Prisoners of paradise
REPLETE WITH BLACK dress appropriate for the coming blacklist,
the Oscar show did go on. Since the ceremonial promotional interviews
that take place on the red carpet were canceled this year, Joan Rivers
and daughter Melissa were forced to comment on the stars from on high
one might say the chief camera angle during E!'s preawards coverage
was a vulture's-eye view. Even so, certain nagging superficial questions
emerged. What unidentified sparkly object was trapped in Cloris Leachman's
hair? Were the dark spectacles Halle Berry wore on her way into the
auditorium preparation for sitting next to Jack Nicholson, the master
of throwing shade who wears his sunglasses at night, indoors?
A big chill descended on the room as the festivities began, and not
because so many boomers in attendance had finally tipped the Oscar scales
toward their favorite fugitive, Roman Polanski. (Oh, to be a tape recorder
in the mind of Nicholson or Anjelica Huston as their old acquaintance
was honored with an award and repeatedly praised.) At moments, the occasion
was eerily reminiscent of the documentary film that didn't win,
Prisoner of Paradise, in which cabaret performer Kurt Gerron
is forced to write and direct Nazi propaganda from a concentration camp.
But when a few of the marionettes began cutting their strings, it was
truly amazing that some of the Republicans funding this occasion didn't
drop from heart attacks on the spot. Props go to the peaceniks: particularly
Chris Cooper, for opening the floodgates; Gael Garcia Bernal, for bringing
Salma Hayek out of her seat; Michael Moore, who managed to upstage even
himself with a grandstanding counterpropaganda maneuver that was supremely
unselfish, getting our homies Gail Dolgin and Vicente Franco onstage;
and, of course, Adrien Brody, for bringing down the house.
The statuettes won by The Pianist particularly Polanski's
Best Director victory provided some of the night's few surprises,
proving that Harvey Weinstein doesn't in fact own the Oscars. Polanski
may have been helped by Samantha Geimer's media appearances last month.
Geimer, the victim in the statutory rape case for which Polanski remains
at large, wrote an op-ed piece in the Los Angeles Times and
appeared on CNN's Larry King Live to argue that Polanski the
artist shouldn't be condemned. Perhaps the justice system has lost its
ability to garner sympathy for its campaigns. There was a certain irony
in the fact that the Best Picture itself detailed the folly of U.S.
judicial processes. Were we supposed to be unhappy about that? (Johnny
Ray Huston and Susan Gerhard)
Neighborhood watch
The netherworld of Civic Center is usually populated by municipal bureaucrats
and those who make day use of the manicured lawns. Of late, however,
it's become the hippest neighborhood in town and not because
of the highly anticipated opening of the new Asian Art Museum,
but because of antiwar activists. Last Thursday, it so happened, was
the peak day for both audiences. The queue looped around the block to
get into the extensively renovated beaux arts museum on its first (and
free) public day, and the fans of Asian art were clad in dark colors,
as were the throngs of protesters, making it sometimes difficult to
tell one from the other. Few of the protesters, however, could be seen
taking the "solace" in art that museum directors so
often speak of. No, it was the Main Library that became the nerve center
as the weekend unfolded, with its offers of books, seating, DVDs, and
abundant plumbing. The San Francisco Arts Commission Gallery,
on Van Ness Avenue, reported a notable spike in attendance on demonstration
days (and a picture of the sign-wielding crowds in the Civic Center
is posted on its Web site www.sfacgallery.org). And View 155, a gallery
it operates in the window of a seismically challenged building on Grove
Street, may just be the most visible art venue in town these days as
thousands file past weekly, prior to staging die-ins in nearby intersections.
A video installation by Karina Aguilera Skvirsky opens this week, fittingly
titled Go Go Go. (Helfand)
SUV = WWIII?
Upon entering the P.T. Studios event at Studio Z last Tuesday, a.k.a.
the Eve of Destruction, guests of Chrysler and art-collecting advocates
GenArtSF were handed a glossy, credit card-size coupon redeemable for
$500 off the purchase of the retro, SUV-like design gaffe the automaker
calls the P.T. Cruiser. Everybody in the packed, willfully ebullient
house had to squeeze past one of the shiny vehicles to partake in free
booze, check out the fashion show, watch a screening of works by local
filmmakers, scan a few large drawings on the back wall, and sway to
some "hypnotic beats." Seems the carmaker's still been hounding
a hipster demographic, and not with hybrid cars, but with a national
series of these art-wrapped marketing soirees (complete with oh-so-2000
gift bags containing a toy Cruiser and a copy of San Francisco
Magazine). But as Bush's 48-hour warning was ticking away, the surreal
war filter fogged up the celebration of gas guzzling. Someone placed
a tiny "Together We Can Defeat Capitalism" sticker on a padded
floor runner imprinted with images of star-filtered urban cruising.
At least one stylish young woman's spike heel got stuck in the plastic
floor surface, leaving little round puncture wounds. Alas, even Chrysler
realizes such parties are ailing this was billed as a finale
to P.T. Studios. Sorry kids, party's over. (Helfand)