Bells and Whistles

I finally saw Melancholia, Lars Von Trier’s latest film; I rented it last weekend on On Demand, as I can safely bet I will never see it released out in the suburbs. It was a sprawling, beautifully shot film, some handheld shaking and some static panoramic shots. It was a woven story of two very different sisters, one endlessly clinically depressed (Kirsten Dunst) and one desperately optimistic (Charlotte Gainsbourg) staring into the inescapable end of the world, brought on by the tumultuous collision of a once-hidden star 100x larger than earth, melancholia. It sounds devastating, and it was in moments. It was also humorous, and intimate, and both surreal and too real. That aspect, the final one, is what ended up affecting my mom the most. While the final chords played over the credits, I was left feeling disappointed in what I just saw.

I enjoyed the film, but I was expecting an experience, I guess - as previous Von Trier films have provided. This is the man that brought genital mutilation to the big screen ( Antichrist ); the man who coldly hung a naive and sweet Bjork in mid song (Dancer in the Dark ); who turned the virginal Emily Watson into a whore (Breaking the Waves); and allowed a town of cult-like men to repeatedly rape a lily-like Nicole Kidman on a chalk-lined town built without walls on a soundstage (Dogville).  I guess as a Von Trier apologist I was expecting his apocalypse Melancholia to be an unspeakable horror wrapped in astounding performances. And it was, to a certain extent. Dunst and Gainsbourg were heartbreaking in their futility and the supporting cast of mishmash character actors was also impeccable (where else can you see Keifer Sutherland and Udo Kier and Charlotte Rampling in the same space?). But the divided film [the first part following a dissolving marriage between gorgeous bride Justine (Dunst) and her stunning groom, (Alexander Skarsgard) on its wedding night, and the second part following mother and type-a wife, Claire (Gainsbourg) as she tries to nurse her incapacitated sister back to mental health while being a source of strength for her young son as melancholia heads on its collision course toward their sprawling castle-estate] left me wanting more. Perhaps I had just psyched myself up too greatly; I had been reading about this film probably since the start of the year and was basically counting down the months until its release.

Overall, it was so beautifully shot; Von Trier began the film as he did with Antichrist, in super-super slow motion, so slow you wonder if the shots are still or moving. The score pummels the viewer - melodramatic “Tristan and Isolde” strings blare over the still images of the apocalypse, and we watch the end of the world before the beginning of anything. 

The film is broken into two parts, Justine (Dunst) and Claire (Gainsbourg), and both are decidedly different in tone. Justine surrounds the wedding night of Justine and her husband (soon to abandon her, and barely apart of the film, I don’t even recall his name). It’s an endless night full of weird traditions, and feels so dream-like as Justine’s emotions swing from jubilant to barely functioning. She is present at the toast, tries to dine on some food, and then in the next moment, she is curled up on her nephew’s bed - barely able to keep her eyes open. It feel so true - from the perspective of someone who has dealt with depression - you want so badly to understand the happiness of those around you, but all your energy is spent on trying to keep your head up, literally. As the night wares on, Justine’s self-destruction takes hold, and that becomes the only thing that keeps her propelling forward. It seems as this odd behavior truly begins the moment she notices Melancholia twinkling brightly in the sky’s distance. Her brother in law explains that it’s the planet Melancholia - and it’s entered our solar system. That there’s nothing to fear by its presence. She shrugs off her loving, devoted husband’s passionate advances, and yet goes onto initiate desperate, drunken sex on the golf course with her boss’s awkward nephew. She starts arguments with her sister and her boss, and swigs whiskey. All this while in her lovely frothy wedding dress.

By the end of the night, her newly-wed husband has left her for good, her mother has been kicked out, her father has abandoned her, her sister and brother in law turn their focus onto other things - and Justine is alone for good in her annihilation.

The next part of the film, “Claire” begins some time later; we aren’t given an official timeline, but it’s evident some time has passed. Our only source of time frame, Melancholia, the once gently-twinkling star, has powered itself into our planet’s pathway - it looms threateningly in our horizons, now sharing space with our moon. Claire invites her sister to their home, the stately place of the doomed wedding reception seen just moments before. When Justine arrives, she cannot even force herself from the taxi’s backseat without assistance. Her hair is cropped, she is dressed in droopy clothes, her face has changed even - it seems as though every muscle has shifted downward. Claire dutifully babies her sister; she bathes her; tries to feed her, and looks after her as if she were a sickly child. Justine is the embodiment of a rainy cloud, following over the heads of her family. Her odd behavior seems to transcend into the happiness of those around her - even her little nephew does not know how to accept this blob of a person into his realm. Claire’s husband is abrasive; he accepts his sister in law living under his roof, but he’ll be damned if he allows her unhappiness to swallow them all whole. He soldiers on.

