Shut up and deal. See you in 2012.
Wow your friends with your new-found champagne expertise ("champertise") as you knock back the flutes this weekend, thanks to this short educational video about bubbly.
Earlier this month the Chinese art star Cai Guo-Qiang—who you may know from his 2008 retrospective at the Guggenheim, or that time he blew up the facade of the Philadelphia Museum of Art—continued his long series of fireworks art projects at the Mathaf Arab Museum of Modern Art in Doha. The gunpowder fanatic's new exhibition there, Saraab, opened with his most ambitious "explosion event" to date...
In this 1985 kiddy adventure flick, director Joe Dante (Gremlins, Matinee) celebrates a child's vivid imagination by making a boy's dream of a computer motherboard that eventually guides a home-made rocket ship into outer space—the whole thing is highly eccentric and uniquely disjointed, lumpy but frequently arresting. We are, after all, talking about a movie where a menacing-looking stop motion robot molests a young Ethan Hawke for a few uncomfortable seconds, just to steal a picture of the teenage girl next door he keeps in his back pocket.
Hey, Henry, imagine if Meryl Streep's Margaret Thatcher hooked up with Leonardo DiCaprio's J. Edgar Hoover: they'd have some insanely paranoid, insatiably power-hungry, infuriatingly clean and proper, quasi-incestuously adoring kids, don't you think? Just as Clint Eastwood posited Edgar's closeness to his mother as one of the catalysts for his closeted, Commie-outing career, Phyllida Lloyd and screenwriter Abi Morgan suggest that Maggie's union-busting, Argentina-fighting, immigrant-distrusting dynasty was sparked in large part by her reverence for her grocery store owner father. Whereas Eastwood's Hoover sought to conceal his more feminine or effete traits, Lloyd's Thatcher constantly has to balance the masculine bravado demanded by her political career with her increasingly marginal domestic duties. Streep manages this tightrope walk just as well as you'd expect her to, punctuating Maggie's cool severity with tactical motherly deployments—as when she asserts her familiarity with the plight of her increasingly displeased people by naming the prices of various dairy products, or tells her cabinet-members to suck in their guts for a group photo. Henry, what did you make of The Iron Lady's portrayal of Thatcher as Founding Mother of modern England?
Interviewed in 1965, Otto Preminger said his forthcoming Bunny Lake Is Missing would be “the first suspense story I’ve made in a long, long time, about 20 years.” That would make his last thriller 1945’s well-received Fallen Angel, thereby discreetly omitting two less popular films: the fascinating if half-cocked 1949 Whirlpool (Vertigo in embryo, with Jose Ferrer in full sinister-eccentric mode) and 1950’s Where The Sidewalk Ends, Preminger’s third teaming (of five) with Dana Andrews, the stoic star of Laura. Where his laconic intensity once marked him as the hero in a world of gibbering fools, in Sidewalk Andrews's hostile silences are a sign of dangerous compression. Both films are more ragged than Laura and consequentially undervalued; they deserve reappraisal, since they (along with 1952’s Angel Face and Bunny Lake) represent the entirety of Preminger’s reworkings of the film genre that, in 1944, made his career.
In the wake of November's Occupy Wall Street eviction from nearby Zuccotti Park, the famed "Charging Bull" sculpture by Arturo Di Modica at Bowling Green Park has been surrounded by NYPD barricades, and local community members are calling for its freedom. The formerly illegal sculpture's ongoing incarceration, many fear, is driving tourists away from the area and consequently depriving local businesses of many holiday sales.
Yesterday the Brooklyn Navy Yard Center, Building 92, posted four new photos to its Facebook page that will somehow be incorporated into a new series of works by the Navy Yard-based artist Thomas Witte. Among the archival photos is what may be the earliest documented sighting of the Breuckelen hipstosapian, or Brooklyn hipster.
By now, we tend to know what follows after our heroine, a wide-eyed ingénue with quick wit and fiery temper, chances to meet a mysterious stranger on the train… Of course, since Yoshifumi Kondō’s Whisper of the Heart is a Studio Ghibli production, written by Hayao Miyazaki, the stranger is an fat, imperious cat—and the heroine, Shizuku Tsukishima, hasn’t hit high school. What comes of their first encounter both is and isn’t expected: there’s the bookish young girl’s coming of age story with its requisite magical interludes, but also a complex and solidly real world drawn around it—a family works and bickers in a cluttered apartment, crushes are announced and world-endingly denied, childhood ambitions begin to coalesce into something recognizably adult and palpably difficult. John Denver’s “Country Roads” is performed several times by Japanese schoolgirls. And all of this, “Country Roads” included, is painted and gorgeous—Tokyo exurbs twinkling at night, cypresses, stacks and stacks of books, and a boy stooped over a worktable, carving violins.
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close: Maybe this will be the turning point that will have me re-evaluating the 100% Oscar-nominated cinema of Stephen Daldry, but at the moment, Daldry is the number one reservation I have about this movie (Jonathan Safran Foer's possible douchebaggery running second, with Sandra Bullock a distant third). It's about a kid trying to solve the mystery of a key left behind by his father (Tom Hanks) who died in the World Trade Center on 9/11, and there must be something to this material that got Hanks, Bullock, Jeffrey Wright, Viola Davis, John Goodman, and Max von Sydow involved; they can't all have been expecting Oscars, right? I do like that they kept the original title, because come on, there's a pretty good chance someone lobbied to rename this Loud and Close or possibly just LC.
The goal was to penalize violators of the most basic laws, like running red lights or going down one-way streets in the wrong direction. Neither a temporary push nor a ticket quota-backed effort, the NYPD planned to simply start enforcing laws that had gone unobserved for the decades during which the city left cyclists to fend for themselves.
Renowned painter Helen Frankenthaler, who rose to prominence in the New York art world in the early 50s and remained an influential artist in the Abstract Expressionist and color field movements, died on Tuesday at her home in Darien, Connecticut at age 83. Her studio assistant said that the native New Yorker succumbed after a long battle with an unspecified illness.
In 2007, Mayor Bloomberg announced that all New York City taxis would be hybrids by 2012, and since, Ford has closed production of the Crown Victoria and Lincoln Town Car, the traditional taxis we know well. Four kinds of hybrid taxis have already been introduced to the streets, now making up 35 percent of the fleet, but the Nissan Leaf will be the first all-electric taxi of its kind.
I was interested to read that Toni Morrison and Toni Cade Bambara were two of your favorite authors, since they’re favorites of mine too. What do you like about them in particular?
They write about coming of age in a different way, and identity and self and what is home. Their characters always had internal conflict. For me growing up, those were the stories that made me feel like I was not by myself.
Good King Wenceslas, it is said, was a Bohemian (not bohemian) nobleman who went out on the Feast of Stephen—St. Stephen's Day, December 26—to distribute gifts to the poor. (Often, on St. Stephen's Day and after, "Christmas boxes" are distributed to the poor or to tradesmen; this is likely the etymology behind Boxing Day, the bank holiday observed on the first weekday following Christmas in the UK and other Commonwealth countries.) But you don't have to take my word for it, not when strapping young muttonchopped Tom Jones and a Welsh men's choir are here to fill you in:
Let it be this one. A raucous, riling cover of Beat Happening's "Christmas" by local garage rockers Shark? Hope you guys had a good one.
Why doesn't this list include a single fucking goth song? I love me some trip…
Everyone blames this generation :( .My six year old only gets presents on special occasions…
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