredibly versatile they are moving from swing dance to Caribbean to classical, iconic Ailey.
I was totally happy to have gotten the opportunity to go see this show, for free, being spontaneous (thanks Ellen!) like I love being in New York. I only wished I could have seen their feet...
-Chelsea (one summer and one summer only Ailey dancer)
I soon found out that my ticket was for the second row, which I was originally super excited about, considering it was free and I was there completely spontaneously. I had of course been to City Center before, but had never sat that far front.
 |
| City Center: my seat was literally in the bottom right corner |
Despite the absence of these appendages in my line of vision, the dancing itself, was superb. The show began with Uptown, a look into the Harlem Renaissance choreographed by Matthew Rushing. It did what dance should do, combine the athleticism, grace, versatility, drama, and poise of a dancer with an incredible story. Abdur-Rahim Jackson took the audience through parts of the Harlem Renaissance through short monologues about the pieces and outbursts of sassy, jazzy dance moves all while looking very dapper in a tuxedo. There was swing dancing at a "rent party", divas in feathers, powerful vingettes to the words of Zora Neale Hurston, Langston Hughes, and WEB DuBois, and all around music that made you want to get up and do the Charleston (which I totally did all the way down 55th St after I got out of the theater).
Coolest piece of the piece: the staging of this picture and dancing afterwards:
 |
| Clifton Brown |
What I really loved about this piece was it's complete break from the technique driven, structured movement (lateral T's, hinges, etc) of Horton, a main technique used in much of Ailey's repertoire. The dancers looked free and released as they bounded across the stage and through the air.
Then the next piece was Ailey's finest, probably the most well known piece in all of modern dance Revelations. It was of course, fantastic, and it should have been considering it's been around for 50 years. In my opinion, once you've seen it over three times, it becomes the same. Though, because it's the last piece and you've just seen the same dancers in the first two pieces, you have picked out your favorites and you begin to compare their roles in each of the ballets to this one and you see how incredibly versatile they are moving from swing dance to Caribbean to classical, iconic Ailey.
 |
| Wade in the Water section of Revelations |
-Chelsea (one summer and one summer only Ailey dancer)
La Bête
Aight. So here's what's up. Last night, I decided to postpone studying for one night (oh, the horror!), bought a $25 student ticket, and saw La Bête at the Music Box Theatre on Broadway.
Everyone who had seen it informed me that Valere, played by my new obsession Mark Rylance, monologues a lot. And I heard it had something to do with fools? But that's about all I knew.
Here's what I also found out: the whole play is entirely in verse. As in, the damn thing rhymed. Bizarre? Yes. Incredible? Absolutely. I didn't notice it at first, but it somehow crept its way into the forefront, simultaneously shocking us and making us laugh. Who the hell wants to sit through an entire play of rhyming couplets? Whenever I think of rhymes, I think of kids' poems (I used to be an incredible writer of rhyming poetry, by the way), or "Roses are red" or something like that. Instead, it added this quirky mixed layer of communication and miscommunication (because apparently Valere can never quite fully quote Cicero). It took the common idea of verse as dense and Shakespearean, and turned it into a comical, contemporary mode of speaking.
Anyway, La Bête is about a playwright and actor named Elomire (played by Niles from Frasier), who just found out that The Princess (Joanna Lumley) is requiring him to begin working with a street performer named Valere. But Valere isn't just any old street peformer. He has hillbilly teeth, balding mini dredlocks, a Number Devil mustache, a Captain Jack Sparrow swagger, and the worst short-term memory ever seen. And he talks. He talks a lot.
In fact, after the opening ten minutes, Rylance talks for an uninterrupted 40-45 minutes. Straight. Do you understand how amazing that is? THIS MAN IS SPEAKING AND LITERALLY HOLDS OUR UNDIVIDED ATTENTION FOR ALMOST AN HOUR. If this were any other actor, the audience would be bored by minute 5. But Rylance, supported by an amazing script by David Hirson, manages to captivate us. He eats cantaloupe, while still talking. He poops (only slightly) offstage, while still talking. He pounds wine like a champ, while still talking. He sings a slightly Yiddish sounding diddy, while still talking. He insults vinaigrette, a hunchback, a skull. He calls words "verbobo" and chairs "Francesca." He talks and talks and twitches his face and talks and laughs in this charmingly buffoon-y way, and never loses us for a single second. I am so in love with this totally horrid character, it's unbelievable. Here is when Valere first comes onstage (aka when he begins his 45 minute speech): VIDEO!