As Melancholia looms closer, Claire has found herself obsessed with the new orb; she steals some time for herself and desperately searches for bad news on the internet - almost hoping that results turn up that support her frantic fears. Her husband John condemns her actions — he promises that nothing terrible will come of this new planet; it is due to come close to our atmosphere, but it will keep going on its merry way. He is certain it will not cause us harm. As the hours go on, however, we soon realize he does not know what he is talking about - the planet is not changing its pathway, but heading straight for us. Claire wants to go out together - with her sister and family - sipping wine out on their veranda. She shares this plan with Justine - but it’s evident that her plan is a feeble one, as her voice trembles and her body shakes - she is overwhelmed by her anxiety over the end. Justine, on the other hand, warmly welcomes this apocalypse as it finally means something is bringing an end to her life. She bathes nude in the blue moonlight of Melancholia - allowing it to drip over her and melt into her.

The hours go on and the swiftly approaching denouement become more real; the loyalist of people abandon one another and the seriousness of the planet Melancholia draws near. This will be an unavoidable end — one we cannot simply accept with a glass of wine, no matter how badly we want to. 

It’s funny - I enjoyed the film nicely enough, though disappointed with what I witnessed (the fear of the unseen was much more entertaining than what I was presented with), however the film greatly affected my mom. She still speaks about it - it troubled her, it felt so real - the end of the world, knowing it’s coming and having to face how you will face it. Perhaps it brings up unrested thoughts from the previous year; she battled cancer and has won and yet there still looms those common scary thoughts everyone shares who have seen the end and have outrun it. We know it is there - it is always there - but it is how you deal with that knowledge that determines how you live your life. We do find ourselves glancing up into the night skies, now and then, hoping to never notice a new glimmering star. 

Perfect Blue, 1998
Director: Satoshi Kon
Writers: Sadayuki Murai (Screenplay)
Yoshikazu Takeuchi (Novel)
Tag: ‘The color of illusion is Perfect Blue’

I’ve reinstated my Netflix subscription and I’m hoping to document my Queue Picks - cause if there’s one thing I will always adore, it’s film. Strange, odd, mesmerizing, authentic, thought-provoking, humorous, thrilling film.

It’s psychotic I’ve gone this long without Netflix in my life, cause my god, Blockbuster and RedBox ain’t cutting it for my film needs.

My film choices are made in a mix of impulsiveness and thought-out, dream-like memories. Sometimes I do the absolute worst and judge a film by it’s DVD cover - Criterion Collection has the absolute best packaging, and they do make me want to watch every film - and sometimes I go off of fantastic reviews courtesy of Pajiba and Rich at FourFour and Criterion Collection’s site. I had a blessed upbringing in an arts high school where most of my afternoons were devoted to film - so some of my queue are picks I saw years and years ago and have haunted me since. This should be a fun journey.

So, Perfect Blue: a noir-esq, mind-boggling piece of anime courtesy of those insane Japanese (I do love everything Japanese, so there may be quite a few hailing from the country on Queue Picks). Simultaneously horror and mystery, it is a dreamy trance of a film starring a young former-pop star, Mima, who’s trying to break into film. As a pop singer she did well, but acting is what she really wants to do. Mima is innocently youthful. It’s hard to really define her age - at first I was certain she was in her late 20s, but as the film went on, my perception shifted (perhaps purposeful) and at times I wondered if she was as young as 16. She lands a role on a popular TV series that is pretty much Japan’s “Law & Order: SVU” - her character’s first few scenes are insignificant, but she’s ever the optimist. Lurking in the shadows is this shady guy - who in the great trend of anime is white-eyed and drawn out in a particularly deranged way. The thing that fascinates me about this genre, is that life in the anime or ‘manga’ world is always unexpectedly bizarre. Things are just innately off, even when they’re supposed to be the most mundane. So, in this case, stalker-dude is supposed to be terrifying and yet, he’s not the most frightening thing about Perfect Blue , not even close. He is simply a red herring. Mima’s world is progressively crumbling in on her in such a way that she doesn’t even realize it. This is scary. Mima, the tiny, lithe, naive, wanna-be actress is the most terrifying aspect within her life.

