Rudolf Bing, general manager of the Met from 1950 to 1972, once observed that his opera house was “similar to a museum. My function is to present old masterpieces in modern frames.”
Mr. Bing’s curatorial approach was, if not exactly avant-garde in the 1950s, a step forward from the haphazard way opera had been produced before him, at the Met and elsewhere. His style of “framing” featured real theater directors and designers, serious musical preparation and stable casting across a season’s run of a given opera.
Brothers Josh and Benny Safdie try to watch every Knicks game together.
“We have weird superstitions, like we never watch games with the producer of Lenny Cooke,” Josh said of Adam Shopkorn last Sunday evening at the Stout, a bar around the corner from Madison Square Garden. “He likes when the Knicks lose because he hates James Dolan so much.”
Talk about bad timing. In the wake of the disturbing news about the death of actor Paul Walker in a flaming Porsche (shades of James Dean!), along comes the posthumous release of his best, most mature film yet. Set against the turbulence and tragedy of Hurricane Katrina, Hours is about a courageous father (Mr. Walker, as Nolan) trapped in a New Orleans hospital after everyone has been evacuated, doing whatever he can to keep his baby alive.
I am having trouble cogitating anything remotely linear or coherent about Marcellus Hall, even though I’ve spent so much time over so many years obsessed with his music and his artwork. I’m reminded of the first line of his 2012 album, The First Line, which is, “If I could just get the Read More
Art Basel Miami Beach 2013
Early this afternoon an artist and I sat in the lobby of the Deauville Beach Resort in Miami Beach and marveled as one dealer after another hustled past, carrying paintings in and out of the neighboring banquet rooms, where the New Art Dealers Alliance had been in full swing since 10 a.m. All of the sudden, a Chelsea dealer popped up over over my shoulder.
More bitter, bleak lives of American mill workers without a compass and no place to go if they had one are showcased in the pessimistic drama Out of the Furnace. It’s getting to be a dismal film director’s obsession bordering on cliché. The hopeless losers this time are working-class brothers from the steel mills, caught between crime, drugs and bare-fisted boxing. But it’s the opening scene that sets the tone. A brain-damaged, coke-sniffing redneck named Harlan DeGroat, played by a miscast Woody Harrelson, vomits through his car window at a drive-in movie, slugs down a bottle of rotgut whiskey, sadistically shoves a hot dog down his girlfriend’s throat, beats the man in the next car senseless and drives away, leaving everyone on the ground for dead. It goes downhill from there.
It never ceases to amaze me how many people manage to waste money producing movies so bland, empty and pretentious that nobody will ever see them. Don’t they read the scripts before they sign the checks? We’ve had several this year. Now here’s another. Night Train to Lisbon sounds enticing—like one of those dark flicks about Cold War spies in East Berlin with Richard Burton or William Holden. Check your enthusiasm at the door. It’s an independent co-production from Germany, Switzerland and Portugal (the worst kind, if you ask me) about a schoolteacher in Bern, Switzerland, named Raimund Gregorius (Jeremy Irons), a voyeur of life but never a participant in it. Are you fascinated enough by this news to continue?
While taking lunch seems to be a dying privilege in NYC, there are still some New Yorkers who have time for leisurely midday meals. Last week, supermodel and entrepreneuse Petra Němcová invited us to lunch at Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s ABC Cocina, where we chatted about her recently launched sustainable home decor company, Be The Light, which is based on her extensive global travel.
Linda Delcher isn’t waiting around for a man to buy her a diamond ring this holiday season. As she strides into 1884, it’s clear she’s doing that all by herself. And why shouldn’t she? “Buying jewelry makes me happy!” she exclaims, “My desire to own – or as Elizabeth Taylor said act as the guardian for – beautiful, intriguing pieces that tell a story or evoke a feeling.” Read More
As a non-driver spending the week in San Francisco, I am loving UberX.
That’s the ride-sharing service from Uber, the newly ubiquitous limousine-taxi company.
Along with Lyft and Sidecar, it is one of three venture-backed, ride-sharing start-ups created in this city. They’re each pretty great.
But for New Yorkers used to hailing a yellow cab, every time you step into a crowdsourced car is a fresh challenge in etiquette.
For starters, where do you sit?