This looks better on the page. For sure it looked better in the gallery. I couldn't find a lot about Erich Locker, except in fall of 1960, he had a tepidly-reviewed show called "Manhattan" at the Architectural League of New York. I really like this, though. His exhibition was a year after this, then he disappears from the NYT forever. Blurbage, in perfect Vogue-ese.
This minute -- in lights Here, the early winter lights of New York -- a sight, marvellously man-made, unique in the world. In December, New York looks like a myth, feels like a song writer's catalogue of contrasts and delights. This sight has its own unrepeatable moment in time; it will never again form precisely the same constellation -- even a minute later, one light more or less from now. Among its special semaphores at this moment; entertainment shined up for the holidays, beaming to fresh effect. Who shines brightest, what newest, is told about in the 10 pages that follow here, a holiday gathering of theatre, people, music, talk, and party clothes.
Irving Penn photos.
Blurbage: This-moment brilliance: a sense of luxury: a Gres magnificence of Venetian green -- taffeta, velvet and pleating that moved like a winged victory through the Paris Collections this season.
The New York Times also highlighted the green ensemble as one of the outstanding offerings of the Paris collections. What we can't see is the dress underneath - strapless and draped, a Madame Gres trademark. And she designed her entire 1959 collection in nine days.
This dress didn't find its way into the retrospective at a museum of sculpture in France (she began her career as a sculptor), but there are several coats with similar sleeves.
I am surprised a the gold frosting. We've seen gold stockings as well this year. Funny how these things really do wash up in waves on the fashion shores.
Let's go to the movies!
* Irresponsible widower with young son is set to rights by clueless, but well-meaning brother and sister-in-law. Lovableness ensues. In theory.
* Odd misfire from Frank Capra and everyone involved. To think that this guy directed It Happened One Night. Cringe-inducing "comedy" that can only end in tragedy after the credits roll. Frank Sinatra has a seamy appeal as failing Miami hotel owner involved with "kooky" beatnik Carolyn Jones (quite good) whose one idea to save fortunes is to put together million dollar syndicate to build a Disneyland in Florida with a former pal, now tycoon. Miscast Edward G. Robinson as brother swoops down to rescue ginger kid from poverty and shiftlessness - not a bad idea! Thelma Ritter also quite good as his wife in thankless roll. Eleanor Parker strange as ultra prim widow pegged as new mother for ginger kid - she's ginger herself! Eleanor Parker, speaking in that phony refined lady movie-star voice shows up 58 minutes in. Now there is drama -- what about lush Carolyn Jones? She leaves! That's it for that! Now we have the gambling away all the money at the dog track scene . . . and down it goes from there.
Carolyn Jones seems to be wearing pale blue nail polish - which helped to make her seem both dated (beatnik) and contemporary (has own mind and sex life). How utterly shocking it would have been if she had also had tattoos.
* "High Hopes!" Who ever liked that song? Why is it even in this movie? Oops! There goes another rubber tree plant. . . Who can watch this without wondering about the dynamics between these two professionals? I just wouldn't want my kid near any of the Rat Pack. Here's the stomach-churning Oscar-winning song for 1959:
Next week: diving into the first of six pages of PATA (People Are Talking About) - drilling down deep into the upper-middle brow culture of 1959. First up: the Guggenheim, Maynard Ferguson, and Bert Walker (who?) . . .
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