Showing posts with label Blake Lively. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blake Lively. Show all posts

Monday, October 29, 2018

Black and White and Dead All Over: The Flavor of Fare Far from Simple



Top: POPSUGAR, Kohl's
Skirt: Xhilaration, Target
Shoes: Delicious, Zulily
Bag: J. C. Penney's
Belt: B Fabulous
Barrettes: The Tote Trove

Hi, bloggers!

I called upon this corny old joke to talk an itty bitty bit about newspapers and a lot about a book-turned-movie even though I saw the movie first.  Of all the old-timey, misogynistic sayings about women, I think the one about how real ladies appear in the newspaper only twice in their lives, once in their wedding announcement and once in their obituary, is the weirdest and most insulting.  Insert eye roll for anyone who believes that a woman's purpose in existing is snagging a husband -- until she stops existing at all and is shoved six feet under.  It's like saying that women who speak up are shameful, that women's stories don't deserve to be told.  Which is, of course, utter nonsense.  Making our presence known in the world -- whether it be through a tabloid or Twitter feed -- is essential to women's well-being.  Which is something I thought a great deal about while watching/reading A Simple Favor.    


A Simple Favor (by Darcy Bell) is not a feel-good book.  It's kind of a feel-bad book, and I wouldn't have read it at all if I hadn't seen and liked the movie (directed by Paul Feig).  This is the premise:  Uber sophisticated and cool Emily (Blake Lively) befriends quirky cute people-pleaser Stephanie (Anna Kendrick) through their five-year-old sons in their sleepy Connecticut suburb.  Emily is married to a gorgeous British dude (Henry Golding) and does PR for a fashion designer.  She's a seasoned rule-breaker, a Hitchcock blonde who's easily bored and refuses to have her picture taken.  Stephanie is a widow who blogs.  She's a do-gooder supermom who bakes gluten-free cookies and apologizes for everything, a habit that alpha dog Emily insists she break.  If they were characters from The Baby-Sitters Club, then Emily would be Stacey and Stephanie would be Mary Anne.  Their friendship deepens quickly, with each revealing secrets.  Then, one day, Emily doesn't pick up her son from Stephanie's house, and what started as a tongue-in-cheek Peyton Place-type tale veers off into "48 Hours" territory.

Stephanie's blog (vlog in the movie) is, in many ways, the core of the story.  Being a blogger, I found this interesting.  I always like to know why people blog and whom they blog for.  For Stephanie, her blog is her identity, a way for her to showcase her stay-at-home-mommy brand and combat her loneliness.  She shares parenting tips, healthy recipes, and handmade friendship bracelets, beginning every post with a cheery Hi, moms! and signing off with a Love, Stephanie, suggesting that she and her fellow moms are all in this parenting thing together.  Yet despite Stephanie's efforts, she has few followers.  It isn't until Emily vanishes and Stephanie begins investigating Emily's disappearance that her blog becomes popular.  Solidarity, it seems, isn't as intriguing as sordidness.  Stephanie crafts posts that let Emily know that she knows she's out there.  She does so through subtext disguised as earnest grief and soul-searching, her posts becoming an echo of that old Mark Twain chestnut about fiction being the truth inside the lie.  As a result, her blog becomes more honest.  In exposing Emily, she stops apologizing, transforming this story from one of a runaway friend to one about the things we say vs. the things we don't, about the lies we tell each other and the lies we tell ourselves.

