Whose Shoes Wednesday
Manolo asks, whose shoes?
Manolo says, many apologies from the Manolo regarding the lack of the recap of the most recent episode of the Project Runway.
The Manolo has been travelling again this week, rolling with the Posse Manolo in Boston and Long Island, and has not yet had the chance to see this episode. This week he is finally back in New York (but for only one week before his big move to Buenos Aires).
However, the Manolo hopes to be able to sit down tomorrow morning, view the episode and report on it before the airing of the new episode tomorrow night.
Manolo says, it is Tuesday, time to see what the Manolo is…
The Manolo finally managed to see the Sex and the City movie.
His reaction: In the word, meh.
Although supposedly set in the present day, the movie seemed dated, as if it were the daguerreotype from the previous millennium, quaintly hinting at the outdated customs and obsolete mores of the distant past.
On the one of the hands, Carrie and her pals were sweeter and more vulnerable, more desperately romantic, than we have ever before seen them (although less funny). They were also more likable than ever, except for Cynthia Nixon, who should be dropped down the long mine shaft and left there until she realizes how truly blessed her cinematic life (with its great job, wonderful child, and good-looking if drippy man) is.
The girls were also, despite the smutty talk and Kim Cantrell’s absurdly sexualized character, entirely monogamous in their relationships, which was something of the relief to the old man Manolo, who believes that intense monogamous love between two peoples is perhaps the greatest of the Almighty’s gifts.
Yet, while there were good things, on the other of the hands, the movie dragged on interminably, piling up senseless subplots and meaningless details. Yawn.
Worse, the movie’s attempts at bringing the romantic longings of the characters (and the audience) to fruition were misguided and inadequate. Shaped as the semi-conventional romantic comedy, Sex and the City contained little that could be considered romantic.
Take for the example, Mr. Big, held up by the movie as the choicest piece of man meat to ever tread the earth, with his dyed hair, droopy jowls, shaped eyebrows, and his indecisive, dreary, somnambulantly sulky ways. At least he was rich, moderately available, tall, and rich (did the Manolo mention that he was rich? It was very important in this movie, the richiosity of Mr. Big, because it means he was able to buy Park Avenue apartments and fill their commodious closets with swag.)
Query: What is less romantic than the vacillating, indecisive, weakly lover?
Answer: The movie that confuses wealth for romantic desirability.
Oh, how the Manolo wishes he could have swapped Chris Noth for Tom Selleck!
Tom Selleck: charming, virile, decisive, funny, cheerful, and at 63, still the hunkiest man in Hollywood!
Chris Noth in Sex and the City: drippy!
But, you must play the hand you were dealt, and Mr. Big is apparently the only man who would have Carrie Bradshaw, looking, as she does, ever more like Miss Havisham…
Ayyyyy!
I saw that the bride within the bridal dress had withered like the dress, and like the flowers, and had no brightness left but the brightness of her sunken eyes. I saw that the dress had been put upon the rounded figure of a young woman, and that the figure upon which it now hung loose, had shrunk to skin and bone. Once, I had been taken to see some ghastly waxwork at the Fair, representing I know not what impossible personage lying in state. Once, I had been taken to one of our old marsh churches to see a skeleton in the ashes of a rich dress, that had been dug out of a vault under the church pavement. Now waxwork and skeleton seemed to have dark eyes that moved and looked at me. I should have cried out, if I could.
~Charles Dickens, Great Expectations.
And frankly this is another of the problems of the movie. attempting to sell us lean mutton as plump lamb.
This is not to say that romantic comedies that feature middle aged persons cannot be good, and satisfying, and funny, only that Carrie wanted to play the part of the virginal ingenue, rather than the mature woman with the frightening romantic history. The potential for humor and romanticism was undermined by this insistence.
But, the Manolo is confident that the actor of Tom Selleck’s caliber could have convinced even the most skeptical, disbelieving audience that Sarah Jessica Parker is the hotty, could have convinced us that she is the suitable lead for the romantic comedy.
Ultimately, for the Manolo, the only romantic scene in the entire movie was the wedding at the courthouse, with Carrie in the demure suit, and Mr. Big finally wakened from his movie-long slumber. But, if Sex and the City were truly romantic, that would have happened in the first act of the fifteen minute long, single reel film, which would be followed by the feature length Tom and Jerry cartoon.
Manolo says, it is Monday, and you are back at your desk working feverishly to complete the task you had promised the bossman you would have done by this morning.
Mind you, you are not complaining about this, just working at the hectic pace, whistling softly, even as your mind wanders back to what had turned out to be the weekend to remember.
It had not started out that way, indeed, you had intended to work on your boss-appointed task on Saturday. But, the uncommon freedom of being the new empty-nesters seemed to inspire your man Larry, after 23 years of marriage, to treat the weekend as the opportunity for the impromptu “Honeymoon at Home”.
So, one minute, you are in the kitchen reading recipes for lemon pound cake, and he is on the sofa in the game room watching Ohio State and USC, and the next he is all over you, humming the Viva Viagra song, and nibbling on your ear. And it is not even halftime!
And now your back is achy from the kitchen floor, and the antique settee, and the chaise by the pool (Gawd, you hope the Tullys were not awake at 3AM), and the dining room table, but you do not care, no sireee, not one bit.
If you’d known this would be the result of taking your youngest away to college you would have considered sending them to boarding school many years earlier.
You know what you need, now…Cavalli!
