newyorker--2020-05-21--Dancing on Their Own During the Coronavirus Crisis

It ’ s noon on a Friday in May , and the now-familiar illuminated squares of Zoom begin to pop up on a computer screen .
A masked dancer in a studio , which is empty but for a pianist , peers into her computer ’ s camera , calling out a cheerful “ Hi , everyone !
So good to see you !
” In another frame , a toddler ambles by , prompting a dancer to joke , “ Hey , guys , I had a baby !
” ( The toddler actually belongs to the dancer ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ staying . )
More and more squares appear , revealing living rooms , kitchens where family members prepare sandwiches , a nursery , and something that looks like an airplane hangar .
Almost all of the dancers are solo , with just a few lucky couples thrown in .
The truly fortunate are outside , somewhere beautiful .
The dancers of American Ballet Theatre have gathered for their daily virtual ballet class , as many of them have done since March 14th , the day after the company , based near Union Square @ @ @ @ @ @ @ As news of the coronavirus pandemic grew ever more terrifying , some stayed in New York , but others , afraid of being stuck in small apartments with little room to move , left to be with their families elsewhere .
Often they were returning to homes they had left at fourteen or fifteen , never imagining they would one day spend weeks , months , or God knows how long sleeping in childhood bedrooms and practicing their jumps in perilous proximity to kitchen islands .
About thirty of the company ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ given day .
Dancers ’ lives are mostly spent in spaces crowded with people .
They rehearse in studios where it ’ s often uncomfortably warm and stuffy—better for the muscles—and go onstage to perform within spitting distance of dozens of other people .
Classical ballets contain multitudes ; the whole idea of the corps de ballet is that it should animate the stage , bringing it alive with movement .
And then there ’ s the partnering : hands on bodies , sweat , dancers breathing into each other ’ s faces @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that looks like magical ease .
But here they are , far from each other and from the people who insure that they are able to hone their technique day after day .
Carlos Lopez , who teaches this regular morning class , is what is known in the business as a “ ballet master.
” His duties at A.B.T .
include teaching , leading rehearsals , and assisting choreographers .
Currently , his work setup involves a computer screen propped atop his bed , a detachable shower bar affixed to a bookshelf @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on the wall .
After rolling back a rug , he demonstrates the exercises to the other dancers from a doorway between the bedroom and the living room in his small apartment in Chelsea .
His roommate , who is not a dancer , has graciously given him permission to do this once a day for an hour and a half .
From another location , a pianist accompanies each class .
Today , the accompanist starts off the pliés with a version of “ Oh , What a Beautiful Mornin ’ , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” The playlist seems designed to keep people in a good mood .
It ’ s remarkable how much Lopez can glean from the little digital squares .
Every so often , he gives a correction to a particular dancer : “ Release your neck , ” or “ Toes stretched !
” Over the past two months , he has perfected the art of the Zoom lesson .
Lopez is from Madrid , where the effects of COVID-19 have been devastating .
He hasn ’ t seen his family in months and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , sí , ” he told me , his voice full of emotion .
“ I talked to my mother for an hour and a half yesterday .
I ’ m going to see her soon.
” He began offering these Zoom classes spontaneously , as soon as he heard that the studios would be closed .
Then the lucrative eight-week season at the Met , the pinnacle of the company ’ s yearly schedule , was cancelled .
The dancers were at loose ends , as was he .
At first , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
That quickly changed ; the company ’ s private donors and corporate sponsors stepped in .
Additionally , there is now an A.B.T .
Crisis Relief Fund , and a federal Small Business Administration loan has provided assistance .
The company sent out squares of specialized vinyl flooring to each dancer who wanted one , in order to prevent knee injuries from hard floors .
None of the staff has been laid off—yet .
But the situation is critical .
Kara Medoff Barnett , the company ’ s executive director , told @ @ @ @ @ @ @ lose approximately eighteen million dollars in revenue from ticket sales and touring fees .
The dancers ’ salaries are only guaranteed through early July , when their New York City season would normally end .
A fall season has been announced , but it remains anything but certain .
The company seems to be doing what it can for the dancers and the staff , organizing monthly company meetings and bimonthly informal kaffeeklatsches , all via Zoom , at which people can air their concerns .
