Dumb at NYU

I thought I was relatively smart when I was in high school. I had to put a lot effort into studying and homework to get good grades, but I did get them. Frequently. However, coming to NYU has taught me that I’m not nearly as intelligent as I thought I was. On the intelligence scale at NYU I seem to factor in somewhere around the area of “mentally disabled”. I’m not necessarily doing badly in my classes, but in some of them I’m really struggling to keep up. I try to avoid participating in class discussions because I always feel that what I have to say is not nearly as intellectual or interesting as many of the other ideas that other students pose. 

Don’t get the idea that I hate it here though. I couldn’t imagine going to school anywhere else. The resources are amazing, and I love the people here. It’s just too much sometimes, and these last several weeks were horrendous. Fortunately, now I can safely say “bring on the long weekend!”

I’m seeing five movies in theaters this weekend. Yes, count ‘em, five. Two of these are ones which I will be reviewing for the Washington Square News. I am excited, to say the least. I’m seeing a schlocky Japanese horror homage tonight entitled Tokyo Gore Police (vagina monsters and penis rifles, oh my!) and then seeing a documentary entitled Stranded at Film Forum on Friday morning and then seeing the Ashes of Time remaster at the Angelika that night. On Tuesday morning I’m seeing a film called The Elephant King (with Ellen Burstyn!) in midtown and then coming downtown for an early screening of Synecdoche, New York WITH Charlie Kaufman that night. 

Busy weekend, to say the least. I may post my reviews when they come online (if they do, let’s hope so!). Keep reading, and I continue to apologize for not updating as frequently as I should.

Classes Are Seriously Fucking With Me…

First off, I apologize for taking over two weeks to post a new entry. While I had a large amount of time during Welcome Week to blog whenever I’d like, I simply do not have that opportunity as much anymore due to the start of classes. It’s not necessarily that I have a large amount of homework, it’s just that homework along with the other necessities have totally taken up most of my free time. 

I finally saw my first celebrity the other day whilst walking down University Place for dinner. Whilst crossing East 10th Street, I noticed that Peter Dinklage (the short fellow from such films as The Station Agent and Death at a Funeral) was walking next to me. It was quite exciting, though I’m probably the only one who cares about this. 

I spent most of last weekend being moderately sick with a cold, which was very upsetting. I had planned on seeing the new Alan Ball film that Friday, but that unfortunately did not quite work out like I wanted it to. I didn’t have any medication either and was too lazy to go out and buy any, but now with large amounts of decongestants and Extra Strength Tylenol I am on my way to a speedy recovery. People were very nice and came to visit me in my room (and watch SNL), so it wasn’t nearly as awful of a weekend as it could have been. 

The highlight of it all, however, was my encounter with this elderly woman on the sidewalk. Michael and I were walking up University Place (why does all the weird shit happen on this street?) when an elderly woman stopped me and asked me to tie her shoes. I stared at her awkwardly, assuming that if I bent down to tie her shoes she would probably shank me with the small knife that she inevitably was hiding out of my line of vision or try to sell me something, but that was not the case. She simply wanted her shoes tied. I attempted to do so to the best of my ability, but failed (It’s strangely difficult to tie someone else’s shoes) so I received a decent smack on the head from this elderly woman. Michael stepped in to rescue me from embarrassment, tied her shoes, and sent her on her way. 

Very strange stuff. 

This week should prove to be very exciting. I’m seeing the film adaptation of Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist on Friday (with the director!) despite the fact that it doesn’t come out until sometime in October. And it’s free. You simply cannot go wrong with that. I’m curious to see how they will adapt it to the big screen yet still get it a PG-13 rating. That book had at least a hundred or so f-bombs in it. 

At this point, I’m perfectly satisfied with my college experience. I’m taking classes in the middle of Manhattan, I have a ton of great friends and a nicely developing relationship, and I have the opportunity to see at least two movies a weekend in theaters. I can’t really ask for more at this point. 