Over the top, sexy, beautiful, witchy, snakey, ridiculous, sublime, Cavalli!
Manolo says, here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.
Dear Manolo,
I’ve fallen for a guy. Me: a first year associate at a white-shoe law firm. Him: the lead singer in a emocore band. He’s also educated, smart, funny, and kind. The problem is that I’ve got to emo up my look a bit so I don’t stand out so much when I go to his shows. What would you recommend?
Monica
Manolo says, the Manolo imagines that if he were the first year law associate, submerged in the dreary sub-basement of his firm, buried under that mountain of meaningless petty paperwork which is the diet of the new lawyer, the Manolo would, like Keats, also find himself half in love with “easeful death,” or perhaps Morrissey, which is the next best thing.
And as far as the rock-n-roll fashions go, the emo movement is not the most egregiously offensive, as long as one can ignore the drippy, asymmetrical, dyed-black-hair-in-the-eyes thing.
What is there not to like about drainpipe black jeans and the black t-shirt? It is low maintenance, stylish, and yet dreary enough to satisfy the most devoted lover of My Chemical Romance or Tokio Hotel.
As for the feetwear, the Manolo would recommend the black, Converse, John Varvatos Vintage Court Slip-ons. The Manolo owns three pairs of these, so you know they must be good!
Manolo asked, whose shoes?
Manolo answers, it is the Carol Burnett!
Congratulations to the Manolo’s internet friend, Marryann who was the first person to correctly identify this most amusing person of note.
Manolo says, it is Tuesday, time to see what the Manolo is…
The Manolo has this past week rediscovered and become completely absorbed and enthralled with the music of Tom Waits. Perhaps it is because the Manolo was too young the first time around to fully appreciate it, but he has found unexpected depth and poignancy in these songs.
Many apologies from the Manolo for the delay in posting this recapping of the most recent episode. The Manolo is travelling this week, and next, and the next, all of it in preparation for his big move at the end of the month to this place.
Manolo say, ayyyyy! The Diane von Furstenberg is the challenge and the guest judge! The Manolo loves her, and her flirty patterned dresses. so cool, and stylish, and feminine!
Oh, and thus we have yet another first rate challenge with the big payoff from the producers. They are truly going out of their way to make this season the best yet in terms of challenges.
Of the course, it is too bad that this week the designers were not cooperating with this attempt at excellence, as the outfits they offered up could be considered barely competent knockoffs of the DvF, the sort of things one might expect to find on the shelves at T.J. Maxx under the brand name “Sassy von Theilberg”, or “Misty von Richtoffen,” although no one would buy them.
It was not that they didn’t try mightily to turn out something worthy of the wearing, it is just that for the most part their aesthetic senses and styles did not comport well with those of DvF.
For the example, it is hard to imagine anyone further from the DvF world than this week’s loser Stella. She did the best she could, but the final result was the messy ugly pantsuit that was neither fish nor fowl, neither DvF, nor Stella Zoltis.
Likewise, Retro Girl Kenley, who is the mistress of kitsch, seized upon the Shanghai reference to produce the floral World of Suzy Wong dress that was cute, in the sort of Masque of the Red Monkey Hand, 1930’s B-movie, Charlie Chan way, but looked nothing like DvF.
Query: Has DvF ever done floral patterns? The Manolo associates her with geometric prints, not reddish flower prints.
As for the others, Terri did yet another of her pantsuits, which are looking increasingly tired. Look for her to be sent away soon if she does not start producing something better.
And Blayne continues to survive, barely. The Manolo had some hope that his artificially constructed “wacky” persona would provide much needed drama this season, but he has turned out to be the sweet character, one filled with honorable intentions and good wishes.
It is hard to wish him ill, or root against him, even when he produces something as laughable as this week’s knickerbockers and jacket set. They were only marginally worse than Joe, Suede and Jarrel’s outfits (and what is up with the stupid little cap, Miss J?).
As for the winner, Leanne, her dress did not especially impress the Manolo either with it’s awkward proportions or with the limp jacket. But props for the purple color.
And this leaves Korto, who again should have won the challenge, but this time only by default. Her choice of material and her skirt were both spot on. Unfortunately, the yellow did nothing to enhance the piece.
Still, for the Manolo, Korto is becoming the standout talent of this season, the most original of the bunch. She will certainly be in Bryant Park.
Manolo says, here is the Manolo’s latest column for the Express of the Washington Post.
Dear Manolo,
I’m a small town girl with big time dreams, who has just been given the job of a lifetime. The next eight weeks will be super demanding and I’ll be in the limelight a lot. All of my friends say I have a sort “sexy librarian” vibe. What would you recommend to make me seem a little more sophisticated and polished?
Sarah
Manolo says, congratulations on your recent success, clearly you are the woman to be reckoned with!
It is always the same with the small town girls who make it big; on the one of the hands, you wish to give yourself the making over so as to seem more fashionable, while on the other of the hands you do not want to lose that refreshing American naturalness which others recognize as the heart of your charm.
In the other words, how to be more Catherine Deneuve without sinking your Molly Brown.
Naturally, the Manolo suggests starting with the shoes. You must shed those pedestrian, low quality shoes and move up market with something truly super fantastic.
Look, here is the Karolina in black patent from Kate Spade, both super fantastic and all American!
Manolo asked, whose shoes?
Manolo answers, it is the Penelope Cruz!
Congratulations to the Manolo’s internet friend Sara, who was the first to correctly guess this famous lady of Spain.