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Look, I've got a lot, I mean a LOT to say about today's Pick, so forgive me if I've short-changed the header today. The ending should be better than the start anyway, shouldn't it?
I bask today in the smug knowledge that 50 years from now, no matter who wins the World Series this year, the story amongst that generation's baseball fanatics will be Derek Jeter's last Yankee Stadium at-bat. Which, in case you haven't heard, was a walk-off single. Such is the manor-born insouciance of Bronx-bred pinstripe loyalty.
I'm gonna do my best to pretend this day is significant in some manner beyond Derek Jeter's farewell as player in the stadium he arguably built. I'll ease the sorrow by imagining the film version of his career. Does Tom Sizemore have a kid who acts?
Today's lone series is Chelsea Classics at the BowTie Chelsea Cinemas. Let's get to the goods;
The choices, scant. The quality, bounteous. Be not fooled by a rep film circuit seemingly in repose. The tumult is soon to come. In the meantime, take advantage of the choice wares on display.
Ongoing series this day include only Nonesuch Records on Film at BAM Cinématek. The prospects are as such;
It's a rarefied group that can not only sport singluar genius but boast connection to said. It's even rarer to be able to claim such status with mutliple game-changers. Isabella Rossellini is not merely a bold road-paver in the modern film era in her role as actress & producer, she is also the daughter of the man who brought neorealism to the world stage in the mid-40's, and the object d'art of the man who forever destroyed the Hollywood notion of innocent Americana in the 80's (if you have to ask, just bail out now).
It's been since I can't remember when NYC's rep circuit has been this docile. Not that what's screening isn't cherce, mind yaz. It's just that so many venues haven't been this quiet at once, preparing to unleash their autumn skeds upon an unsuspecting and helpless classic film loving populace, asnooze for the moment, overwhelmed shortly. It's the Harkonnen siege of Arrakis all over again. You'll see.
Go on. G'WAN, sez me, go and win your World Series, whatever team I may be prematurely addressing! GO! And boast and brag, burn down your post offices, flood the streets with the red fluid known as Gatorade Fierce, GO I say! Know your momentary triumph. Bask in the glow your enemy's blood reflects in the moonlight. Enjoy. And know this, no matter how you raze and ravage and plunder and do your best to topple the very foundations of the world you claim victory within;
Derek Jeter will never be yours. He may leave this plane, but he will forever look down upon you from an elevated realm.
Okay, I've vented. New and continuing series today are limited to but one choice; 1939 - Hollywood's Golden Year at IFC Center. You may log your requisite complaints with the following venues;
I've been the lucky ticket holder to two (count-'em-TWO!) in-person film screenings/discussions this week; the New Yorker's Richard Brody intro'ing Truffaut's MISSISSIPPI MERMAID at the French Institute, and last night's post-screening discussion of Roberto Rossellini's ROME, OPEN CITY from daughter, and screen icon in her own right, Isabella. Forgive me if I'm somewhat less excited by the week's remaining rep film sked. It's perhaps equally worthy of our collective enthusiasm. I'm just feeling spolied.