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Tag Archives: Sunset Boulevard

With One Look

Women in their forties are mustering remarkable courage and purchasing shopping carts.  They are willing to utilize the very same device that (gasp) elderly people use.  Perhaps I am just fashion clueless or far too much of a practical penguin to see how getting one’s groceries home has anything to do with age, and everything to do with geography.  Unless you’re putting tennis balls on the bottom of the carts and a crocheted carrying pouch on the front, I don’t think anyone would mistake it for a walker.  And what if they did?  So what?!  Recently a woman in her forties shared that she’s never worn a dress, because she fears her friends would tease her for trying to look like a grown-up.  Tease her.  For looking like a grown-up.

I was under the impression that the joy of adulthood (or aging past the 9th grade) was no longer caring what people were thinking of you.  (The truth is, they are not thinking of you at all.  They are far too concerned that the stroller they’re pushing makes them look fat.)   We are consumed with not wanting to look “older” yet do such an awful job of it.  We plump and lift and emulate the fashion of our teenage daughters.  We wear distressed jeans and black nail polish; not because we like black nail polish (does anyone actually like black nail polish?) but because we want to align ourselves with the under 30s not the over 40s.  We strategically place 6-7 varieties of yellow or honey stripes in our hair and like the teen (we were) in the 1970s, we want it long, long, long.  (Rarely is long hair flattering on a face and neck in a pas des deux with gravity.  But I suppose being mistaken for under 30 from behind – from the shoulders up – is worth it to some.)

If our thirties taught us anything it was (or should have been) what suits us.  By our 30s we learned what type of work (or at least style of working) suited us.  We learned which romantic partners suit us and started dating for the end game.  By the time we geared up to bid our thirties farewell, we also finally took a good look in the mirror.  We learned what great assets we had.  (Those legs people always commented on?  They are fabulous!)  Having two decades of adult dressing under our (perfectly accenting) belt, means we’ve learned a thing or two.   We know that those shoulder pads and MC Hammer pants were a mistake, and we’ve forgiven ourselves.  But we are also grateful that those (seriously unfortunate) choices taught us that just because something is being sold, doesn’t mean it’s right for us.  Torn/distressed jeans are not attractive in the abstract.  They add nothing to a look, but yes, they are being worn by younger people.  Those torn jeans are this generation’s MC Hammer pants.  What would you have thought if your mother had worn those ridiculous 1990 pants?  Would you have shown up for Thanksgiving and gasped; “Why mother, you look 20 years younger?!”  No, you probably would have taken your father or a sibling aside and asked; “Is mom okay?”

Looking as if we not only don’t know ourselves, but are in fact at war with ourselves, isn’t youthful.  A teenager doesn’t look youthful because of being awkward or self-conscious, she looks youthful because she IS.  Youthful style often in fact looks quite silly.  Looking gorgeous and sexy are much more worthwhile goals.  Gorgeous and sexy come from feeling and being confident.  The more gorgeous you feel, the more confident you’ll feel, and vice versa.  The circle of life if you will.  Perhaps it would help if we don’t think of it as “looking our age” as much as “looking our best.”

“There’s nothing tragic about being fifty. Not unless you’re trying to be twenty-five.” – Joe Gillis, Sunset Boulevard (1950)

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Posted by on February 22, 2012 in Cultural Critique, Style

 

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Man and Boy – Review

The Rondabout Theatre Company has mounted a revival of Terence Rattigan’s Man and Boy.  For those with a pressing engagement or abbreviated attention span, I will cut to the chase: it is phenomenal.

Frank Langella (‘nough said?) stars in this drama set in Greenwich Village in 1934.  Directed by Maria Aiken, the fluid and balanced action unfolds in real time one October evening.  Man and Boy, written in 1961, feels terribly modern both in its storyline and style.  Langella’s character, Gregor Antonescu is an international financier, credited with resuscitating the European markets after World War I.  He is debonair, larger than life, steely, and by his own admission, without conscious.  Things have come to a bit of a nasty head for G.A., as he is known to his trusty assistant Sven Johnson (Michael Siberry) who bears a second cousin resemblance to Max in Sunset Boulevard.  Sven seeks out the Greenwich Village apartment of G.A.’s estranged son Basil (Adam Driver) for a clandestine business meeting.  Basil has denounced his lineage and lives as a piano playing socialist in a dreary basement apartment (designed by Derek McLane.)  Underneath the thin layer of his disguise is Basil’s adulation of dear old dad.