There was a virtual fund-raising gala to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , with prerecorded toasts and video .
For the next few weeks , there will be online interviews and video diaries .
“ A crisis like this amplifies your strengths and your weaknesses as an institution , ” Barnett said .
“ Our strength is our cohesion and collaborative spirit .
Our weakness is not having a library of digital content.
” In contrast , New York ’ s other large ballet company , New York City Ballet , has been able to put together a “ digital season , ” with online @ @ @ @ @ @ @ every Tuesday and Friday .
The high-quality broadcasts are unprecedented for an American ballet company ; before now , conflicting rights between management and the labor unions representing the dancers , musicians , and stagehands have made such a thing economically unfeasible .
Now they seem like a necessity .
A.B.T .
will have to catch up fast .
“ I told my colleagues , the age of the ephemeral is over , ” Barnett said .
“ From now on , we must capture everything that we do , from rehearsals to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ agencies , sports franchises and car manufacturers , performing-arts troupes face a perilous future .
Self-preservation is at the top of the agenda .
If a company can ’ t survive , there will be no jobs for people to come back to .
There ’ s little public funding for the arts , and the category of live performance faces some of the highest barriers to a return to activity .
Before a vaccine or a cure for the coronavirus , people may be willing to get a haircut or buy a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ) , but will they be ready to sit in an enclosed , windowless theatre for two hours among hundreds or thousands of fellow audience members ?
Will opera singers be able to rehearse , propelling their breath across large spaces into the breathing space of other singers ?
Will orchestra musicians be able to sit shoulder to shoulder ?
Will dancers be able to share a studio for hours and hours , as they normally do , or hurl themselves into their partners ’ arms at the end of a pas de @ @ @ @ @ @ @ until such things make any sense at all ?
And what does it mean to be a singer or a dancer or a cellist if you can ’ t perform ?
The question is as much a metaphysical one as a practical one .
As Alexei Ratmansky , A.B.T.
’ s resident choreographer , told me , several weeks into the lockdown , “ If we can ’ t go into the studio , what are we ?
” Ratmansky has gone from a managing a manic schedule and crisscrossing the globe to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .

It’s noon on a Friday in May, and the now-familiar illuminated squares of Zoom begin to pop up on a computer screen. A masked dancer in a studio, which is empty but for a pianist, peers into her computer’s camera, calling out a cheerful “Hi, everyone! So good to see you!” In another frame, a toddler ambles by, prompting a dancer to joke, “Hey, guys, I had a baby!” (The toddler actually belongs to the dancer’s sister, with whom she is staying.) More and more squares appear, revealing living rooms, kitchens where family members prepare sandwiches, a nursery, and something that looks like an airplane hangar. Almost all of the dancers are solo, with just a few lucky couples thrown in. The truly fortunate are outside, somewhere beautiful.
The dancers of American Ballet Theatre have gathered for their daily virtual ballet class, as many of them have done since March 14th, the day after the company, based near Union Square in Manhattan, sent everyone home. As news of the coronavirus pandemic grew ever more terrifying, some stayed in New York, but others, afraid of being stuck in small apartments with little room to move, left to be with their families elsewhere. Often they were returning to homes they had left at fourteen or fifteen, never imagining they would one day spend weeks, months, or God knows how long sleeping in childhood bedrooms and practicing their jumps in perilous proximity to kitchen islands. About thirty of the company’s ninety dancers join the class on any given day.
Dancers’ lives are mostly spent in spaces crowded with people. They rehearse in studios where it’s often uncomfortably warm and stuffy—better for the muscles—and go onstage to perform within spitting distance of dozens of other people. Classical ballets contain multitudes; the whole idea of the corps de ballet is that it should animate the stage, bringing it alive with movement. And then there’s the partnering: hands on bodies, sweat, dancers breathing into each other’s faces as they channel physical effort into something that looks like magical ease.
