Dinner and a Movie
I Lost Jane on the River
I Lost Jane on the River
By
Steve Herte
Every
time I see a movie at the Angelika Theater I feel like I’ve been a
part of the Tribeca Film Festival, even though it’s not technically
located in Tribeca. The feel of the place is intimate and conveys the
sense of being at a private screening. The individual theaters (there
are seven of them) are all below ground and you can hear the subway
rumbling. The capacity of each is maybe 60 to 70 seats. I don’t
feel lost in a crowd (something I despise) at the Angelika.
Thus,
after the most difficult workweek of the year, I was ready for that
sense of being special and having an enjoyable, but casual evening. I
used Helene’s theory of life before going out, “Have no
expectations and you’ll never be disappointed.” Enjoy!
Lost
River (WB,
2014) – Director: Ryan Gosling. Writer: Ryan Gosling. Stars:
Christina Hendricks, Landyn Stewart. Ben Mendelsohn, Iain De
Caestecker, Matt Smith, Torrey Wigfield, Saoirse Ronan, Barbara
Steele, & Reda Kateb. Color, 95 minutes.
The
scene opens on the Town of Lost River to the strains of 1938 “Deep
Purple.” The camera focuses on one after another dilapidated,
deserted house – some nearly falling down in disrepair. An adorable
tot, Frankie (Stewart) exits the front door of one such hovel and
uses the rickety banister to descend the front steps and goes to play
in the weedy patch that serves as a front yard.
His
mother, Billy (Hendricks), is behind in her payments for the house
she inherited from her grandmother (otherwise she would join the
throngs of neighbors who’ve already left town), and she goes to
hopefully reason with Carl, the bank manager. But Carl no longer
works there. The new bank manager, Dave (Mendelsohn), is not as
easy-going as his predecessor and he explains that she has a choice:
make the payments or leave.
Billy’s
other son, a young man going by the handle of Bones (De Caestecker),
knows the family is in dire straits and goes out on forays to strip
the deserted houses of parts and copper to sell at the junk dealer
and hopefully ease his mother’s burden. This activity however, is
not without peril. Another young man, appropriately called Bully
(Smith), who rides around in a plush blue armchair perched over the
back seat of a white 1970s Cadillac, believes he owns the town and
everything in it and will do anything to anybody who disagrees.
Bully’s
driver, a young man who comes to be known as Face (Wigfield), is a
pyromaniac. As Bones emerges from a house with his duffle bag full of
copper tubing, he knows Bully and Face are there when his bicycle
crosses the street in front of him on fire. He drops the bag and
runs.
The
only other “family” in Lost River is a young girl nicknamed Rat
(Ronan) – she has a pet rat – and her grandma (Steele). It is
from Rat that we learn the fate of Lost River. Her grandfather was
killed during the construction of the dam that created the nearby
reservoir while inundating an entire town and a prehistoric theme
park called Prehistoric Forest. Grandma hasn’t spoken a word since
then and only sits in her chair, veiled as if for a funeral, and
watches videos of her wedding. Rat believes the town is under a curse
and that the only thing that can break the curse involves “bringing
the beast up from the bottom of the reservoir.”
Sleazy
Dave has designs on Billy and offers her a job in his creepy club.
How creepy is it? For entertainment, people are bloodily “murdered”
on stage to give the depraved audience their thrills. Against her
better judgment (and shock at the performances), Billy agrees to work
there. Her only friend, known only as “Cab Driver” (Kateb),
worries about her working in a place where the front door is shaped
like gaping jaws of a ghoul.
Bones
and Rat have a friendship that is developing further and Rat tells
him her theory of salvation. Bones, still annoyed that Bully stole
his duffle, manages to retrieve it and elude both Bully and Face (for
which error Face has his lips brutally snipped off by Bully), finding
himself on a street that leads into the reservoir. The over-arching
streetlamp poles are the only indication that there once was a street
there. Otherwise, it’s overgrown with weeds. Naturally, after what
Rat told him, he’s curious. He gets an inflatable boat and an old
fish tank, rows out a bit into the reservoir and peers down at the
bottom. Upon seeing what he believes is “the beast,” he’s
startled back into the boat. Now he knows his mission in life.
Though
billed as a science fiction/fantasy, there is nothing scientific
in Lost River. The fantasy that is there is the whole
curse thing and how Bones resolves, and breaks, the curse. The only
“fantastic” moment in the film occurs after Bones has
successfully sawed off the head of a submerged dinosaur and, as he’s
returning to shore the streetlamps mysteriously light one by one. The
film is more arty-farty than outré, and more brutal than thought
provoking. If ever there was a movie demonstrating man’s inhumanity
to man, this one makes for a good example.
The
acting seems dull and listless (except for Bully, who is way over the
top), but it’s forgivable when the camera continually bombards the
audience with the deplorable conditions of living in Lost River.
Barbara Steele is the only member of the cast whose famous name I
recognized. As a beautiful young actress, she could be
considered the Queen of Gothic Horror – both Italian and American.
I loved her as Dr. Julia Hoffman in the 1991 remake of Dark
Shadows after Grayson Hall created the role in the TV series
(1960s-70s). She didn’t get a word of dialogue and yet she spoke
volumes with her face as Face set her house on fire right before her
eyes.