Her role on ‘Law and Order: Tokyo Nights’ is hyped up; the scriptwriter, at the urging of her agent, writes a brutal rape scene for the budding actress. This is, the viewer knows, the turning point for Mima as well as Perfect Blue; we know in these few moments, though obviously scripted, choreographed and not really happening, nothing will ever be the same again for Mima. It’s a tremendous scene. The oddness of television/film acting is shown off in such an uncomfortable way; Mima is seen held down by a burly man (acting as her rapist) while a circle of foaming, raging men cheer him on. Her co-star rips off her clothes, gropes her, forces himself on top of her and — they stop rolling. They have to readjust the lights. The actor atop Mima apologises. She giggles. “It’s okay,” Mima says. They avoid eye-contact. The other actors fidget. Then ‘action!’ and the horror picks up again.

Perfect Blue is a mix of thriller/mystery/horror and noir. It feels like a genuine film, not necessarily a cartoon. It is a mystery that just happens to be animated. In fact, it feels more like a Chris Nolan (‘Momento’, ‘The Dark Knight’) flick than anything else. Maybe with a dash of David Lynch.

It’s entertaining - especially as it continues and the audience is subjected to Mima’s increasing disillusionment. She begins to find it impossible to separate her dreams, err, nightmares from reality - and really how can she when her days are spent reading lines about being raped and being stalked by a murderer on the loose, and her real days are spent dealing with the fact that she’s being emotionally raped and pimped out by her handlers and a supposed murderer is stalking her. But is he really? And is it even him who is murdering those around her? Scenes repeat themselves in such a way that it’s like those ‘Highlights’ puzzle boxes where it’s the same image, but there are just some things that are, well, off. It’s really effective and enjoyable.

The film does sort of collide with its ending in a not-so-fantastic way. It’s weird, as I would’ve expected judging from the previous hour, but it’s just messily unbelievable in it’s execution. It left me wanting a different way out for Mima - things could have been so much stranger, so much more damaging, so much more devestating. Instead, it’s a somewhat pleasant ending, complete with sunny skies and a pop song.

Perhaps though, this is the best way to end things for the jovial, sweet Mima. But it is an easy way out too, especially for someone who was losing her entire grasp on her reality and couldn’t figure out if she murdered someone, or if she was murdered or if she really was the popular actress on a hit TV show.

Perfect Blue is interesting and thought-provoking. It stays with you, and whether you like anime or not, it doesn’t overwhelm the story. Thinking back on it, it’s hard to remember it being drawn and not live action. The viewer simply absorbs the animation. Ultimately, Mima’s struggle to regain her reality is what is most striking and entrancing; it feels like those nightmares you have that are so bizarre and eerie you hate to wake up, lest you miss something truly traumatizing and worth haunting you through your waking life.

Deep Dish pizza discussions can start wars in this town. There’s the Giordano’s fans, the Lou Malnati’s devotees, and the mix of Connie’s, Uno’s, and Gino’s enthusiasts - all ready to lie down on the line for their favorite spots. But the conundrum of being a deep dish  connoisseur in Chicago and craving the hefty, gooey, arterial-clogging pie creates a major mess: where to go when you want the best?

Located off Wood Dale Road in Wood Dale (about 30 minutes west of Chicago), sits the unassuming La Dolce Vita, a warehouse-ish rustic Italian joint serving up white-plated dishes of Italian-deliciousness. What truly sets this spot apart from the onslaught of Italian restaurants in the western suburbs (a safe choice for suburbanites, apparently) is the incredible pizza churned out from the one-room take-out side of La Dolce Vita: the adjoining White Cottage Pizza, which has locations dotted around the western suburbs in Carol Stream and Elgin, and a fan base going back decades. That’s really the sign of great pizza.

The deep dish at White Cottage (which can be enjoyed as a meal within La Dolce Vita) must be tasted to be believed. It is classically crafted; the crust is buttery, soft and crispy all at once, the tomatoes are insanely bright and sweet, and the best part? The mozzarella. It is as if it was strained, stretched and sliced just minutes before being placed atop the dough. Lifting a slice from the silver pan, the cheese tethers itself to the adjoining slices, it twists and thins, and must be sliced or pulled to free the prized piece. If deep dish isn’t your thing, no worries; you’re sure to get a crazy cheese fix with White Cottage’s pan and thin crust pizzas as well. And if you’re a product of the ’80s like I am, and cannot think of pizza without thinking of “The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” (because truly, they go hand-in-hand), this is some real-life oozing cheese pizza, culled directly from the cartoon-world. In between bites and reminiscences, it doesn’t hurt to enjoy the madness with a fishbowl-pour of Chianti Classico, which just adds some amazing subtlety to the pie.

The essence of a great deep dish slice is the addicting combination of salty and sweet: salty, chewy mozzarella, paired with sweet, tangy plum tomatoes, strained to perfection. They’re layered, in the indulgent Chicago-style way, cheese beneath tomatoes, resting upon the billowing crust like a delicious brick of caloric chaos.

