April '16 is starting to feel less like April Margera and more like April Ludgate. At least T. S. Eliot will feel vindicated. So to those brave souls willing to brave the February weather, let's get to the rundown.
Haaaallew, Stockahz! Welcome to the cruellest month, which is currently being essayed by the understudy known as March '16! I mean, C'MON! 20 friggin' degrees? On April 4th?!?!? Ah, NYC Weather Overlord, you giveth, but when you taketh I get the sniffles and require much Jewish Penicillin. Okay, I'll live, comfortable in the knowledge that Baseball has officially begun, I've already got my tix to the upcoming CAPTAIN AMERICA marathon, and degrees in the 70's, 80's and 90's are soon to be wallowed in. What does all this have to do with NYC's rep film circuit? Not a damn thing! Can't I just share a modicum of joy with you for a change?
As each desk calendar sees its final pages stripped with melodramatic aplomb, y'know like in the movies, so does the rep film calendar grow meager. The good news is that meager does not neccesarily imply a paucity of quality. I other words, what's there to be had today is cherce! The lone series on display is Her Man: A Forgotten Masterwork in Context at MoMa. The projected PBR praise be thus;
Anyone who even remotely doubts this is the month of March please step outside. I can't remember the last time we had a Severe Wind Advisory that didn't come accompanied by a flying Margaret Hamilton on a bike! In any event, consider the sweping, potent gusts a free source of transport today, aka the wet dream of every Harry Potter fan (broomstick not included). The pickin's be slim this blustery day, but fabulous enough to warrant your braving of the slipstream. The 40mph film-flammery be thus;
NY'ers know, year in and year out; we can exult over mild winters, we can huddle like frightened chickens through wholly malevolent winters. Depends on the year. What never changes is the month known as March. Spitefully disregardful of whatever weather has preceded it, March will do its damndest to wholly confuse us, even worse: to punish us with to-the-minute weather shifts. T-shirt in the afternoon? Good luck freezin' yer chess pieces off that night. Layered for the cold? Good luck sweatin' yer checkers off that night. Hey, I'm tryin' to keep it clean. I have nothing but the utmost respect for this adversary, a sometime ally against my greatest foes on the calendar: January & February. Yet much as I respect this formidable 31 days, I never mourn its passage. Because that passage only bodes well: Baseball, warmer weather, longer daytimes, the annual Clamfest out in the Highlands. No, I do not mourn the passage of March, whose end looms closely. And, in true samurai fashion, it will not mourn my own. Arigato.
America is all about choice. And today, finally, after three days of no other option but Film Forum, of which there is not a damn thing wrong with, we do finally have some other venues to choose from. New and ongoing series this day include Modern Matinees: An Animation Omnibus at MoMA, the leg-room resplendent Cabaret Cinema at the Rubin Museum, and the rabidly infectious Bark at the Moon at the Nitehawk Cinema. The lenticular lycanthropy be thus;
New and continuing series this day include ah what's the use?!? As kinetic the NYC rep film scene proves on a consistent basis I've had but one series to choose from over the last three days! So here goes with the halide hijinks;
Our movie-mad metropolis' sole ongoing, slowly concluding series is once again the trib to wanton wimmen of the Roarin' 20's; IT Girls: Flappers, Jazz Babies & Vamps, flickering its penultimate at Film Forum. The naughty nitrate kneeslappery be thus;