As I said, the movie and book are different.  The movie is funny.  It has a ring of mean-girl (and in one case guy) moms who serve as a sort of Greek chorus of Stephanie's torment, providing the all-too-real elements of competitive parents and PTA cliques.  The dialogue is spiked with dark humor that slices the tension, which is handy once things escalate.  The book, although a page turner, is umitigated by mirth of any kind and settles, stone-like, in the psyche.  Sometimes it's a little too creepy.  Also, in the movie Stephanie is likable.  Sure, (SPOILER ALERT!) she has a questionable, Flowers in the Attic past.  But she's kind and vulnerable and well meaning, and I wanted her to come out of this mess okay.  So, when she starts getting wise to Emily's ways and plans to break free, it's satisfying.  In the book she's a lapdog who never gets a clue, an unwitting (albeit willing) pawn in a game beyond her comprehension.  To this end, the most dramatic  difference between the movie and the book is that the movie ends one way and the book ends another.  And as everyone knows, the ending is the most important part of any story because it delivers the message.  In this case, the message is mighty confusing, a kind of Choose Your Own Adventure vortex of forks in the road.  One ending tells us that good triumphs over evil and also that life is pretty hilarious, so why not laugh at it already?  The other says that evil can never be caught, that's there's no escape from -- and no laughing at -- someone who's a sociopath.  I think that the ending you like says a lot about how you see the world.  Or, more to the point, if you see it through the eyes of an Emily or a Stephanie.   

But that's enough heavy stuff for one post.  Thankfully, this Woven Wisdom Charm Necklace lightens even the most somber of moods.  My favorite thing about it is how eclectic it is, the bold striped gumball beads contrasting with the bright tapestry charms and baby owls.  With so much going on, it was tough to find a top that would be a good backdrop, but this red POPSUGAR tee made it, well, pop.  That said, maybe Woven Wisdom isn't as far removed from this post as it seems, being complex and contradictory. 

'Cause what a tangled web we weave, when we practice to deceive.

Sorry not sorry.

Love,
Tracy

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

Cafe au Yay and Fostering Play: Old New York and New New Jersey



 Blossom Rainbow Rampage Necklace

Top: Delia's
Skirt: Material Girl, Macy's
Shoes: Not Rated, Journeys
Bag: Fred Flare
Belt: Wet Seal
Sunglasses: Michaels




Top: So, Kohl's
Jeans: Candie's, Kohl's
Shoes: Bamboo, DSW
Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's
Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's



Butterfly Blue Rampage Necklace

Top: So, Kohl's
Jeans: Mudd, Kohl's
Shoes: Chinese Laundry, DSW
Bag: Uniquely Different, Etsy
Belt: Candie's, Kohl's
Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's




Dress: Rampage, Amazon
Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney
Bag: B&B
Belt: Wet Seal
Sunglasses: The Tote Trove

It's no secret that I adore the ornate.  If it's (jewel) encrusted, embroidered, or embellished, then I'm plotting a way to make it myself or at least make it my own.  That said, when I see an old-school movie, one of my favorite things to do is check out the costumes.  It's such fun to slip into a time when people really dressed.  Gowns!  Jewels!  Hats!  Nothing was ever too fancy, and no heroine ever worried that she looked like she was trying too hard.  So, when I saw Café Society and Florence Foster Jenkins, I wasn't disappointed (well, not in the clothes, but more on that later).

