Rendez-vous à Bray (1971) Directed by André Delvaux In 1958, an impoverished Danish teenager named Hanne Karin Bayer hitchhiked to Paris. She broke into movies as an actress two years later under the name of Anna Karina, thanks to Jean-Luc Godard, her first husband, who beginning with Le Petit Soldat directed her in eight films. Among the best films in which she appeared after her relationship with Godard dissolved is this delicate treasure made by Belgian master Delvaux, which is set during World War I. Karina plays an unnamed woman who tends a countryside manor at which a young man from Luxembourg (played by Mathieu Carrière) arrives with the hope of encountering his fighter pilot friend; she goes on to hover silently around her visitor, candelabra in hand, while he awaits the master of the house before his own departure for the front. Karina held an onscreen gift for embracing people with no more than a quick, purposeful gaze. We sense that her woman belongs to this place in some indelible way, and that her guest, somehow, might never leave. Aaron Cutler (September 10, 7:30pm; September 14, 5pm at the Spectacle's “How Anna Got Her Groove Back: Karina After Godard”)
This past Saturday posed a deep quandary for parties interested in electronic music's past and future shape.
In the blue-corner, the last MoMaPS1 party of the season had a stacked, intriguing lineup. It boasted the toast of the UK's demented pop scene, Sophie, in a rare, fully lit live performance. It had the dark and sickly sounds of Yeezus collaborator, Evian Christ. And in a late-announced mic drop, it also had international superstar DJ and weird-haired lord of EDM, Skrillex.
But then, in the red corner, was the chance to get an advance listen to Syro, the first Aphex Twin album in 13 years.
So…a mission to take in as much of this as humanly possible in one day was embarked. The notes of a semi-coherent man are as follows.
"Is this heaven?" you ask wide-eyed at the gates of 50 Kent on a crisp fall afternoon. "No, it's the Brooklyn Flea," James Earl Jones responds from above. It's an understandable mix-up, what with the Flea corralling 150 of the city's most sought-after vintage, handmade and food vendors — my god, the food vendors! — into 50 Kent every Sunday throughout summer and early fall, turning a concrete lot along the Williamsburg waterfront into Brooklyn's Promised Land. The Flea built it, and people keep coming.
Introducing Jura Brooklyn, the world’s first single malt scotch whisky made by and for the people of Kings County.
Jura is a tiny island off the coast of Scotland. Brooklyn is an important region of a rather long island off the coast of New York. Jura is gifted with a temperate tropical climate thanks to the Gulf Stream, and graced with one street and a single pub. Brooklyn has a significantly more unpredictable climate, many more streets, and countless pubs (and bars, and clubs).
At first glance, it may seem like these two places couldn’t possibly have any less in common; however, sometimes the most striking similarities appear within these vast differences. One very important trait that they do share? A rebellious spirit and a taste for doing things a bit differently.
Diurachs (that would be the inhabitants of Jura—all 187 of them) have long been fascinated by Brooklyn and its love of rule breaking. In 2013 Jura master distiller Mr. Willie Tait traveled across the Atlantic to learn more about the place and craft a world-class single malt scotch whisky dedicated to it.
Simply making something inspired by Brooklyn wouldn’t do, though. So Tait brought along six whisky cask samples and enlisted some of Kings County’s most influential and visionary denizens to offer up their palettes and opinions. With their assistance, Tait was able to create a unique expression aged in American White Oak Bourbon, Amoroso Sherry, and Pinot Noir casks with notes of smoke (a nod to the borough’s dive bars), roasted coffee beans, lush berries, and honey.
In June, New York’s finest ladies and gents gathered to toast the official debut of the whisky. The launch was held in an old warehouse in Williamsburg, which was transformed for the evening to resemble the elegant yet rustic Jura Lodge (complete with plenty of faux taxidermy and cushy chairs). From guided tasting sessions hosted by Tait to the giant graffiti-ed stag, it was an evening to remember.
Jura Brooklyn is currently available in limited quantities at finer whisky purveyors both in the city and nationwide. You can also order a dram at a few very discerning local bars. Follow @JuraWhiskyUS to keep up with all the latest announcements.
The creation of Jura Brooklyn would not have been possible without the guidance of their esteemed collaborators: Buttermilk Channel, Bedford Cheese Shop, Brooklyn Brewery, Fine & Raw, Brooklyn Winery, Vimbly, The Richardson, Post Office, OTB, Noorman’s Kil, New York City Food Truck Association, and our sister publication, Brooklyn Magazine.