The best and worst part of La Bête, however, IS Rylance's monologue. It's so phenomenal, that when it concludes (approx. 50-55 minutes into the 1:45 minute play), nothing else can compete with it. Sure, Niles was good at reacting to the ridiculousness of Valere, but that was all there was to him (plus, his character just wasn't well developed -- in the final conflict in the story we can never really believe his point of view, mainly because he never gets a chance to develop into a real character to be reckoned with). Similarly, Lumley's Princess could have been very, very funny (she enters from a beam of light, with gold glitter flying around her), but she can never begin to compete with Rylance. The actual conflict, the debate between entertainment for entertainment's sake (Valere) vs. educational works that do not degrade the cultural landscape (Elomire), seems too harried and dense for the joviality of Valere and the annoyance of Elomire. We are left hanging at the end.
But who cares? Rylance is absolutely phenomenal. His monologue is unlike anything I've ever heard or seen. Do yourself a favor. Buy the ticket, see the show, and relish those 45 minutes. You will be in awe.
-Lida
Here's what I also found out: the whole play is entirely in verse. As in, the damn thing rhymed. Bizarre? Yes. Incredible? Absolutely. I didn't notice it at first, but it somehow crept its way into the forefront, simultaneously shocking us and making us laugh. Who the hell wants to sit through an entire play of rhyming couplets? Whenever I think of rhymes, I think of kids' poems (I used to be an incredible writer of rhyming poetry, by the way), or "Roses are red" or something like that. Instead, it added this quirky mixed layer of communication and miscommunication (because apparently Valere can never quite fully quote Cicero). It took the common idea of verse as dense and Shakespearean, and turned it into a comical, contemporary mode of speaking.
Anyway, La Bête is about a playwright and actor named Elomire (played by Niles from Frasier), who just found out that The Princess (Joanna Lumley) is requiring him to begin working with a street performer named Valere. But Valere isn't just any old street peformer. He has hillbilly teeth, balding mini dredlocks, a Number Devil mustache, a Captain Jack Sparrow swagger, and the worst short-term memory ever seen. And he talks. He talks a lot.
In fact, after the opening ten minutes, Rylance talks for an uninterrupted 40-45 minutes. Straight. Do you understand how amazing that is? THIS MAN IS SPEAKING AND LITERALLY HOLDS OUR UNDIVIDED ATTENTION FOR ALMOST AN HOUR. If this were any other actor, the audience would be bored by minute 5. But Rylance, supported by an amazing script by David Hirson, manages to captivate us. He eats cantaloupe, while still talking. He poops (only slightly) offstage, while still talking. He pounds wine like a champ, while still talking. He sings a slightly Yiddish sounding diddy, while still talking. He insults vinaigrette, a hunchback, a skull. He calls words "verbobo" and chairs "Francesca." He talks and talks and twitches his face and talks and laughs in this charmingly buffoon-y way, and never loses us for a single second. I am so in love with this totally horrid character, it's unbelievable. Here is when Valere first comes onstage (aka when he begins his 45 minute speech): VIDEO!
The best and worst part of La Bête, however, IS Rylance's monologue. It's so phenomenal, that when it concludes (approx. 50-55 minutes into the 1:45 minute play), nothing else can compete with it. Sure, Niles was good at reacting to the ridiculousness of Valere, but that was all there was to him (plus, his character just wasn't well developed -- in the final conflict in the story we can never really believe his point of view, mainly because he never gets a chance to develop into a real character to be reckoned with). Similarly, Lumley's Princess could have been very, very funny (she enters from a beam of light, with gold glitter flying around her), but she can never begin to compete with Rylance. The actual conflict, the debate between entertainment for entertainment's sake (Valere) vs. educational works that do not degrade the cultural landscape (Elomire), seems too harried and dense for the joviality of Valere and the annoyance of Elomire. We are left hanging at the end.