Christina
Hendricks gives us the best performance in this film with the widest
range of emotions, from fear and horror to love and tenderness. Ben
Mendelsohn is pretty good at playing the creepy pervert and he
performs an incredibly degenerate version of the song “Cool Water.”
Did I mention that this film is not for children? It nearly
gave me nightmares.
Rating:
3 out of 5 Martini glasses.
Jane
100
West Houston Street, New York
In
my many years of living in New York City (yes, I know we in Queens
call Manhattan “The City,” but we’re still a borough, and
hence, a part of it), I’ve learned a general rule that
even-numbered addresses are usually on the South sides of streets and
the East sides of Avenues i.e. 290
Broadway – East side, and 110 West 44th Street
– South side. This theory goes out the window below the neat
gridlines and into the “named” streets of southern Manhattan.
My
guess that 100 West Houston would be on the south side was incorrect
and I wound up re-crossing the wide street to get to my destination.
The deep green awning outside Jane overhangs a park bench, providing
shade for weary tourists, and two were taking advantage of it upon my
arrival. Inside, all is aglow in shades of blonde wood and light tan,
with one charcoal wall at the back graced by a large abstract
painting of a field. The two large mirrors on one sidewall give the
illusion of it being a much larger space, and the woven shades on the
rectangular swags float lightly over the dining crowd. A young lady
at the Captain’s Station acknowledged my reservation and led me to
a bare-topped table (dining is casual here) near the back at a
comfortable banquette. On my way over from the theater I noted that
the many restaurants I passed on Houston were all doing good business
that evening and Jane was no exception.
Leah,
my server, soon appeared, took my water preference, and gave me the
menu. It was a two-sided plastic-enclosed affair with food on one
side and drinks on the other. When Leah asked if I wanted a cocktail
I chose something called “Sweet Heat” – jalapeno infused
tequila, orange liqueur, charred pineapple, and coconut water. Leah
noted that this was one of their newer cocktails and that it was
rapidly becoming quite popular. I could see why. It burned and at the
same it satisfied my sweet tooth, and the bits of pineapple were fun
to spear with my swizzle stick.
Leah
described the specials of the day and I almost chose one appetizer,
an asparagus salad with prosciutto wrapped around the spears and a
poached egg on top whose yolk becomes a part of the dressing. But as
I read the entire menu, I found more dishes equally as enticing. I
sipped my drink while deciding on two “starters,” a main course
and a side.
After
discussing with Leah about the order my dishes were to arrive and
when, I was ready to enjoy, and another server brought the
breadbasket. The bread was so good, fresh and crusty that I
completely disregarded the bottle of olive oil standing in the center
of my table until much later.
The
roasted meatballs – with local mozzarella, in a spicy tomato sauce,
garnished with cilantro – arrived first (as agreed), still sizzling
in a square iron skillet. Though they were a quarter of the size of
the ones I had at Umberto’s in Little Italy, they were every bit as
juicy and flavorful. The sauce was rich and thick, not particularly
“spicy,” but delicious. I left only the skillet.
The
2014 Malbec, Enrique Foster “Ique” Mendoza, Argentina, though
incredibly young for a Malbec was perfect with my meal. Its tannic
touches and medium body accented the tomato sauce nicely as well as
that of the dishes to follow.
I
didn’t know what to expect when I ordered the mushroom soup
“gratinée” – with caramelized onions, crostini croutons, and
topped with melted gruyère. It was more like a French onion soup
(with the right cheese, I noted to Leah) though heavier on the
mushrooms than onions. Once I convinced myself that it really wasn’t
onion soup I enjoyed it thoroughly (the resemblance was striking,
though).
My
main course, the blackened pork chop, was served on a bed of cheddar
jalapeño grits and crowned with three smoked tomatoes and a spring
of watercress. It was tender and easy to cut, though a little bit
more well done than I would prefer. The blackening process, however,
added a Southwestern flavor to the meat. I told Leah my pork chop
story from the “famous” Palm Restaurant where professional hockey
players could have used my dish as a puck. The jalapeños were not
pronounced in the grits and the net effect was “mild” spicy. The
side dish was one of my all-time favorite vegetables, Brussels
sprouts. But these were enormous. Halved, seared and partially
caramelized, they were like candy to me. I asked if the chef had a
time machine to the Jurassic era, remarking on the size of these
jumbo veggies.
With
nothing left but the memories of these fine dishes, I turned to
dessert. Having seen the desserts the two young men at the next table
ordered, notably the “Key Lime Pie in a Jar,” and (the enormous)
“Milk and Cookies,” I chose the “Chocolate, Chocolate,
Chocolate” – chocolate ganache tart, mini whoopee pie, chocolate
pot de crème. This turned out to be eminently manageable and
satisfying. I would have liked the pot de crème to be more liquid,
but the other two were perfect.
To
finish, I ordered the “Lord Bergamot” Earl Grey tea and a snifter
of Chateau de Pellehaut Armagnac. Alas, they didn’t have enough
left for a full snifter, but Leah gave me what they had (on the
house) and asked me what other choice I had. The Busnel Calvados
filled the bill adequately.
I
thanked Leah for a wonderful serving job and, on my way out, I
learned that Jane has been in operation for 13 years! I know that
Manhattan is a big city and that, at any one time there are
approximately 7,000 restaurants serving the hungry public, but it
still amazes me when I find one that I might have found earlier.
There is much to like about Jane and several reasons to return.
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