Not surprisingly G.A.’s impulse upon seeing his son for the first time in five years, is to offer the young man to his closeted business adversary.  Prostituting one’s young, does not earn any parenting awards, but it feels completely in character for G.A.  There is nothing surprising about the turn in the story, yet it must be said that the matinee audience (of a certain age and with just a hint of bridge and tunnel A.O.C.) giggled nervously with the implications.  This storyline is not meant to be funny, and in 1934 Greenwich Village socialist circles, homosexual activity would not be unknown.  I suspect a different audience would have a different response.

The cast is perfectly balanced out by Basil’s girlfriend Carol (Virginia Kull,) the business nemesis Mark (Zach Grenier) his accountant Beeston (Brian Hutchinson) and  G.A.’s second wife the (purchased title of) Countess (Francesca Faridany.)  The relationships and interactions between these characters is completely thought out and believable.  Most of us won’t commandeer a basement apartment in an attempt to rescue our international financial empire, but we can relate and understand the words and actions of all of these characters.  That is the mark of truth in writing.

This production has an overall British feel to it, no accident considering the lineage of some of the creative team.  There is a simple intelligence to the production that this play richly deserves.  There are plays that take (well rewarded) effort on the part of the audience.  I love Martin McDonagh, but you better not blink for 2 hours or you will be lost.  Additionally, plays steeped in symbolism can be a delicious intellectual exercise.  But there is something to say for clean, emotionally true drama.  And when it’s exquisitely executed, it is a must see.

 
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Posted by on October 16, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Finding My Corner Of The Sky

Last night, for the third consecutive year, I visited with Betty Buckley at Feinsteins  The year’s show, billed as “Ah Men! The Boys of Broadway” is a collection of Ms. Buckley favorite show tunes (from film and stage) sung by male characters.  She opens, aptly, with ‘Tonight’, and goes on to explain her discovery of Riff (Russ Tamblyn) at the impressionable age of 14.  Having also experienced West Side Story at the age of 14, I can attest to the imprint it leaves.  Add to that the discovery of both Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly (as Ms Buckley and I both did) and well, can real life really ever compare?

It did last night.

Whether it is her chosen repertoire, or her Feinstein alumni status, Ms. Buckley has never seemed more at home.  Radiant in a silk shantung jacket, flowing silk pants, and leopard pumps devilishly peeking out from time to time, Ms Buckley communicates accessibility.  As a Broadway leading lady, with few if any equals, this Texas gal exudes a warmth and approachability that defies any (rightfully earned) diva-ship.  Also counter to diva-hood, is that Ms. Buckley, for all her Tony winning, has the soul of a folk singer.  She is a singer (and actress) adept at navigating all range of human emotion.  Her natural velvety voice can ache (reminding me of Jane Olivor) and then easily soar to heights of joy, making all the necessary stops along the way.  I wonder which comes first?  A delicate actress with a powerful core, or the singer?  I suspect that there is no separating the two in Betty Buckley.  She is so unique, that if your first exposure to a song is delivered by Ms. Buckley, it never really sounds “right” sung by anyone else (e.g., Meadowlark, Memory, score of Sunset Boulevard, etc.)

I have maintained that so many of the best songs written have been done so for male characters.  So it is no coincidence that I simply loved last night’s song list.  ‘I Won’t Dance,’ ‘Younger Than Springtime,’ ‘Something’s Coming,’ ‘Corner of the Sky,’ ‘More I Cannot Wish You,’ and an exquisite medley from ‘Sweeney Todd’ were just some of the selections.  Her smooth, strong and subtle voice, paired with her utter ease on stage, created the most intimate experience.  Making strong eye contact with the audience, she created a space that was more ‘living room’ than ‘cabaret.’  Which, truly is the mark of great cabaret.  I was also struck by her very enjoyable sense of humor.  I found myself thinking (please don’t hate me Ms. Buckley): “Wow, she would really be a great Miss Hannigan.”

This personal, moving, absolutely fabulous show will be playing for the month of October.  It truly is not to be missed.

 
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Posted by on October 6, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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