But who cares? Rylance is absolutely phenomenal. His monologue is unlike anything I've ever heard or seen. Do yourself a favor. Buy the ticket, see the show, and relish those 45 minutes. You will be in awe.
-Lida
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Marathon Girl
Oh, did I ever tell y'all that I happened to be walking through Central Park during the NYC Marathon (shows you how tuned into athletics I am...)? Yup, I stumbled upon the 24 mile marker. After Googling how many miles are in a marathon (26! But don't laugh at me, I truly know nothing about sports except for UGA football), I realized that my location was super cool (so many people cheering!), and tried to get closer to take some paparazzi photos. Then a policeman noticed me creeping towards the fence, and chased me away. Oh, what an exciting life I lead.
-Lida
-Lida
Da po-po, realizing I was thiclose to hopping the fence... not.
Monday, December 6, 2010
NatPort Goes Psycho
Greetings. We are attempting to cowrite our very first post (not counting on the 3 sentences Chelsea "cowrote" on the first Swan Lake review). We will try to describe to y'all (Lida)/you all (Chelsea) what happened in the two hours of Darren Aronofsky's Black Swan.
This will be our second swan-related posting. We apparently like swans.
Also, spoiler alert. Do not read if you haven't seen the movie yet but are planning to.
I, Lida, did not sleep last night. I, Lida, had a night of strug.
I, Chelsea, slept soundly. I, Chelsea, haz manly courage.
There is dancing. There is a lot of molestation (Chelsea thinks it wasn't molestation... she says "It happens all the time in the dance world!!!!!"). There is vivid lesbian sex. There are knees snapping backwards, nail files stabbed repeatedly into Winona Ryder's face, scary looking, over-involved stage moms with unnatural painting fetishes, and a way-too-skinny Natalie Portman. There are creepy red demon swan eyes and creepy red demon swan scratches. There are lots of mirrors with minds of their own. There is an old dude jacking off on the subway.
So NatPort is a ballerina having a mental breakdown. We don't really feel like doing a comprehensive summary, so just Google that shit. Or watch the trailer, in case you've been living under a rock and haven't stalked it.
Here's how I, Lida, can summarize the experience: when the film was over and the credits started, the theater was dead silent. No one stood up to leave, and as I scanned the audience I realized everyone was just in awe (or scared shitless). Then people slowly got up and almost silently filed out of the theater.
I, Chelsea, who haz manly courage, can summarize the experience as such: my hand was cramping because Lida was holding it too hard (and sweating, which I, Lida, dispute).
It was fab. Fabulous in the most-terrifying-thing-Lida's-ever-seen kind of way whereas Chelsea thought it was totes more thrilling than actually scary.
Chelsea: I was super excited to see this movie. I really wanted it to be another Center Stage, a dancer's go-to movie, but it was something completely different, and I liked it a lot more. The trailer made it out to look like a Hollywood-ized movie, but it was much more real. The way the camera moved as she walked down the sidewalk or through Lincoln Center, the bouncing in sync, made the movie a lot more and thrilling and kept me literally at the edge of my seat, waiting for something to pop out from the shadows. Plus the theater we saw it in was just creepy. I thought it was incredible how NatPort crammed 15+ years of ballet training into about one year. Though some of her movement wasn't entirely convincing (maybe I'm being too critical as a ballet dancer who has seen some incredible dancing), her effort and acting was truly commendable. The fact that she trimmed her body to portray lean calf muscles, dropped shoulders, and exposed clavicle was kick-ass. Props NatPort. It was an amazingly thrilling movie that paired the psychological difficulties of the world of classical ballet with entertaining movie drama. The only part that really freaked me out was when she pulled the hangnail. Grody.
Lida: ... I still can't really say anything. I really want to dislike it, because I am so traumatized by the movie (granted, I also hate horror/thriller movies), but I was fascinated. Vincent Cassel as the rapey ballet director was incredible and added some (relative) human stability to the otherwise mentally out of control characters -- a fabulous constant. Conversely, Barbara Hershey as NatPort's jealous and washed up ex-ballerina mom was truly evil: she simultaneously parodied, praised, and destroyed NatPort, all while looking mad scary. And kudos to Darren Aronofsky for making even the most mundane things, such as washing one's hands or walking down the street or taking a ballet class (no more dancing for me), a huge psychological fiasco. Hands down scariest moment: Winona Ryder stabbing herself repeatedly in the face with a nail file while screaming "I'M NOT PERFECT! I'M NOT PERFECT!"
