So I just got back from a weekend of eating in New York and was going to do this whole grid-image-thing of where I ate but it was getting schmaltzy and frankly, quite ugly, so I’m just gonna talk a bit about stuff I put in my mouth and stuff I put in front of my eyes and we’ll take it from there. A best-of instead of a travel journal, if it pleases your majesties of the imagined and non-existent audience.
First off: my bro Wes Anderson, he of the jewel tones, retro soundtrack and Jason Schwartzman-Bill Murray-Owen Wilson-etc-etc cast, has made a fantastic little movie (hurr, hurr) by the name of Fantastic Mr Fox. I was a big fan of grizzly Roald Dahl stories as a kid, like The Twits with their grotty beards and the gothic horror of old ladies turning children into mice in The Witches.
Needless to say, this is not that. It’s an orangey gold tinted story about adaptation in the face of adversity. Here animals with svelte real-estate brokers are more human than humans, though it’s difficult to grasp what they make of this. In other words, I was a little confused by the exasperated “But we’re wild animals!” refrain because it didn’t really go anywhere – in contrast to the awkward familial relations that Anderson always thrusts into center stage, which are rich and interesting, as per usual.
Anyway, it’s pretty, and definitely nuanced enough to warrant a second viewing. Sometimes it felt like a side-scrolling video game of the Super Mario or Crash Bandicoot era (well, I guess the latter is forward-scrolling?). The best way to describe it is as a really visually engaging, witty and sort of deviant Sylvanian Families. I love Kylie the opossum and his stupid one-liners.
ORRIGHT. Speaking of auteurs:
I popped into the Tim Burton retrospective at MoMA thinking I would avoid the Black Friday crowds there. Big mistake. It was still close to impossible to get near anything. I mean, I’m not a huge fan, but I can be cultural and/or surprised. The first room, which was lit by ultraviolet light and full of phosphorescent images and this carousel powered by one of those heat sensing electrical wave ball things (oookay, I’m struggling for words here – if you’ve ever been to Questacon on one of those civics trips in year six you’ll know what I mean) and peopled with neon things. No photography allowed in the principle galleries. Tragic, I know. If you do go, try maybe midweek or once the hype has died down, and remember to book an entry time online so that you don’t have to join the snaky round-the-block line.
Finally, this amazing specimen from the Tsumori Chisato Little Prince inspired line (I think it was A/W ’09, but I could be wrong) was tried on at the LES’ Honey in the Rough, admired wistfully for several minutes, then gently taken off because I do not have a spare $500 to fork over. You can’t see it here, but the moon is covered in glitter and glitter is very difficult to resist. I miss it with all my heart.
I also managed to swing by Opening Ceremony, which was sadly devoid of the Comme des Garcons x Play Converses (which I knew it would be but couldn’t help trying anyway) but wonderful all the same; everyone there is gorgeous, dressed exceptionally and completely unpretentious. They were like Chloe Sevigny’s cute little grown up progeny and I could have hung around in the dressing room for hours making small talk with them.
You know, I’m actually going to save food for another entry all by itself. Partially out of laziness, and partially since I want to do it justice. Peace out, Seacrest.