The Mother (2003) Directed by Roger Michell The most interesting film Michell and screenwriter Hanif Kureishi (Venus, Le Week-End) have made together, The Mother begins with the death of sixty-something May's (Anne Reid) husband. She responds by moving herself into her son's London home—and, more controversially, embarking on a sexual relationship with the family's philandering, decades-younger carpenter (Daniel Craig), who also happens to be sleeping with May's daughter (Cathryn Bradshaw). Where Venus was content to traverse similar terrain by coasting on the late-career charm of Peter O'Toole, The Mother finds Michell and Kureishi displaying the guts to focus on a far less charismatic figure: May is not only comparatively introverted (think Brigitte Mira in Fassbinder's Ali: Fear Eats the Soul), but, in many respects, blatantly unlikeable. And Michell stages much of the drama in unsparing, extended-take long shots, which works to suck the sensationalism out of Kureishi's material. Danny King (September 6, 5pm at the Film Society of Lincoln Center's “John Waters Presents: 'Movies I’m Jealous I Didn’t Make'”)
Remember when we told you that Fool's Gold promised "some special surprises" for their annual Labor Day bash in Brooklyn? That wasn't a lie. Just when you thought your holiday weekend couldn't get any better — surprise! — Fool's Gold OG and super producer-DJ-turntablist A-Trak has been added to the Williamsburg edition of Fool's Gold Day Off at 50 Kent on Monday.
This is a party, mind you, that already includes Danny Brown, French Montana, AraabMuzik, The LOX, Benmar, Hoodboi B2B Falcons, Yung Gleesh, World’s Fair, Nick Catchdubs (feat. B.I.C.), Shash’U, Black Dave, GrandeMarshall and more... so, yeah, it's going to be a really good day off.
There’s been a distinct disappointment in 2014’s crop of would-be-BBQ jams. Folks have been tying themselvesinto knotsfor weeks attempting to refuse the inevitability of Iggy Azaelea, not to mention that odious Canadian reggae guy. This, of course, is super silly. It’s not like the failure to appoint a consensus song of the summer is a slight on par with the Nobel dudes issuing a press release that just said “Nah, bro” before fucking off some fjord for the year. But, to be super serious for a second, this whole indecisive muddle is ignoring the degree to which Sophie has been remorselessly killing it. Were the summer song landscape a game of Grand Theft Auto, he would be swarmed with little pixel cops by now. Going into this, the last weekend of summer '14, it's time to acknowledge that Sophie won it.
Morel’s Invention (1974) Directed by Emidio Greco Adolfo Bioy Casares’s source novel is a fascinating bit of film theory masquerading as sci-fi, influential from Last Year at Marienbad to Lost. Like the latter, book and film start with a man marooned on a mysterious island crowded with Others, only they don’t give a shit he’s there—they’re (spoiler!) recorded images, projected in tactile 3-D. He’s moving through a movie he’s not actually in, falling in love with a woman (Anna Karina) not really there, running away from holograms like Lumière audiences fleeing an arriving train. Largely dialogueless, L’Invenzione’s told from a spying POV: watching someone watch a movie with characters acting like they’re being watched. It’s about cinema’s potential to immortalize both love and people, but also the Tragedy of the Audience: namely, its incurable perishability. Henry Stewart (August 27, 7pm at the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s “Strange Lands: International Sci-Fi")
Attention, young and savvy Brooklyn-ites: The L's parent company, Northside Media Group, is seeking Event & Sales interns for Fall!
Interested in helping to organize some of our famed events, including Taste Talks, Northside Festival, and SummerScreen? Event & Sales interns will be involved in the planning and execution of these and more, as well as helping with large-scale advertising and sales efforts. If this sounds like it’s up your alley, read on for more details.
Responsibilities: Assisting with the development, management and maintenance of sales initiatives, aiding in the creation of blog and social media copy, light administrative work. Interns will also work with the events team to plan and execute numerous events. Interns are expected to help out at Northside events when available.
Qualifications: Excellent writing skills, Wordpress, web-savvy, basic HTML preferred. Must be able to commit to two days (16 hours) in office per week, and be willing to help out at company events outside of these hours.
To apply: Please send a cover letter and resume to firstname.lastname@example.org.
We can't wait to hear from you!
By Mark Asch
on Fri, Aug 22, 2014 at 11:20 AM
The title of the series "Strange Lands: International Sci-Fi," beginning tonight at The Film Society of Lincoln Center, has a rather obvious double meaning: visions of the world beyond the stars, from the world beyond our borders. (The series was programmed by Nicolas Rapold, who is, of course, the L's senior film critic.)