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I’m going to continue my movie updates in my next entry (I simply do not have time right now to go into detail about anything that I’ve watched recently) when I will probably rant and rave about Towelhead. I have been spending most of my free time (when I’m not sick or doing homework) at the Angelika on Houston Street. It’s one of the famous New York City art-house theaters, and it’s probably my favorite of the ones I’ve been to so far (the Angelika and the Sunshine). I still have to venture to Film Forum, Cinema Village, Quad Cinema, the intimidating IFC Center, and the other Village-centric theaters along with my eventual trek up to Midtown to the Paris. So much to do, so little time. 

Oh, see Vicky Christina Barcelona. It’s Woody Allen’s best film in a long time, and the ensemble is nothing short of brilliant. 

That is all.

What Welcome Week Has Taught Me

Totally coping this idea from Michael’s blog, by the way. I figured that I would just put that out there. 

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- The Coney Island Cyclone is the roller coaster equivalent of being smacked repeatedly in the back with a sledgehammer. My spine has still not forgiven me. It also costs way too much money for one ride. 

- If I ever get “coked up and fucked bareback” (direct quote), I can go see the Sexual Health Peer Educator. 

- Goodie bags from the RA usually consist of usual things such as food and school supplies coupled with condoms and other fun stuff. 

- Chinatown is a great place to get weird Asian films such as City of SARS and Indiana Joai: ELEPHANT CEMETARY. 

- Louise Bourgeois has a thing for guillotines and giant penises. 

- Seeing Rocky Horror Picture Show live is one unforgettable experience. 

- I am the “Facebook King of NYU”. 

- Dorm food is not nearly as bad as everyone says it is, especially if you have a Chick-Fil-A on campus. 

- Houston Street is kind of sketchy in the late evening hours. 

- Bubble tea is strangely tasty, though moderately disgusting at the same time. 

- Williamsburg’s hipster population is insanely amusing, as is the chai tea to be had there and the record stores that are waiting to be explored. 

- Falafel is especially good when eaten on a park bench at one in the morning. 

- Wandering around Bobst at 11 PM isn’t odd. At all. 

And that’s all that I can think of. Welcome Week was such a blur, albeit a good one.

Moving Out Whilst Moving On

If you had known me during my pre-college years, you wouldn’t think that I’d be anxious about leaving New Jersey. I’ve been bitching and moaning about how horrendous the Garden State is ever since I was in fifth grade, and my mother loves to tell her friends about how I would always go on and on on tangents about how much I hated the local school district when I was probably too young to even be saying things like that in the first place. 

I spent most of my high school years in the same mindset as well, but now that the day is finally here, I can’t help but feel anxious and sad. While I can say that New Jersey is the “asshole of the United States” without any reservations, I value the security that comes with living there because I am so familiar with it as a whole. I’m not someone who likes large amounts of transition, so I think that this move might be a bit much to deal with. Despite it all,  these parts of life are those that, before they actually happen, you can’t say anything much besides: Well, we shall see. I don’t know what to expect, but at this point I can only hope it will be worthwhile.

Nothing worthwhile in terms of movies to update about. Hopefully that will change this week when I lure someone into seeing Vicky Christina Barcelona with me.

Art Porn and the Inevitable Countdown

The days of single digits are upon us NYU students heading off to college for the first time. Move-in is on Sunday. At this point I can simply just tell myself that “it’ll all be just fine”, and I have no doubt that it will be. I’m incredibly excited. At the time of my last entry, I was in a state of pre-packing hell which I am happy to report is finally over.

Well, that’s a lie, but it’s basically done.

I spent a large portion of last week doing shopping for the dorm essentials (trunk, bathroom cleaning supplies, et. all), and the last two days have been spent shopping primarily at H&M. You know that you’ve had a successful shopping spree with your mother when, upon getting ready to go, she doesn’t say “let’s go to the cash register” but instead sarcastically remarks “well, let’s go survey the damage”. I got some new jeans, some long-sleeved shirts, a striped hoodie, a fancier coat for those special occasions, and a sweater with matching button down. Let’s hope that the sweater wasn’t a bad idea.