Overall: We recommend seeing it. Lida thinks it's a one-time viewing experience, but Chelsea would see it again. Bring a friend, get ready to cover your eyes at parts (or throughout the whole movie, like Lida), and be prepared for lots of blood and goose(swan?) bumps.
Tryna see some clips (although they aren't the best ones): http://www.movieweb.com/news/NE8kjL75vgbzag
-Lida and Chelsea
This will be our second swan-related posting. We apparently like swans.
Also, spoiler alert. Do not read if you haven't seen the movie yet but are planning to.
I, Lida, did not sleep last night. I, Lida, had a night of strug.
I, Chelsea, slept soundly. I, Chelsea, haz manly courage.
There is dancing. There is a lot of molestation (Chelsea thinks it wasn't molestation... she says "It happens all the time in the dance world!!!!!"). There is vivid lesbian sex. There are knees snapping backwards, nail files stabbed repeatedly into Winona Ryder's face, scary looking, over-involved stage moms with unnatural painting fetishes, and a way-too-skinny Natalie Portman. There are creepy red demon swan eyes and creepy red demon swan scratches. There are lots of mirrors with minds of their own. There is an old dude jacking off on the subway.
MIRRORS GONE CRAZY!!!
So NatPort is a ballerina having a mental breakdown. We don't really feel like doing a comprehensive summary, so just Google that shit. Or watch the trailer, in case you've been living under a rock and haven't stalked it.
Here's how I, Lida, can summarize the experience: when the film was over and the credits started, the theater was dead silent. No one stood up to leave, and as I scanned the audience I realized everyone was just in awe (or scared shitless). Then people slowly got up and almost silently filed out of the theater.
I, Chelsea, who haz manly courage, can summarize the experience as such: my hand was cramping because Lida was holding it too hard (and sweating, which I, Lida, dispute).
It was fab. Fabulous in the most-terrifying-thing-Lida's-ever-seen kind of way whereas Chelsea thought it was totes more thrilling than actually scary.
Chelsea: I was super excited to see this movie. I really wanted it to be another Center Stage, a dancer's go-to movie, but it was something completely different, and I liked it a lot more. The trailer made it out to look like a Hollywood-ized movie, but it was much more real. The way the camera moved as she walked down the sidewalk or through Lincoln Center, the bouncing in sync, made the movie a lot more and thrilling and kept me literally at the edge of my seat, waiting for something to pop out from the shadows. Plus the theater we saw it in was just creepy. I thought it was incredible how NatPort crammed 15+ years of ballet training into about one year. Though some of her movement wasn't entirely convincing (maybe I'm being too critical as a ballet dancer who has seen some incredible dancing), her effort and acting was truly commendable. The fact that she trimmed her body to portray lean calf muscles, dropped shoulders, and exposed clavicle was kick-ass. Props NatPort. It was an amazingly thrilling movie that paired the psychological difficulties of the world of classical ballet with entertaining movie drama. The only part that really freaked me out was when she pulled the hangnail. Grody.
Lida: ... I still can't really say anything. I really want to dislike it, because I am so traumatized by the movie (granted, I also hate horror/thriller movies), but I was fascinated. Vincent Cassel as the rapey ballet director was incredible and added some (relative) human stability to the otherwise mentally out of control characters -- a fabulous constant. Conversely, Barbara Hershey as NatPort's jealous and washed up ex-ballerina mom was truly evil: she simultaneously parodied, praised, and destroyed NatPort, all while looking mad scary. And kudos to Darren Aronofsky for making even the most mundane things, such as washing one's hands or walking down the street or taking a ballet class (no more dancing for me), a huge psychological fiasco. Hands down scariest moment: Winona Ryder stabbing herself repeatedly in the face with a nail file while screaming "I'M NOT PERFECT! I'M NOT PERFECT!"