But here they are, far from each other and from the people who insure that they are able to hone their technique day after day. Carlos Lopez, who teaches this regular morning class, is what is known in the business as a “ballet master.” His duties at A.B.T. include teaching, leading rehearsals, and assisting choreographers. Currently, his work setup involves a computer screen propped atop his bed, a detachable shower bar affixed to a bookshelf for stability, and a small mirror on the wall. After rolling back a rug, he demonstrates the exercises to the other dancers from a doorway between the bedroom and the living room in his small apartment in Chelsea. His roommate, who is not a dancer, has graciously given him permission to do this once a day for an hour and a half. From another location, a pianist accompanies each class. Today, the accompanist starts off the pliés with a version of “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’,” from the musical “Oklahoma!” The playlist seems designed to keep people in a good mood.
It’s remarkable how much Lopez can glean from the little digital squares. Every so often, he gives a correction to a particular dancer: “Release your neck,” or “Toes stretched!” Over the past two months, he has perfected the art of the Zoom lesson. Lopez is from Madrid, where the effects of COVID-19 have been devastating. He hasn’t seen his family in months and worries constantly about them. “Ay, sí,” he told me, his voice full of emotion. “I talked to my mother for an hour and a half yesterday. I’m going to see her soon.” He began offering these Zoom classes spontaneously, as soon as he heard that the studios would be closed. Then the lucrative eight-week season at the Met, the pinnacle of the company’s yearly schedule, was cancelled. The dancers were at loose ends, as was he.
At first, neither Lopez nor the dancers were paid. That quickly changed; the company’s private donors and corporate sponsors stepped in. Additionally, there is now an A.B.T. Crisis Relief Fund, and a federal Small Business Administration loan has provided assistance. The company sent out squares of specialized vinyl flooring to each dancer who wanted one, in order to prevent knee injuries from hard floors. None of the staff has been laid off—yet. But the situation is critical. Kara Medoff Barnett, the company’s executive director, told me that the company is projected to lose approximately eighteen million dollars in revenue from ticket sales and touring fees. The dancers’ salaries are only guaranteed through early July, when their New York City season would normally end. A fall season has been announced, but it remains anything but certain.
The company seems to be doing what it can for the dancers and the staff, organizing monthly company meetings and bimonthly informal kaffeeklatsches, all via Zoom, at which people can air their concerns. There was a virtual fund-raising gala to celebrate the company’s eightieth anniversary, with prerecorded toasts and video. For the next few weeks, there will be online interviews and video diaries. “A crisis like this amplifies your strengths and your weaknesses as an institution,” Barnett said. “Our strength is our cohesion and collaborative spirit. Our weakness is not having a library of digital content.” In contrast, New York’s other large ballet company, New York City Ballet, has been able to put together a “digital season,” with online broadcasts of ballets from its repertory airing every Tuesday and Friday. The high-quality broadcasts are unprecedented for an American ballet company; before now, conflicting rights between management and the labor unions representing the dancers, musicians, and stagehands have made such a thing economically unfeasible. Now they seem like a necessity. A.B.T. will have to catch up fast. “I told my colleagues, the age of the ephemeral is over,” Barnett said. “From now on, we must capture everything that we do, from rehearsals to the stage.”
Like restaurants and travel agencies, sports franchises and car manufacturers, performing-arts troupes face a perilous future. Self-preservation is at the top of the agenda. If a company can’t survive, there will be no jobs for people to come back to. There’s little public funding for the arts, and the category of live performance faces some of the highest barriers to a return to activity. Before a vaccine or a cure for the coronavirus, people may be willing to get a haircut or buy a car (if they can afford it), but will they be ready to sit in an enclosed, windowless theatre for two hours among hundreds or thousands of fellow audience members? Will opera singers be able to rehearse, propelling their breath across large spaces into the breathing space of other singers? Will orchestra musicians be able to sit shoulder to shoulder? Will dancers be able to share a studio for hours and hours, as they normally do, or hurl themselves into their partners’ arms at the end of a pas de deux? How long will it be until such things make any sense at all? And what does it mean to be a singer or a dancer or a cellist if you can’t perform? The question is as much a metaphysical one as a practical one. As Alexei Ratmansky, A.B.T.’s resident choreographer, told me, several weeks into the lockdown, “If we can’t go into the studio, what are we?” Ratmansky has gone from a managing a manic schedule and crisscrossing the globe to make ballets to weeks of enforced inactivity.