At this point it’s all been sorted into piles, but it is still nevertheless sitting on the floor in my room. The next step will be packing it all up. I’ve yet to figure out how to jam it all into my trunk and my wheeled suitcase. We shall see. The bigger question here is how I’m going to inevitably get it into my father’s car. I don’t even want to think about it.

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I’ve been in kind of a movie slump lately. Out of my mini-trove of Netflix films, only one actually yielded an above average movie-going experience. That film was the Bertolucci film entitled The Dreamers. While I was definitely too young to see it when it came out, I faintly recall all the controversy that surrounded it when it was released because it was the first major studio film in awhile to be slapped with an NC-17 rating. Many labeled this film as “artsy porn” and claimed that the film didn’t have much value to it at all, but I couldn’t disagree more. The film revolves around an American film buff, Matthew, (Michael Pitt) who comes to France as a college student. He meets twins Theo and Isabelle (Louis Garrel and Eva Green), and eventually accepts their offer to move into their parent’s apartment whilst their parents are on vacation. It soon becomes apparent that Theo and Isabelle have an, “ahem”, unhealthy sibling relationship, and soon the twins persuade Matthew into a decadent game of film-based dares.

As I mentioned before, this film got simultaneously praised and slammed by the critics, the latter group claiming that the film was pretentious and simply pornographic. This simply, in this viewer’s opinion, not true.

The Dreamers is an undeniably sexual film. The three main characters are seen naked for large portions of the film’s running time, and there is a lot of sexual material that would probably offend most people. That being said, you have no business watching this if you’re easily shocked..at all. The sex scenes in this were all very tastefully filmed, and I would definitely not say that this film was pornographic at all. Racy, yes. Porn, no.

However, I could see how some people could view this as a pretentious “dirty art film”. To fully appreciate The Dreamers, one really has to have a background in non-mainstream film. Throughout the film the characters act out various scenes from classic films (most of them being from the French New Wave or other European offerings) as the original is also played out on screen. If you don’t know films like Breathless or Bande a part, this film is kind of like watching a sequel to a film that you’ve never seen before. If you cannot understand the character’s love of film which is portrayed in this manner, all you’re left with is the sex scenes.

This film isn’t simply a film about sex (though that is a large part of it). It’s a film about the love of cinema as well. As one reviewer on Facebook (of all places) put it, this film is about how we “fetishize film, and how it does the same right back to us”. I like that idea, though I’m honestly not exactly sure how I could elaborate on it. Oh well, another journal entry, another time.

The film’s cinematography is also great, as expected from Bertolucci. The Parisian scenery is amazing, and there are many little moments in the film which are especially beautiful to behold. This beautiful cinematography also tones down the explicit nature of the sex scenes as well, which makes this film shift more towards “art” than towards “porn”. The camera doesn’t always linger on anything graphic, but when it does it does seem undeniably voyeuristic, but not in a perverse way. What needs to be shown is shown.

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I also saw Pineapple Express last week. Stupid, stupid, STUPID comedy. That being said, it was hilarious and I loved every minute of it.

Expect another update after move-in, or maybe before I leave.

The Different Layers of NYC

I finally had my graduation party yesterday, and it went a lot better than I was expecting it to. Basically everyone that I invited was able to come, and I got to see my teachers and gossip with them over AP scores and other fun school related matters. The party really did make the whole “I’m leaving for school in two weeks” matter a lot more pressing. It was nice to see a lot of those kids one last time before we all head off wherever the heck we end up going. 

In other news, I still haven’t done my dorm shopping.

Fuck. 

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Several days ago, I watched this documentary that I got from Netflix called Dark Days. It got me thinking about how New York City, especially Manhattan, has so many incredibly different layers to it. 