First, Café Society.  It's a typical Woody Allen flick about a misunderstood, wet-behind-the-ears New Yorker yearning to make his mark.  This time the young man in question is Bobby (Jesse Eisenberg), and the time is the late 1930s.  Bobby leaves his parents' cramped Bronx apartment for Los Angeles to ask his bigwig agent Uncle Phil (Steve Carell) for a big break in the movies.  Uncle Phil is an unlikable sort, a far cry from the teddy bear in grizzly clothing version we all know and love from "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air."  But ambition seldom comes without romance, and through the course of the movie, Bobby finds himself involved with two women, Vonnie #1 and Vonnie #2.  Sure, I could go with Vonnie and Veronica, as Bobby does for most of the film, but this way is funnier, plus has the added benefit of symbolism.  Vonnie #1 (Kristen Stewart) is Uncle Phil's secretary, a wise-beyond-her-twenty-five-years goddess who's not what she seems.  On the wardrobe front, she favors chic yet girlish skirts and blouses in creamy neutrals topped off by the occasional frilly headband.  By contrast, Bobby is awkward and sweet, and as Vonnie #1 herself says, naïve.  (Also, he wears a lot of high-waisted pants.)  After spending what seems like forever in the friend zone, Bobby finally wins Vonnie #1's heart.  The two enjoy a California sunshine-drenched idyll in which they frolic on the beach, a spectacle that manages to be more moving than cheesy.  For Eisenberg and Stewart, it's Adventureland all over again (minus the carnies), as they morph into every nerd boy-cool girl pairing you've ever seen, only better -- and more ironic.  Some people don't like Stewart, but I think she has a kind of soulful depth that matches Eisenberg's earnestness.  (As a side note, Café has a six degrees of separation thing going on, what with Blake Lively as Vonnie #2 and husband Ryan Reynolds as Adventureland's villain).  But this is Woody Allen's world, which means that heartbreak is on the horizon.  A difference of opinion tears the young couple apart, sending Bobby packing for Gotham.  There he sheds his Hollywood dreams to manage his shady older brother's (Corey Stoll) nightclub.  It's a role that molds his naivete into near cockiness, a persona that fits the endearingly diffident Eisenberg about as well as Bobby's too-slick suit.  Nevertheless, this is where Cafe's style unfurls in full flower.  Enchanted ensembles float across the dance floor in decadent splendor, more modish and mysterious than those on display in LA.  In keeping with his new playboy image, Bobby tries to bed Vonnie #2 during their first meeting, his shy, romantic younger self long since snuffed out by disappointment and living.  Glamorous and sophisticated, Vonnie #2 is a winsome divorcee who's been hurt.  But even her charms are no match for the chemistry between Bobby and Vonnie #1, which is a pure thing in a sea of pretense.  Their relationship reminds me of Tom and Summer's in 500 Days of Summer.  Timid office drone Tom (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) falls for charismatic, nonconformist secretary Summer (Zooey Deschanel) who turns out to be - spoiler alert - a conformist after all.  When Summer tells Tom she's done, she means it, and Tom ends up meeting a girl who makes him truly happy, whereas Bobby . . .  Well, never mind.  (Hey, sometimes I can keep a secret.) Suffice it to say that Café Society is melancholy, introspective, and spiked with Allen's signature wit, a cocktail as bittersweet and sparkling as the elixirs mixed behind its bar.

As for Florence Foster Jenkins, I just don't know.  It's the 1940s biopic of Jenkins (Meryl Streep), a New York patron of the arts who desperately wants to sing but is terrible at it.  To add to Florence's misfortune, she contracted syphilis decades ago on her wedding night (a condition that forces her to wear a hideous, if era-appropriate, wig) and so is in a second marriage (of convenience) with actor St. Clair Bayfield (Hugh Grant), a not unkind guy who juggles a girlfriend and the full-time job of shielding Florence from the painful truth about her pipes.  Yet talented but greener-than-clover accompanist Cosme McMoon (Simon Helberg) finds it more difficult to keep up the subterfuge, revealing his frustration in a series of hilarious facial expressions each time his benefactress unleashes her banshee wail.  As Florence continued to screech her way through a whole hope chest's worth of mother-of-the-bride-like beaded outfits, I couldn't help but hope that something would break for her (and I don't mean glass).  When she's at the height of her humiliation, giving an earsplitting recital at Carnegie Hall for a horde of rowdy servicemen, I thought that maybe she would shift to a comic-on-purpose performance, dramatizing her already bird-like outfit and strangled-crow's voice until she sprouted literal and metaphorical wings in a rom-com-style extravaganza of unlikely and uplifting triumph.  But this is no rom com, and that never happens.  Instead (and you may want to avert your eyes if you still plan to see this) she finds the one newspaper that St. Clair hasn't destroyed, reads a scathing review, and . . . dies.  Hmm.  So much for sticks and stones.

But upward and onward.                 

High points:

A bathtub full of potato salad (who says you can't picnic where you pee?).

The aforementioned comedic stylings of Simon Helberg, who turns out to be a nerd for all seasons.

The reminder that Ms. Streep can play any role, no matter how ridiculous, flawlessly.

That brings us to the end of this post's New York portion.  So long, Empire State, hello Garden (State).  (Not adding that second "State," I feel, would have been disrespectful to Zach Braff.)  No story here, I'm afraid, just the blue skies of Brigantine and the mirage-like (marsh-like?) skyline of  Atlantic City.  Bet there are more than a few suspect songstresses belting it out beneath those chandeliers.

That, and a buffet's-worth of potato salad.