Believing in the future requires an act of faith. When I asked Barnett if she thought that A.B.T. would survive, she answered yes, pointing to the company’s history. “This is a company that survived World War Two, and that almost disappeared from the earth twice, in 1948 and in 1984, when it flirted with insolvency. But this is causing us to rethink everything.”


newyorker--2020-05-22--Batman Works from Home

Batman Works from Home

Today I baked bread , organized my canned goods , and polished all of my exploding gas balls .
Again .
I haven ’ t left my house in more than eight weeks , and it ’ s starting to wear me down .
Yes , I live on a massive estate with a whole lair full of goodies and gizmos , but , still—even Batman gets cabin fever .
I ’ ll be honest , it hurt when I found out that I wasn ’ t an essential worker .
I ’ m Batman !
The Dark Knight !
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ evidently , not the one it needs .
Turns out the heroes Gotham needs right now are grocery-store employees , delivery-truck drivers , and nurses .
Not a big demand for grappling-hook experts , currently .
I miss all the little things , you know ?
Attending museum galas , dating supermodels , chasing packs of goons around the docks and then strapping them up from their ankles outside of police headquarters .
Regular stuff .
I miss Alfred .
Robin and I have been keeping our distance from him , because he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ him over video chat every night , but it ’ s not the same .
Also , I don ’ t know how to fold the fitted sheets .
I can foil a crime syndicate that ’ s trying to take down an entire metropolis , but I don ’ t even know where to begin with these damn sheets .
I miss my parents .
I know they died long before this , but missing them is really the core of my whole deal .
Now that I work from home , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of time on Zoom with Two-Face , the Joker , the Riddler , and Poison Ivy .
The other day , as a goof , the Joker changed his background to the Batcave .
We all had a good laugh .
The bad guys haven ’ t said it out loud , but I think they ’ re lonely , too .
Nobody has an appetite for dastardly plots right now .
Poisoning the water supply with a solution that makes people ’ s faces freeze into a permanent smile just seems silly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Anyway , did you know you can regrow scallions in a glass of water ?
It ’ s wild .
Poison Ivy taught me .
About once a week , I go for a drive .
It ’ s not good to let the Batmobile just sit in the garage .
I circle the city , but there ’ s really nothing for me to do .
Crime is way down .
If I ’ d known that the most recent pickpocket I nabbed was going to be the last for months , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Gotham is so different .
The streets are silent , except for the blare of sirens .
And there ’ s not a single Bat-Signal in the sky .
I called Commissioner Gordon to ask if he could turn it on , just for old time ’ s sake , and he said he was “ very busy ” and that I should “ stop bugging him to get Animal Crossing.
” I just want him to see the cool Bat Island I built !
It ’ s no fun if no @ @ @ @ @ @ @ all of this is trying to remain motivated .
I ’ ve been fighting crime online to stay sharp .
Yesterday I got a man blocked from the Herkimer County Bird Lovers Facebook group , because his Zip Code technically falls in Otsego County .
Love your own birds , mister .
Now that I do all my crime-fighting on my computer , I ’ ve stopped putting in the effort to strap into the whole Batman getup .
I wear the cowl and cape , but then it ’ s just sweatpants @ @ @ @ @ @ @ belt doesn ’ t even fit anymore .
I ’ m realizing that Gotham can get by without Batman for a few months , but I ’ m not sure Bruce Wayne can .
Not the best time to be having an identity crisis .
Robin suggested that I talk to a therapist .
I ’ m a little surprised that nobody has suggested that to me before—I ’ m starting to think I have some pretty clear coping issues .
Then there ’ s the guilt .
I realize that , as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , I ’ m insulated from a lot of the worst of this pandemic .
I don ’ t have to worry about food insecurity , unemployment , or homeschooling kids .
I can ’ t help but wonder if it would have been better for the world if I ’ d used my near-limitless fortune to combat inequality instead of getting nipples added and then removed from my Batsuit .
Those thoughts made me sad , so I baked more bread .
I keep reminding myself : this will end someday .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ homes , be together again , and not have to wear masks .
Unless we want to .
Until then , I ’ m hopeful .
I ’ m thankful .
I ’ m freezing a lot of freshly baked bread .
I ’ m Batman .
Oh , I ’ ve also been having crazy dreams .