 

I suppose the most prominent layer would the Carrie Bradshaw layer of Manhattan. Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte epitomize what the city is generally portrayed as in the movies and on TV; a magical place with high fashion, good looking people, stars, showbiz, and fancy uptown apartments. Unfortunately, none of us will likely ever see anything like this ever unless we have an ivy league education and a nice job on the stock market (or as Sex and the City tells us, a lawyer…or an art dealer…or a PR rep…or even a weekly news columnist!). I’d still love to know how Carrie has enough money to buy tons of $500+ shoes, go out to eat at least two times a week, take cabs everywhere, and live on the Upper East Side when all she does is write a weekly sex column. Oh well, it is a TV show after all. 

After that, we definitely must shift our glance to the hipsters. Oh hipsters, how you upset me. That being said, I am slowly turning into a hipster myself. Hypocritical? Hell yes. Maybe I should take up smoking? I find that this is the other POV that is used in movies to portray the city. Artsy, artsy, artsy. 

I never fully realized the horrifying amount of hipsters that are in the city until my friend dragged me out to Williamsburg in Brooklyn on the L train. I’d been to the Village before, so it’s not like I wasn’t aware of the insane amounts of them on the lower portion of Manhattan, but I simply assumed that they were just in the Village. Nothing more. 

The L train generally spells disaster anyways as it winds through all the parts of Brooklyn that you don’t ever want to go to (East New York and parts of Bushwick come to mind, my friend says the Myrtle-Wyckoff station is particularly nasty) before dumping you off in Canarsie (which supposedly isn’t the most lovely place in the world either, I’ve never been), but I went anyways in promise of ice cream. I can be lured easily. 

Williamsburg is actually quite nice in reality. There isn’t much there (as my friend says, there’s only one street that really has anything worthwhile on it), but it’s a nice neighborhood with some cool shops and things to do. We had to take the G train afterwards to go to another neighborhood in Brooklyn, and that’s another tale in itself. Blech. 

Of course we cannot toss off the large amount of families that make up most of the population of the cities boroughs, but the other main layer that we simply cannot ignore is….

 

…the homeless. This is what brings me back to Dark Days. The film in question chronicles a group of homeless people who somehow have came to live in an Amtrak tunnel under Penn Station. They lived in almost complete darkness and built houses out of various pieces of scrap metal and wood. Surprisingly, they had electricity and, in some cases, heat and running water. 

The film itself was shot by a previously inexperienced man who actually went down into the tunnel and lived with these people for two years and documented their stories and their day to day existence. The film was shot on grainy black and white 16mm, and the homeless people he filmed helped him build equipment for his camera out of various pieces of trash that they had scattered about in the tunnel. It’s an undeniably unique and amazing experience. 

The film does falter a bit, however, because it doesn’t have a particularly linear tale to tell. The bulk of the film is made up for small vignettes that tell the stories of the people who live in this tunnel squalor and, while they are interesting, I personally could not help but feel that the movie would have improved from a linear plot (of sorts) which would have made it a bit more engaging of a film to watch. Despite this fault (which is not nearly as big of a deal as I am making it out to be), the film’s characters are certainly atypical, and you can’t help but hope that their lives change for the better. The film is also such a visual curiosity that, even if the characters don’t grab you, the camera work and visual style probably will. The DVD also included a really nice extra that tells you where each of the characters is today (well, at least up to when the DVD was authored). It provided a nice amount of closure. 

This week’s Netflix group contains a bunch of probably (a.k.a. 99% chance of the answer being “yes”) totally inappropriate French films. I don’t remember putting them on the top of my queue, but I guess I’ll watch them anyways? Expect an update on the grisly details soon. 

Louis Garrel: Hottest Frenchman Alive (a.k.a. How Christophe Honore Rocked My World)

Alright, let’s get this out of the way first:

 

Take a moment to stare (if you will) before reading on.

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While I would love to go on and on about my newfound discovery up there, that’s honestly not the point of this blog in the first place. Then again, the question I should be asking myself at this point in time is: what IS the point of this blog?

