I grew up in a city that I knew almost nothing about until years after I'd left it. I lived in a neighborhood of Irish Catholic Democrats, which meant that even though I'm a WASP by genetics and a Nebraskan by default, I'm still an Irish Catholic Democrat from Beverly. I even sang in the choir of a local Catholic church (outside of the parish where I lived).
The neighborhood we lived in, and the church my family and I attended were formed after the Great Fire in 1871. Since everyone blamed an Irish cow, and all of the homes of the Irish workers were destroyed (seeing as how they were made of wood), it was, um, prudent for them to get out of the city as quickly as possible. Social violence is one of those urban constants that we just haven't quite evolved out of. I should make this clear: my neighborhood wasn't actually established by those Irish workers and their families, but its extremely specific character was made by that influx of people. It had previously been German Presbyterian, or so my The Papa tells me, and he does never tell me wrong. Even the Northern Migration of the early 20th century didn't seem to phase anyone much in my neighborhood. The music was different, there were more churches, and the food had more flavor (sorry, but really? Irish potato salad from the South Side of Chicago is about the least flavorful food ever. EVER.) but everyone came out on Saint Patrick's Day and everyone was Irish.
At least, that's how it seemed to me.
Before I learned.
The Blues Brothers is one of those films that I didn't get for a long time. My father loved pointing out landmarks from the movie as we drove places in town or out of town. He loved Ferris Bueller's Day Off because it allowed him to point out exactly how impossible the movie really is. Which it is, and not because of Charlie Sheen, but because of the geography of the city and the timing of events and how long it takes to get places from other places and practical things like that. It is, in every way, a love story to Chicago - it has little to do with Bueller, and everything to do with a vision of a perfect day in the city. The Blues Brothers has been given the nod of the Catholic Church. This proves that it is, indeed, from the South Side. Even though Calumet City isn't technically in the city, it is still part of my home.
Paris, Je T'Aime and New York, I Love You are movies that are billed as short films made by amazing directors with stellar casts showcasing different parts of the named cities using love stories as the framework - the familiar way in to something unfamiliar (I love this device and must find a time to talk about ad nauseum). I have been to both cities and find them wonderful, and will not pretend to any special knowledge of either one of them. That said, I found that the New York pieces had more to do with the people of the city, and the Paris pieces were very grounded in the ground, even though many/most of the directors in the featurettes said that they were telling stories of the people of the city, not of the city itself. (I am, of course, slightly biased: my heart was lost to literature when I read Les Miserables when I was 15, and then again when I was 16 and 17. Hugo loved Paris. And he went on about it and its architecture. And on. And on. The Hunchback of Notre Dame is a more diluted example of the sort of detail and exposition and social complexity Hugo runs with in Les Mis. In case you're ever interested in 19th century French Literature. Hunchback is also a fairly quick read. Quicker than Les Mis (The Battle of Waterloo)(Just sayin'))
Now that I've been to Delhi, and had some time to process what little of the city I saw, Monsoon Wedding and Rang de Basanti, both set in that very alive place, seem much more dependent on place than they did before. I've long said that Monsoon Wedding is a love story to Delhi, and that PK and Alice are the main characters, which is the basis of my central argument, because their relationship relies on their meeting, which is specific to urban life, and lives in an overlap of times which is specific to Delhi. Rang de Basanti, shamelessly nationalistic and heartbreaking (it is my go to movie when I need to bawl), shows a completely different set of areas of the city, we even saw one of them - and it was kind of odd, really. Challenged me very quietly to reconsider myself in places. Always a good thing, I think.
So much of any urban area that exists within the walls and behind doors and under sidewalks. Holes in the wall, as we call them - those restaurants with tiny store fronts tucked away down impossible lanes; bookstores with sagging shelves; a movie theater tucked above a bar. Something shifts in your vision when you learn to see the names of places, the quality of the light behind glass doors, the air that leaves the front door and how it changes the world around it.
My favorite city scenes in movies are the ones that rely on old European cities to be relatively incomprehensible to traveler's through. In Condorman, I'm never entirely certain that they will find the church. The Pink Panther turns a quiet round about into the middle ring of circus. The American finds his way around a town that I am convinced could not exist outside of an Escher print. Even The Illusionist turns Edinburgh into an incomprehensible system of surface tunnels - part of the feel of the movie is in the sense of displacement, so it works.
Felines surround me, faces upturned, meows growing louder: it is time for dinner.
For next time: How I learned to love webcomics.
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