In one , I was Michael Keaton .
Then I was George Clooney .
Then I was randomly Val Kilmer .
No clue what that means .

Bat Log, Day . . .
Honestly, who’s keeping track anymore?
Today I baked bread, organized my canned goods, and polished all of my exploding gas balls. Again.
I haven’t left my house in more than eight weeks, and it’s starting to wear me down. Yes, I live on a massive estate with a whole lair full of goodies and gizmos, but, still—even Batman gets cabin fever.
I’ll be honest: it hurt when I found out that I wasn’t an essential worker. I’m Batman! The Dark Knight! The hero Gotham deserves, but, evidently, not the one it needs. Turns out the heroes Gotham needs right now are grocery-store employees, delivery-truck drivers, and nurses. Not a big demand for grappling-hook experts, currently.
I miss all the little things, you know? Attending museum galas, dating supermodels, chasing packs of goons around the docks and then strapping them up from their ankles outside of police headquarters. Regular stuff.
I miss Alfred. Robin and I have been keeping our distance from him, because he’s elderly. We talk to him over video chat every night, but it’s not the same. Also, I don’t know how to fold the fitted sheets. I can foil a crime syndicate that’s trying to take down an entire metropolis, but I don’t even know where to begin with these damn sheets.
I miss my parents. I know they died long before this, but missing them is really the core of my whole deal.
Now that I work from home, I’ve been spending a lot of time on Zoom with Two-Face, the Joker, the Riddler, and Poison Ivy. The other day, as a goof, the Joker changed his background to the Batcave. We all had a good laugh.
The bad guys haven’t said it out loud, but I think they’re lonely, too. Nobody has an appetite for dastardly plots right now. Poisoning the water supply with a solution that makes people’s faces freeze into a permanent smile just seems silly, given the current global situation.
Anyway, did you know you can regrow scallions in a glass of water? It’s wild. Poison Ivy taught me.
About once a week, I go for a drive. It’s not good to let the Batmobile just sit in the garage. I circle the city, but there’s really nothing for me to do. Crime is way down. If I’d known that the most recent pickpocket I nabbed was going to be the last for months, I would’ve savored it more.
Gotham is so different. The streets are silent, except for the blare of sirens. And there’s not a single Bat-Signal in the sky. I called Commissioner Gordon to ask if he could turn it on, just for old time’s sake, and he said he was “very busy” and that I should “stop bugging him to get Animal Crossing.” I just want him to see the cool Bat Island I built! It’s no fun if no one visits.
The hardest part of all of this is trying to remain motivated. I’ve been fighting crime online to stay sharp. Yesterday I got a man blocked from the Herkimer County Bird Lovers Facebook group, because his Zip Code technically falls in Otsego County. Love your own birds, mister.
Now that I do all my crime-fighting on my computer, I’ve stopped putting in the effort to strap into the whole Batman getup. I wear the cowl and cape, but then it’s just sweatpants down below. I bet my utility belt doesn’t even fit anymore.
I’m realizing that Gotham can get by without Batman for a few months, but I’m not sure Bruce Wayne can. Not the best time to be having an identity crisis. Robin suggested that I talk to a therapist. I’m a little surprised that nobody has suggested that to me before—I’m starting to think I have some pretty clear coping issues.
Then there’s the guilt. I realize that, as both a superhero and a billionaire playboy, I’m insulated from a lot of the worst of this pandemic. I don’t have to worry about food insecurity, unemployment, or homeschooling kids. I can’t help but wonder if it would have been better for the world if I’d used my near-limitless fortune to combat inequality instead of getting nipples added and then removed from my Batsuit.
Those thoughts made me sad, so I baked more bread.
I keep reminding myself: this will end someday. We’ll come out of our homes, be together again, and not have to wear masks. Unless we want to.
Until then, I’m hopeful. I’m thankful. I’m freezing a lot of freshly baked bread. I’m Batman.
Oh, I’ve also been having crazy dreams. In one, I was Michael Keaton. Then I was George Clooney. Then I was randomly Val Kilmer. No clue what that means.


newyorker--2020-05-22--Why Donald Trump Wants to Make Safe Elections a Partisan Issue

Subscribers to The New Yorker ’ s new 2020 election newsletter , On the Trail , received this piece in their in-boxes .