Fortunately, I’ve come to a conclusion to this predicament. As I mentioned before, while I would love to babble on and on about my life/good looking men/school for paragraphs and paragraphs (see last entry), I actually want people to read what I write….and that’s obviously not the best way to go about doing it. Therefore, I’ve decided to divide each entry into semi-organized sections.

Since I watch such a disgusting amount of movies/read insane amounts of books/listen to all sorts of weird music, I should probably have an outlet to write about them in, and what better way to do it than ranting and raving about them to whoever decides to actually read this. Of course I’ll also put a smattering of whatever the hell is happing outside of my DVD pile/iPod/books, but I’ll attempt to balance out the two so they don’t overpower each other.

So, on that note, stick around to read about whatever media I may be subjecting myself to or my actual life in general. It’s not particularly exciting, but I’ll attempt to make it so to the best of my ability.

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I’ve spent a large amount of time this last week preparing for my graduation party, which is happening this Saturday. I’m not the biggest fan of large parties as I’m not exactly a social butterfly to any extent of the term, but I figure since it may be the last time I will see some people from my high school that it would be nice to have a pretty decent sized goodbye bash. I invited about thirty or so people, and hopefully most of them will show up. We also got food catered too, which is a big deal. Now I just have to figure out how to keep everyone entertained for several hours, which is proving to be a bigger hassle than first expected. If anyone has any suggestions, please leave them!

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At this point in the blog entry you must be thinking to yourself: Whatever happened to that lovely Frenchman at the top of the page? Won’t we be revisiting him? Where did he go? YOU CAN’T KEEP HIM FROM ME.

Et. all.

So, here we go.

I recently discovered Christophe Honore when I was paging through the IFC Center webpage and a poster for a film called Les Chansons d’Amour popped up. I was immediately curious because I’ll watch practically anything that’s French, so I quickly went onto YouTube and watched the trailer. I was taken instantly by the trailer’s promise of catchy songs and a tale of twenty-something Parisians (especially the lovely Louis Garrel) and their love lives. I eat this shit up constantly. I saw that it was being released into the IFC Center in the Village two weeks later and I waited around anxiously for it to be released down here in the cesspool that is New Jersey. Obviously, that day never came.

Suddenly, however, it appeared on Netflix without any prior warning. I, of course, immediately snatched it up and popped it into my DVD player almost as soon as it arrived in my mailbox. My expectations were met and exceeded. The film follows three young Parisians who are in an unconventional threesome relationship. Ismael (Louis Garrel) works with Alice (Clotilde Hesme) at a popular magazine. Both are in love with Julie (Ludivine Sagnier), who completes the threesome paring. Unfortunately, due to various events, the threesome is split up. Telling you anymore would be risking delving into spoilers.

This entire tale is infused with all sorts of strangely infectious pop tunes that counteract the film’s dismal tone. A large portion of the film takes place in the evening or in overcast daylight, but the film’s songs shed light into the film’s dimly lit Parisian streets and shadowy apartments. All of the main players have great singing voices, and the songs don’t feel odd or out of place at all. The film could definitely be pinned as a homage to the famous French musical Les Parapluies de Cherbourg due to its similar themes of young love and tragedy. One cannot deny, however, that this film is also a definite homage to the French New Wave as well. While it keeps the occasionally headache inducing jump cuts to a minimum and we don’t see any Jules et Jim style love story here, the film embodies an unconventional style in execution in terms of story and filming that is distinctly New Wave nevertheless. I could have easily seen Godard or any of the other New Wave directors doing something like this back in the day.

The film is not without it’s faults, which mainly come in characterization. The film’s odd trio’s relationship is established fully, but we are not provided much of a backstory or any extra details whatsoever. We feel bad for them, but if we know that if we knew more about them our feelings towards their problems would be amplified so much more. Les Chansons d’Amour rises above this fault, however, and delivers the goods. The film is just so damn infectious that you can’t help but embrace its faults and love it anyways.

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So much for having a solid real life bullshit: movie bullshit ratio.

On that note, I’m off to go shopping for clothes for next year. Expect a fashion update in the near future.

 

It’s August. How ‘Bout That.