Overall: We recommend seeing it. Lida thinks it's a one-time viewing experience, but Chelsea would see it again. Bring a friend, get ready to cover your eyes at parts (or throughout the whole movie, like Lida), and be prepared for lots of blood and goose(swan?) bumps.
Tryna see some clips (although they aren't the best ones): http://www.movieweb.com/news/NE8kjL75vgbzag
-Lida and Chelsea
Friday, December 3, 2010
Alcohol and Chinese Cooking
Meet Serhiy Zhadan, the "most popular poet of the post-independence generation in Ukraine." I attended his poetry reading last night (only his 3rd in the United States) at the Harriman Institute, and, granted I'm a little biased being Ukrainian myself, I'm so glad I did.
To be honest, before coming to the reading I had no idea who he was. Although I'm Ukrainian, I don't spend extensive time in the Motherland, so I'm not up on my Ukie "who's hot and who's not," and I'm even less up to date on popular contemporary Ukrainian poets (contemporary poets in general aren't #1 on my radar...). But word on the street (uh, in my Ukrainian class) was that he was going to be awesome, and so I went.
(For those who want a full, comprehensive image on who this guy is: Biography! And interview! And a summary of some works!)
He was mad smart. He was mad funny. He was smart in a funny way, and funny in a smart way. As the panelist asked him questions, his responses were not only informative answers, but were also humorous fun facts (when asked who his band, "Dogs in Space," would like to tour with, Gogol Bordello was the answer, and it was said with absolutely no hesitation).
Let's get a little serious, here: his poems are bleak. They embody the dismal voice of 21st century Ukraine, left traumatized by the culture-depleting influence of the Soviet Union. He speaks of alcoholism, drug trafficking, and pill-induced suicide. As he was reading his poetry T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock kept coming to mind -- both Eliot and Zhadan use countless, seemingly unrelated images in a single poem to convey a very specific message. And as random as the images are, they work, and we understand exactly what the author is trying to say. Incredible.
But he isn't afraid to shed a little light on his dreary repertoire: a novel of his may involve a gypsy stripper in a gay bar, he wrote a play about Elvis Presley for a pregnant actress, and during an untranslated poem section (untranslated because the rhymes would make zero sense in English), he literally rapped about "300 Chinese going to Budapest." I never thought Ukrainian slam-poetry-meets-rap would make me a fan of postmodern Ukrainian poetry, but hey, shit happens.
(Zhadan in the midst of some epic rapping.)
I could only find one (translated) poem of his online. It was the first one he read last night, and it's entitiled Chinese Cooking:
http://ukraine.poetryinternationalweb.org/piw_cms/cms/cms_module/index.php?obj_id=5644
http://ukraine.poetryinternationalweb.org/piw_cms/cms/cms_module/index.php?obj_id=5644
I also want to include one of my favorite poems of his, entitled Alcohol (translated by Virlana Tkacz and Wanda Phipps):
ALCOHOL
The green river water
slows in warm bends
fish zeppelins
scatter the plankton
and tired bird catchers
attempt to catch
every word.
Hold on to
the brightly colored rags and scotch tape
that bind the slashed wrists
of these heroic times.
One day you will turn off this radio,
you'll get used to her,
to her breathing
and, dressed in your T-shirt,
she'll bring you water in the middle of the night.
On the terrace the left-over cups of tea
are filling up with rain water
and cigarette butts,
you and I share a cold
you and I share long conversations --
you don't notice the morning rain
you go to sleep late
and you wake up late
I write poems about how I love
this woman, and I invent
newer and newer words
to avoid
telling her.
The thing I loved most about him is that he gives a damn. He gives a damn about what he's feeling, and what others are feeling, and what Ukraine is feeling. But he doesn't come outright and say "Look, I'm unhappy, and this isn't going as it should." His emotions, the emotions that are currently gathering an cult-like following and taking Ukraine by storm, come from his current cultural environment, from cigarette butts and gay bars and Chinese cooking. And that modernity and present-focused viewpoint is what is going to make a difference. It already is.