Sign up to receive future installments .
In his daily , iterative search for things to demagogue about as the country reels from the coronavirus crisis , Donald Trump on Wednesday turned his attention to absentee ballots .
“ State of Nevada ‘ thinks ’ that they can send out illegal vote by mail ballots , creating a great Voter Fraud scenario for the State and the U.S .
They can ’ t !
If they do @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hold up funds to the State .
Sorry , but you must not cheat in elections , ” the President tweeted on Wednesday .
That wasn ’ t all .
He had a similar threat to direct at a different state .
“ Michigan sends absentee ballot applications to 7.7 million people ahead of Primaries and the General Election , ” he tweeted .
“ This was done illegally and without authorization by a rogue Secretary of State .
I will ask to hold up funding to Michigan if they want to go @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Trump has been raving since the crisis began—about China , about drugs he may or may not be taking , about Barack Obama—flitting from subject to subject as long as the subject is not his own Administration ’ s handling of the situation .
And yet , even in this context , these tweets stand out : the President of the United States has threatened to withhold federal funding from pandemic-stricken swing states over their efforts to make participating in the franchise safer .
“ If he did this privately , it would—rightly—be @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s David A. Graham wrote , imagining a scenario in which a Presidential plot to do exactly what ’ s spelled out in Trump ’ s tweets was leaked to the press rather than thumb-mashed straight out to the world via smartphone app .
“ Yet when he does it as part of a few dozen wildly varied tweets over the course of a morning , it ’ s written off as just another wacky missive from the wacky president.
” No one knows whether it will be safe to vote in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ago , I wrote in this newsletter about the efforts that election experts are making to provide clear advice to election administrators .
Expanded absentee voting is one recommendation they ’ re making—and an important one , but only one among many , and never as a complete substitute for in-person voting .
Protecting our elections from a pandemic didn ’ t necessarily have to be a partisan matter .
Last month , the senators Amy Klobuchar , Ron Wyden , and Chris Coons , though all Democrats , held a press call @ @ @ @ @ @ @ officials , to show that this could be a cross-party conversation .
In response to Trump ’ s tweets on Wednesday , Michigan ’ s secretary of state , Jocelyn Benson , pointed out that a number of Republican-controlled states , including Georgia , have also taken steps to encourage absentee voting this year .
These states have yet to draw Trump ’ s deranged ire .
The Times ’ data guru Nate Cohn raised a basic point : it ’ s not even clear that expanded absentee voting will hurt Trump or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t ’ s totally conceivable to me that higher turnout would help him in these Midwestern states , where the kind of lower turnout and less educated voters who sat out the midterms probably tilt-GOP , ” Cohn wrote .
Even Republicans dead set on fighting Democrats over any change to voting procedure this year seem to agree with Cohn .
In Wisconsin , one of the Midwestern states he was referring to , Republicans encouraged as many people as possible to avail themselves of absentee ballots for the elections last month , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to make voting safer and easier that was offered by the state ’ s Democratic governor , Tony Evers .
But Trump ’ s ravings about absentee ballots do grant one thing : cover .
As my colleague Jelani Cobb has written , “ There is .
.
.
an area in which the novel-coronavirus pandemic dovetails exceptionally well with part of Trump ’ s agenda and that of the Republican Party in some states : voter suppression.
” Many Republicans may see the virtues of absentee ballots while also not wanting to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ ve worked so hard in recent years to achieve , through voter-I.D .
and other restrictive voting laws .
Trump ’ s ranting about absentee ballots gives them cover , much as his grandstanding about birtherism years ago opened up space for them to question Obama ’ s legitimacy as President , even if they didn ’ t subscribe to the cracked conspiracy theory themselves .
That it may well set the stage for Trump to question the results of November ’ s election , well , that ’ s just a @ @ @ @

Subscribers to The New Yorker’s new 2020 election newsletter, On the Trail, received this piece in their in-boxes. Sign up to receive future installments.