There may be Lou Malnatiacs, but for those in the western suburbs who’ve dished themselves a slice of perfect deep dish pizza, there’s no doubt they’ve caught the White Cottage craving - available as dine-in and pick-up, in case you take your addiction on the go.

The Details:
WHITE COTTAGE PIZZA @ LA DOLCE VITA
350 North Wood Dale Road
Wood Dale, IL 60191-1532
t: (630) 766-7617
http://www.whitecottagepizzas.com/

[image courtesy of White Cottage Pizza]

The Wit Hotel at State and Lake has a great thing going in its second floor modern-Italian restaurant, Cibo Matto. Not only has the food, brought to us by talented Chef Todd Stein, captured the tastebuds of Chicago’s elite gourmands, but the space itself is something divine to dine within.

Stepping in at the north end of the restaurant, visitors are promptly greeted by a towering wine collection of nearly 4,000 bottles, warm oak floorboards, sandy, luminous colossal curtains, and a striking barricade of tall white booths. It is this lovely mix of rustic comfort and elitist modernity that instantly throw the diner into a sensual sensory journey.

The room, a creation by award-winning architecture firm, The Johnson Studio (known previously for TRU), is unapologetically gorgeous; cherry blossoms and blue skies rule the pièce de résistance of the room: an enormous ceiling fresco, created specifically for Cibo Matto by artist Todd Murphy. Murphy is a Chicago-native who has received world-wide acclaim, and has artwork in homes of many a celeb. Dining beneath the piece, you are immediately focused on the art; models are in mid-embrace, floating and twisting amongst flowering cherry blossom branches birthing apples, oranges, and most whimsically, butterflies.

The 120-seat dining room is much more intimate than it sounds; if you are lucky enough to find yourself enveloped by a white leather banquet, you are in for a treat. But every seat is truly lovely in its own way. For those that adore an inside-peek into the workings of a professional kitchen, one of 12 seats at the Chef’s Table, overlooking the open-kitchen is for you.

The food: complex, layered Italian with a modern flair will feed you in a way you never expected. The room: will take your breath away.

CIBO MATTO
@ the Wit Hotel
201 N. Lake Street
Chicago, IL 60601
t: (312) 239-9500
www.cibomatto.therestaurantsatthewit.com

[photos courtesy of Zagat.com and Cibo Matto’s website]

Chicagoans are sturdy people. We love our drinks, we love our skyline and we don’t care if it’s -7 degrees. Luckily, there’s a place for all of that: at Vertigo Sky Lounge at the Dana Hotel. Bar-goers can sip cocktails al fresco, 26 floors above the icy city sidewalks.

The real standout of the lounge has to be the fleeting Ice Bar (here until March), a solid 10-foot block o’ ice bar, consisting of over 3,000 pounds of glacial impressiveness. Bartenders scoop up adult snow cones, shake up vodka-centered cocktails, and serve up steaming hot drinks, just in case you need a warm up. A must-try is the White Hot Orange Blossom, an interesting mix of orange liqueur and silky-smooth white hot chocolate.

Vertigo asks that you dress to impress - which means ladies, be prepared to show some leg. But don’t be too worried, Vertigo’s Ice Bar offers faux fur throws and even plush robes for those that get too chilled. There are some light bites offered via Aja, the Dana Hotel’s eco-friendly Asian restaurant. So when it starts to feel like all you see is gray skies, head up to Vertigo to nibble on some nori, sip a hot cocktail and snuggle up while taking in the breathtaking city views.

Vertigo Sky Lounge
660 North State Street
Chicago, Illinois 60654
t: 888-301-7952

[photos courtesy of Vertigo Sky Lounge Facebook page]

Success must taste sweet for Chef Art Smith. First there was his appearance on Top Chef: Masters, in which he made millions root for him with his adorable, Southern charm; next came his personal weight-loss win, with 80 pounds lost the old-fashioned way (workouts and watching calories); then there was a stop on gal-pal Oprah’s talk show to cook chicken and waffles for Lady Gaga; and finally: an announcement proclaiming Art Smith the latest inductee into Chicago Culinary Museum’s Chef Hall of Fame.

Although the official ceremony takes place this September, Art Smith received the award this January, presented by Board Members Warren DeWolfe, Ed Princell, Chas Boydston,  John Kaufmann, Wilbert Jones, Julia Shell and Cary Miller.

Smith joins a fantastic pedigree of previous recipients, including Rick Bayless (“Top Chef: Masters” co-star and winner) and Chicago-homeboy Charlie Trotter.

[photo courtesy of TVgasm.com]