This is especially the case given that all but three titles in the eleven-film series come from Eastern Bloc countries, and all come from the Cold War era—they are, then, the products of the ultimate alternate universe. Looking for clips for this playlist, I was somewhat surprised, though I shouldn't have been, by how many fan-made trailers I was able to find for Kin-dza-dza!, a late Soviet comedy about two classic bickering, bumbling types stranded in a ramshackle world far, far away:
While the prolonged zombie state of some bands' reunions can start to bum a guy out, no one with a heart and two ears could be unhappy to see The Clean again. This week, the legendary band, instigators of Dunedin, New Zealand’s wildly influential DIY rock scene of the 1980s, play two Brooklyn shows; one tonight at Rough Trade, one at Glasslands tomorrow. The key to The Clean’s lasting appeal is the low-key nature of the endeavor. Their music is shaggy, tuneful, and endlessly charming. It lacks any delusions of grandeur that might broadcast it as Important, with a capital I. They seem to make an album when they feel the need, and tour occasionally to smaller room crowds made up of those just discovering their records, or old fans continually rediscovering just how solid their songs are. “It’s kind of a funny gradual process,” said longtime bassist Robert Scott. “We’ve been doing this stuff for ages, and you have to remember some people are actually very new. It’s a weird concept when you’ve been doing it for over half your life.”
That Man from Rio (1964) Directed by Philippe de Broca In the year of Getz/Gilberto came also this equally besotted slice of Brasiliana, a tongue-in-cheek thriller, tailored to the rubbery physique of Jean-Paul Belmondo. He plays a soldier who, in the course of his seven days’ leave, is roped into a proto-Indy treasure hunt spanning from the mountains, beaches and backlot favelas of Rio, to the Amazon basin, with a stop in under-construction Brasilia, an alien landscape of International Style skyscrapers rising from red desert, plus open-air, high-altitude capers predicting the emerging-world-power vertigo of Ghost Protocol. Belmondo, equal parts welterweight and Slinky, does many of his own stunts—though perhaps not the hilariously improvised stunt piloting—and bounces splendidly off Françoise Dorléac’s buoyantly irritating love interest. Mark Asch (Opening August 22 at Film Forum; showtimes daily)
Friday was a night to remember at Lincoln Center's Mostly Mozart Festival at Avery Fisher Hall. Conductor Louis Langrée, as animated and effervescent as ever, lead the Mostly Mozart Festival Orchestra through a program of Gluck’s “Dance of the Furies”, Mozart’s Concerto for Flute and Harp and Berlioz’s “Symphony Fantastique”.
Following a fantastic orchestra performance, The L Magazine provided concertgoers and musicians alike with a very special after-party that included a craft beer tasting featuring some of NYC’s best breweries. Finback Brewery, Kelso Beer, Barrier Brewing Co. and Sixpoint Brewery showed off their hops chops, and the William Hill Estate Winery provided a complementary alternative to the impressive beer selection.
It was an evening of great music, delicious drinks, and lively conversation, and we’re happy to have been a part of it. Check out pictures from the event below!
We’ve known for a long time that the Swedes have a great approach to healthy living—just look at how much they enjoy the great outdoors, or their super bike-friendly cities. And another crucial part of that wholesome, natural lifestyle? Eating Wasa crackers! In the video below, Wasa imagines what the lives of American women would be like if we behaved a little more like our Swedish friends.
Wouldn’t it be nice to drop by a yoga session after a long day of running around town and be greeted by the scene above? Of course, some aspects of this video are purposefully exaggerated; a yoga class full of hot dads and a baby doing one-legged poses? It’s impressive, but highly unlikely (although Swedish fathers do tend to be heavily involved in the lives of their children). Part of the video does stay very true to life, though: the satisfying, nutritious crunch of a Wasa cracker.
Whether you eat ‘em with fruit, spreads, cheeses, or just on their own, biting into a Wasa cracker will undoubtedly fuel your appetite for life. Baked with tons of fiber and nutrients and with a low calorie content, snacking on these crackers is just one of the many ways we can make the most out of life, like the Swedes do. Now, if only we could join them for another Swedish custom: built-in coffee breaks twice a day in the workplace!
This post has been sponsored by Wasa.
Our favorite borough gets a whole lot funnier next week, when Brooklyn Comedy Festival 2014 returns for its second year of laughs August 18-24. This year boasts more performers, bigger venues, more after parties, added shows, and new neighborhoods. And since the festival covers all different realms of comedy (sketch, standup, improv, and more), there’s bound to be something for everyone!