In his daily, iterative search for things to demagogue about as the country reels from the coronavirus crisis, Donald Trump on Wednesday turned his attention to absentee ballots. “State of Nevada ‘thinks’ that they can send out illegal vote by mail ballots, creating a great Voter Fraud scenario for the State and the U.S. They can’t! If they do, ‘I think’ I can hold up funds to the State. Sorry, but you must not cheat in elections,” the President tweeted on Wednesday. That wasn’t all. He had a similar threat to direct at a different state. “Michigan sends absentee ballot applications to 7.7 million people ahead of Primaries and the General Election,” he tweeted. “This was done illegally and without authorization by a rogue Secretary of State. I will ask to hold up funding to Michigan if they want to go down this Voter Fraud path!”
Trump has been raving since the crisis began—about China, about drugs he may or may not be taking, about Barack Obama—flitting from subject to subject as long as the subject is not his own Administration’s handling of the situation. And yet, even in this context, these tweets stand out: the President of the United States has threatened to withhold federal funding from pandemic-stricken swing states over their efforts to make participating in the franchise safer. “If he did this privately, it would—rightly—be a massive scandal,” The Atlantic’s David A. Graham wrote, imagining a scenario in which a Presidential plot to do exactly what’s spelled out in Trump’s tweets was leaked to the press rather than thumb-mashed straight out to the world via smartphone app. “Yet when he does it as part of a few dozen wildly varied tweets over the course of a morning, it’s written off as just another wacky missive from the wacky president.”
No one knows whether it will be safe to vote in person in November. A few weeks ago, I wrote in this newsletter about the efforts that election experts are making to provide clear advice to election administrators. Expanded absentee voting is one recommendation they’re making—and an important one, but only one among many, and never as a complete substitute for in-person voting. Protecting our elections from a pandemic didn’t necessarily have to be a partisan matter. Last month, the senators Amy Klobuchar, Ron Wyden, and Chris Coons, though all Democrats, held a press call with a bipartisan group of state election officials, to show that this could be a cross-party conversation. In response to Trump’s tweets on Wednesday, Michigan’s secretary of state, Jocelyn Benson, pointed out that a number of Republican-controlled states, including Georgia, have also taken steps to encourage absentee voting this year. These states have yet to draw Trump’s deranged ire. The Times’ data guru Nate Cohn raised a basic point: it’s not even clear that expanded absentee voting will hurt Trump or his party. “[I]t’s totally conceivable to me that higher turnout would help him in these Midwestern states, where the kind of lower turnout and less educated voters who sat out the midterms probably tilt-GOP,” Cohn wrote.
Even Republicans dead set on fighting Democrats over any change to voting procedure this year seem to agree with Cohn. In Wisconsin, one of the Midwestern states he was referring to, Republicans encouraged as many people as possible to avail themselves of absentee ballots for the elections last month, even as they opposed every other measure to make voting safer and easier that was offered by the state’s Democratic governor, Tony Evers. But Trump’s ravings about absentee ballots do grant one thing: cover. As my colleague Jelani Cobb has written, “There is . . . an area in which the novel-coronavirus pandemic dovetails exceptionally well with part of Trump’s agenda and that of the Republican Party in some states: voter suppression.” Many Republicans may see the virtues of absentee ballots while also not wanting to relinquish the shaping of the electorate they’ve worked so hard in recent years to achieve, through voter-I.D. and other restrictive voting laws. Trump’s ranting about absentee ballots gives them cover, much as his grandstanding about birtherism years ago opened up space for them to question Obama’s legitimacy as President, even if they didn’t subscribe to the cracked conspiracy theory themselves. That it may well set the stage for Trump to question the results of November’s election, well, that’s just a problem for later.


newyorker--2020-05-22--The Coronavirus Hits Brazil Hard, but Jair Bolsonaro Is Unrepentant

The COVID-19 pandemic has had a knack for stripping politics to their basics .
While many leaders have been ill prepared for the crisis , and made errors of judgment about how best to protect their populations , a handful of leaders have shown an admirable degree of statesmanship : Jacinda Ardern , in New Zealand ; Sanna Marin , in Finland ; and Angela Merkel , in Germany , come to mind .
Elsewhere , leaders with authoritarian streaks have felt unleashed ; this group includes Rodrigo Duterte , of the Philippines ; Alexander Lukashenko , of Belarus ; @ @ @ @ @ @ @ In this hemisphere , Donald Trump has alternated between public displays of foul temper and misinformation ; this week he claimed that it is a “ badge of honor ” that the United States has the most COVID-19 cases in the world , because it means that the nation has done a lot of testing .