-Lida
P.S. Again, apologies for the sucky (and slightly creepy) camera phone photos.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Elmo
After my show tonight, (The Barnard Project at Dance Theater Workshop--review by Lida, hopefully, to come later (then I'll review her show, Late Night!)), my parents and I went to a restaurant around the corner from Dance Theater Workshop. DTW, or DT-dubs as I've started calling it, is in the always trendy, artsy neighborhood of Chelsea. My mom, with her long, red, suede coat, my dad in his suit and tie work attire, and I, with a face full of stage makeup, hair in a bun, long, puffy coat, and red Jansport backpack, walked into elmo, a bar/restaurant on the corner of 7th and 19th. First, notice the name of the restaurant "elmo". Not Elmo, or Elmo Restaurant, just lowercase elmo. It would only be trendier if it were something like "elmo.". We walked through velvet curtains that blocked the doorway and saw the scene.
There was a bar on the left side, tables in front, and booths all along the sides and back. A large Christmas tree with white lights and red bows stood in the middle. The swanky style was not the most interesting part, the thing that made me feel like a suburban teen out to a dinner with her parents the most were the people inside elmo. Everyone was beyond fabulous. Groups of men with perfectly coiffed hair, blazers, martinis in hand, all laughing and chatting, kissing each other on the cheek. I could tell it was the spot for Chelsea residents on any given night. The bar was packed with women in high heeled boots, dresses and chunky scarves and guys with spikey hair and wayfarer glasses. The hostess, while very nice and accommodating, stuck us in a booth in the very back of the restaurant. We totally cramped elmo's style. There was techno music blaring and dim lighting. The food, on the other hand was very good. Nothing incredibly exciting, but very good American cuisine. I had grilled chicken which was perfect for my protein-craving, post performance appetite, my mom had Kobe beef burgers which were delish, and my dad had tuna (I think?) which he said was perfectly fine. We could tell that not many people were there for the food itself. They were there to see and be seen by all of Chelsea's most fabulous people.
Best part of the elmo restaurant experience, for all you MTV viewers out there, we were sitting there eating and another waiter comes over and says very nicely "how is everything?" I look up, and it was, I'm like 99% sure, Ryan from all those Real World/Road Rules challenges...
I didn't say anything but texted a couple fellow Challenge watchers and they thought it was cool, yes I know I'm super lame for watching those, but they're actually incredibly entertaining.
In all, a great show followed by dinner with parents discussing the show and a mini D-list celeb sighting amongst some of NYC's most fabulous, flamboyant and funky. -Chelsea
http://www.elmorestaurant.com/
http://www.dancetheaterworkshop.org/barnard
(A little shameless self-promoting, hehe)
There was a bar on the left side, tables in front, and booths all along the sides and back. A large Christmas tree with white lights and red bows stood in the middle. The swanky style was not the most interesting part, the thing that made me feel like a suburban teen out to a dinner with her parents the most were the people inside elmo. Everyone was beyond fabulous. Groups of men with perfectly coiffed hair, blazers, martinis in hand, all laughing and chatting, kissing each other on the cheek. I could tell it was the spot for Chelsea residents on any given night. The bar was packed with women in high heeled boots, dresses and chunky scarves and guys with spikey hair and wayfarer glasses. The hostess, while very nice and accommodating, stuck us in a booth in the very back of the restaurant. We totally cramped elmo's style. There was techno music blaring and dim lighting. The food, on the other hand was very good. Nothing incredibly exciting, but very good American cuisine. I had grilled chicken which was perfect for my protein-craving, post performance appetite, my mom had Kobe beef burgers which were delish, and my dad had tuna (I think?) which he said was perfectly fine. We could tell that not many people were there for the food itself. They were there to see and be seen by all of Chelsea's most fabulous people.
Best part of the elmo restaurant experience, for all you MTV viewers out there, we were sitting there eating and another waiter comes over and says very nicely "how is everything?" I look up, and it was, I'm like 99% sure, Ryan from all those Real World/Road Rules challenges...
I didn't say anything but texted a couple fellow Challenge watchers and they thought it was cool, yes I know I'm super lame for watching those, but they're actually incredibly entertaining.
In all, a great show followed by dinner with parents discussing the show and a mini D-list celeb sighting amongst some of NYC's most fabulous, flamboyant and funky. -Chelsea
http://www.elmorestaurant.com/
http://www.dancetheaterworkshop.org/barnard
(A little shameless self-promoting, hehe)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)