As the title suggests, it’s August. How the summer has flown by. 

I was never particularly into this whole blogging thing mostly because, to tell you the truth, I didn’t really have much to write about. I don’t mean that in a particularly angst-ridden way; I live in suburban New Jersey, that’s just how it is. Come August 24th, however, I will be off to TSOA at NYU, which will hopefully establish a solid beginning to what will be a more exciting part of my life (and more equally exciting blog material…hopefully). 

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I still cannot grasp the fact that in just three weeks I’ll be out of New Jersey and into Manhattan. I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling this way about leaving for college as many other people in my position are facing the same situation across the county. Nevertheless, it’s incredibly scary. I, personally, have never been away from home by myself for more than a week, so the idea of living on my own (in the city no less) is kind of daunting. 

Despite the stress that comes with leaving home and moving to a new place, I can wrap myself around the comfort that comes from having survived the entire “pre-college hell” stage of my life. One thinks that the college search ends once you get your acceptance letter, but there’s still roommates to sort out, scholarships to apply for, and all sorts of lovely financial issues to sort out. Now that I have my roommate, financial stability (at least for the time being), and assurance that the drop in the bucket amount of scholarship money I got is in the bank and begging to be put towards textbooks, I can breathe a lot easier. 

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I spent most of this evening catching up with James Bond by watching Casino Royale. The film itself was a mixed bag, but I found it to be an interesting entry to the series nevertheless. The movie clocks in at a whopping 144 minutes, and it definitely feels as if it could have been trimmed a bit here and there and brought down to a runtime closer to two hours as opposed to two and a half. Many of the poker scenes were very intense, but were also very long and drawn out. I could say the same for some of the action sequences as well. Each was very engaging but incredibly lengthy, which made the story falter in one too many places. 

However, this film was far from being all bad. Unlike many other Bond fans, I actually like Daniel Craig’s portrayal of Bond. Craig is not the best looking man on the face of the earth, and this makes him seem a lot more human when compared to the likes of Pierce Brosnan or Sean Connery. With this comes a lot darker tone that definitely hovers over this movie in its entirety. What did amuse me, however, was that the film decided to opt out of the signature “slow-mo sexy Bond girl shot” in favor of having a “slow-mo Daniel Craig in skimpy shorts shot” instead. They must know what I’m looking for. Anywho, Casino Royale sheds the campy nature of the previous films in favor of this previously mentioned moody and dark tone, and I’m still not quite sure how I feel about that. I always associate the Bond series with silly one-liners, sexual innuendo, and ridiculous gadgetry and while this film has that, it just feels so incredibly different that I don’t quite know what to make of it all in the big picture. I suppose this film is the equivalent of Christopher Nolan’s Batman films to the Bond series, though I am definitely not as satisfied with the change here. 

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Well, since no one in their right mind really gives a flying fuck about 90% of what I had to say in those two paragraphs (except next-to-naked Daniel Craig, don’t deny it), I’ll wrap this up on a more unrelated/NYC centric note: 

Tom’s Five Favorite Places/Shops in NYC 

1. Brooklyn Heights Promenade – The view of Lower Manhattan here is unprecedented, and the faint noise of cars speeding down the highway under you is strangely soothing. A very romantic place to bring a date, and a nice place for a walk as well!

2. Kim’s Video – The only video store I’ve been to in which the videos were sorted by director as opposed to genre. Kind of overpriced and pretentious (and those security people are kind of scary), but the selection is mind-blowing. For those of us who are more budget conscious, their used section is also very expansive and affordable.

3. Magnolia Bakery – The cupcakes here are fantastic, I could eat at least five of them. Enough said.

4. Brooklyn Bridge – Cliche, I know, but it’s such a nice walk (especially when coupled with the promenade, which is in walking distance from the entrance on the Brooklyn side). Great photo opportunities.

5.  West Village – There’s so much to explore here, and the culture (especially of the gay variety) is so prevalent and fascinating. One of the best neighborhoods to simply wander around in.