On the Big Screen
‘Always at the Carlyle’ Review: How This NYC Hotel Became a Timeless Hot Spot
Doc on famed, expensive Gotham-deco stop for one-percent recruits a who’s-who of celebrities to pay tribute to an institution
We know what you’re thinking: Why see a movie about a posh Manhattan hotel that most of us could never afford to stay in even for one night? It’s not just the fascination of watching how the one-percent lives; it’s because this storied 88-year-old hotel, filled with impossibly glamorous ghosts from the past, radiates an elegance that seems like an anomaly in this shallow age of Trump-style glitz. The POTUS has been spied on the premises, only to be overheard saying, “This place is a joke.” Unless style, sophistication and grace make you double over in laughter, that’s just more of his typical #FakeNews.
Always at the Carlyle, the dazzling, sometimes hilarious and surprisingly emotional documentary from writer-director Matthew Miele (Scatter My Ashes at Bergdorf’s, Harry Benson: Shoot First!), is not some advertorial to persuade suckers to blow their stash on the chance to rub elbows with kings and rock stars. It’s a look at the hard work of maintaining refinement in a world that increasingly fails to see the point.
Miele takes us right through those revolving doors on Madison Avenue, letting a host of boldface names – George Clooney, Harrison Ford, Wes Anderson, Sofia Coppola, Anthony Bourdain, Roger Federer, Lenny Kravitz – weighing in on why the hotel is the Gotham-deco lodging of choice. The former Han Solo is a particular hoot, claiming to be amazed at the luxury on view when he paid $1100 a night for a room with a peeling radiator. That’s a far cry from the opulent splendor afforded Prince William and Kate Middleton on their first visit trip to New York in 2014 when the Carlyle – a favorite of the Prince’s mother, Diana – became a must stop.
Still, it’s the institution’s staffers, many of whom have been serving their guests for decades, who provide the most delicious fun. Pay close attention to long-time concierge Dwight Owsley, bellhop Danny Harnett and Tommy Rowles, who’s been tending bar at Bemelmans for half a century. Named after Ludwig Bemelmans, the artist who drew the Madeline books for children, the hotel’s in-house drinking establishment has become a global attraction just to see the Bemelmans drawings on its walls. And the Café Carlyle, where singer-pianist Bobby Short entertained sophisticates from 1968 until his death in 2005, is still a haven for performers; Alan Cumming talks of breaking the rules by posing nude for an album cover outside the Cafe’s doors.
Wickedness, in fact, remains an integral part of the Carlyle mystique – famous for its discretion, the staff insists that nothing will be revealed. Still, the doc lets more than a few naughty details sneak through about such favorite guests as Jack Nicholson, Mick Jagger and Naomi Campbell. And what of those alleged secret tunnels through which Marilyn Monroe was reportedly swept before arriving at JFK’s 34th floor suite after his 1961 inauguration? If only those walls could talk.
in this movie they do, thanks to Miele’s personal touch that blends a scrappy, playful
style with unfakeable affection. And the gifted director of photography Justin Bare
lights each room and glittering interviewee with the burnished beauty befitting
an iconic subject. In the end, Always at the Carlyle not only captures the intangible essence of a
one-of-a-kind hotel but the soul of a
time and place, a piece of Manhattan that literally and figuratively reaches
for the stars. The Carlyle is more than a hotel made of brick and mortar – like
this indispensable movie, it’s the stuff that dreams are made of.
New Programming Alert Tonight
Sharp Objects is gripping, grim and unsettling
Amy Adams (center) and Patricia Clarkson (right) in Sharp Objects.
Anne Marie Fox/HBO
Anyone who watched and admired HBO’s Big Little Lies, and many did, noted the emphatic style that Canadian director Jean-Marc Vallée brought to it.
The manner in which he contrasted the soaring vistas of Northern California with the tight spaces in which the characters mainly existed. The elliptical way they perceived reality, from the numerous scenes of characters watching through car windows and seeing others in mirrors. The technique and flair he brought to it was subtly key to the intensity.
Well, Vallée isn’t directing the second season of that show. Instead he’s done another miniseries mystery.
Sharp Objects (starts Sunday, HBO, 9 p.m. ET), heavily promoted by HBO, is a murder mystery but not really about cops finding a killer. It’s mainly about a self-destructive, damaged female reporter doing the leg work. She’s played by Amy Adams and this strange, very slow-burning production belongs almost entirely to Adams and Jean-Marc Vallée.
Based on Gillian Flynn’s gothic murder-mystery novel (published years before her Gone Girl), Sharp Objectsis a summer indulgence of sorts, but far from light. In fact it’s a strain at times: opaque, disorienting, with a very dark erotic charge, and at times a descent into hell. It’s admirable in many ways but vexing as it pokes away at the layers of deep, perverse debasement of its central character.
That’s Camille Preaker (Adams), who is dishevelled from the get-go, barely hanging on to a job as a reporter at a city newspaper. Why she’s mostly drunk, chain-smoking and seems to live in the same clothes, day after day, goes unexplained for a long time. You just know there’s some fierce hurt there and it isn’t a failed romance.
Her editor (Miguel Sandoval) tells her to go to tiny Wind Gap, her hometown, because a young girl has gone missing. The previous summer there was another missing girl, found murdered. He tells Camille to visit, portray the town and dig around. Wind Gap, in Missouri and with a population of 2,000, is a dying town. Industries have failed but the town clings to hope (there are strategically placed political posters for Bill Clinton and Barack Obama to give you an economic backstory) and it has its little local aristocracy, of which Camille’s mother Adora, (nicely played by Patricia Clarkson going into Tennessee Williams-gothic mode) is one.
Camille’s ragged path into the town’s heart and the mysterious murders of two young women goes through Adora and Camille’s half-sister Amma (Eliza Scanlen), the latter reminding Camille of herself. Part of the slow-burning quality is the drop-by-drop revelation of the twisted mental state of a teenage girl trapped in a small town, her sexual presence an energy force that disorients her and disturbs many men.
Not that it is easy to get the picture. Vallée uses every possible film and editing technique to blend the past and the present. A character opens a door and enters a room, but is actually entering time past. Camille looks down a familiar back alley from her youth and the viewer isn’t sure if we’re seeing the present or the past. You need your wits about you watching this one.
The only thing that is crystal-clear is that Camille has major demons in the baggage she carries around. You may wonder at first why she wears the same jeans and sweatshirt all the time. And then you figure out there are scars, literal and figurative, that are being hidden. Long ago experiences, that might be a dream or distortion, seem to haunt her but, at the same time, arouse her. There is an awful lot of deep-layered female self-hate and doubt under the surface here. This is very much an intensely female-centric mystery. The showrunner is Marti Noxon, and there’s a team of mostly women writers, including Gillian Flynn, and the story is, eventually, firmly fixed on three generations of small-town women, as the male characters fade into the background.
Adams is excellent and there is already Emmy talk about this performance. But she is almost matched by Sophia Lillis as the young Camille, who enters the drama often, as sharp memories cause Camille to confront the young woman she was. There’s trauma there, in what happened to Camille as a teenager and what drove her to endless drinking as an adult. Vallée lets the trauma twist in the wind for ages, carefully unsettling the viewer with the confusion of past and present.
Sharp Objects is gripping enough but requires patience. It’s non-linear in structure, and be prepared, because while it’s a murder mystery on the surface, it’s about the exploitation and manipulation of women and the self-damage that results. Summer popcorn entertainment, it ain’t.