The schedule includes performances by Michael Che, Lucas Bros, Jermaine Fowler, Mark Normand, Sean Patton, Sasheer Zamata, Mike Lawrence, John Fugelsang, Nikki Glaser, Dan Soder, Adam Newman, Myq Kaplan, Kevin Barnett, Murderfist, and BOAT—and as usual, there will be surprises. Venues include Brooklyn Brewery, The Knitting Factory, Baby's All Right, Glasslands, and The Rock Shop.
But the performances aren’t all! If you’re more intrigued by what goes on behind the scenes, don’t miss the late-night writers panel on the festival’s closing day, which will feature writers from The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, Saturday Night Live, Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, and more TBA. Other panels include “Comedy’s Place in American Culture Today,” featuring NY Times columnist Jason Zinoman as moderator and indie record label Kill Rock Stars' Portia Sabin.
And if you’re craving even more comedy? Check out special editions of some already established Brooklyn shows, including Game Night at Spike Hill, Broken Comedy at Matchless, Friends of Single People at Littlefield, BackFat at 61 Local, and Cheap Date at Union Hall.
Select tickets are on sale now. Check out bkcomedyfestival.com for performer and venue information, Brooklyn Brewery drink specials, and ticket links!
“I entered the Cantonese movie business as an actor in the 1950s and became a director the following decade,” the filmmaker Patrick Lung Kong writes by e-mail. “At the time, the industry was mostly making Cantonese opera and cheap Kung Fu pictures, mass production without quality control, to the point of facing extinction. The first film I directed was a low-budget love story in Cantonese called The Broadcast Prince (1966), and everyone liked it, it was a success! My teacher asked if this meant that our Cantonese pictures wouldn’t be eliminated now. I said that they would never be—only the bad pictures would be eliminated!”
The seventy-nine year-old filmmaker is reminiscing on the occasion of “Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow: The Cinema of Patrick Lung Kong,” a nine-film series that will unfold August 15-24 at the Museum of the Moving Image. (All films will screen in their best current possible presentations—either 35mm archival prints or Digibeta copies, depending upon what exists of the original elements.) The Hong Kong artist will appear in person at several screenings, including an opening night ceremony with him and the younger filmmaker Tsui Hark. The lineup of Lung Kong’s first North American retrospective features one film he produced (Patrick Tam’s 1981 Gothic thriller Love Massacre) plus seven of the thirteen diverse films that he directed between 1966 and 1979.
Roar (1981) Directed by Noel Marshall Worth seeing for the details of its production history alone, Tippi Hedren and her then-husband Marshall's $17 million lions-and-tigers-centric vanity-project-cum-home-movie took eleven years to shoot. Their animal reserve/massive backyard stands in for Africa, something incomprehensible about lions and tigers and poachers and a pretty white family happens, Verhoeven cinematographer Jan van de Bont inexplicably shoots the thing, but the real surprise is that Roar earns the "co-directed by the animals" credit slapped on the end of it. The lions end up dictating the film's form and narrative in shockingly deep-tissue way, making it both an ontological leap for forward for film and a total joy when viewed drunk. Jeffrey Dunn Rovinelli (August 13, 29, 7:30pm at the Spectacle)
Tahliah Barnett, the artist currently known for being Formerly Known As Twigs, played her second ever New York City show last night to an unusually large, sold-out Webster Hall crowd, who absolutely fucking adored her. There's been a steady uptick in the London-based singer's profile since the release of her first EP in December of 2012. Next week her first full-length, the flatly titled LP1, will be released and likely greeted with the sort of ecstatic reviews any new artist would kill for. The record carries hints of arty R&B figures of the late 90s like Aaliyah or Tricky collaborator Martina Topley-Bird, though her songs carry way more emptiness than theirs ever would. Though subtle earworms are embedded throughout, the record is often content to dwell in a slow textural crawl that won't necessarily crest into a conventional moment of full tension-release. It's a hot and bothered sex album, that never really gets to the sex part, leaving the listener feeling gloriously frustrated.
If a backlash is brewing, and one usually is, it will likely congeal around the idea that FKA Twigs songs are filled with immaculately production that she doesn't fully inhabit, too content with ethereal floating to provide a killer hook. Onstage though, commanding every eyeball in the crowd like Cleopatra's favorite court dancer, it's kind of impossible to criticize Twigs for absence. She was the show. All of it. Her charisma is magnetic, and skepticism in the face of it is tough to hold on to. Though her songs are nowhere near the precise perfection of a young Prince, and may never get to that level, it wasn't just the occasional swell of purple lights that brought him to mind. (Side note: How did Prince not settle on the pretty cool-sounding “FKA Prince” as a monicker during his unpronounceable symbol period? Rare miss, Prince.)