The first couple of Nicaragua , Daniel Ortega and Rosario Murillo , early on in the pandemic , organized rallies called “ Love in the Time of COVID-19 , ” and the government appears to have underreported @ @ @ @ @ @ @ claim just twenty-five , with eight deaths—and to have orchestrated “ express burials ” of suspected victims of the coronavirus .
Nayib Bukele , the young President of El Salvador , has asserted emergency powers in defiance of the Supreme Court , and deployed soldiers to enforce the strict quarantine measures he has imposed , which include thirty days ’ confinement in “ containment centers ” for violators and for citizens and residents returning to El Salvador from abroad .
But this misconduct pales in comparison with the comportment of Brazil ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ behaving with absolute and deterministic irresponsibility .
From the onset of the pandemic , he has dismissed COVID-19 as a “ little flu , ” and has insisted on holding rallies and personally greeting supporters , pointing out that “ We will all die one day.
” Perhaps taking a cue from Trump , whom Bolsonaro admires , he has attended protests held by anti-shutdown supporters and encouraged uprisings against state governors who support quarantine measures .
In some gatherings , he has been seen coughing repeatedly , though he now wears a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ twice for COVID-19 after an outbreak among his senior staff , but has refused to release the results .
Each day brings a new Bolsonaro-instigated outrage .
In mid-April , he fired the respected health minister , Luiz Henrique Mandetta , after weeks of feuding publicly with him over measures to protect the public .
The President later explained his action by saying , “ Mandetta ’ s vision was that of health , of life .
Mine is more than life , it includes the economy , jobs.
” A week later @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s death toll from confirmed coronavirus cases exceeded five thousand , he asked a reporter , “ So what ?
I ’ m sorry , but what do you want me to do about it ?
” Bolsonaro is not only not doing anything about it ; he has actively campaigned against efforts to control the pandemic , arguing that quarantining people and stopping economic activity will turn Brazil into an impoverished “ African ” nation .
In fact , Brazil ’ s social and economic inequalities were well advanced before COVID-19 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ top priority of Bolsonaro ’ s government .
On May 9th , the prestigious British medical journal The Lancet published an editorial calling Bolsonaro the “ biggest threat ” to public health in Brazil , and concluding that “ he needs to drastically change course or must be the next to go.
” By way of a response , Bolsonaro tweeted a taunting message that he planned to throw a barbecue for “ thousands ” at the Presidential palace .
In the end , he went for a spin on a Jet Ski @ @ @ @ @ @ @ In the weeks since , Brazil ’ s daily death rate has climbed rapidly .
Late last week , it passed eight hundred , and on Sunday the official total death toll reached more than sixteen thousand , making the country ’ s COVID-19 mortality rate the sixth worst in the world .
The numbers of new infections and confirmed cases in Brazil exceeded those of Italy and Spain .
By Thursday , there had been more than eighteen thousand COVID-19 deaths in Brazil , and the over-all number of cases had surpassed @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a few days , it will likely pass Russia ’ s , as well , leaving only the United States with more cases .
Based on current trends , the predictions are that more than eighty thousand Brazilians could die from COVID-19 by August .
On Wednesday , even Donald Trump , a staunch Bolsonaro ally , acknowledged that Brazil was “ having some trouble , ” and that a travel ban might have to be instituted .
Despite all this , Bolsonaro has pushed to reopen the country ’ s economy , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ steps to do so , apparently without consulting his medical experts .
Last week , his new health minister , Nelson Teich , appeared dumbfounded when a reporter asked him about Bolsonaro ’ s decision to reopen hairdressing shops and gyms as “ essential economic activities.
” On Friday , after less than a month on the job , Teich announced that he was quitting .
Last month , in a separate scandal , Bolsonaro fired his federal police chief—the equivalent of the F.B.I .
director—prompting the resignation of the popular justice minister @ @ @ @ @ @ @ imply that Bolsonaro fired the chief because of investigations involving some of the President ’ s allies .
( The inquiries reportedly include two of his sons , who are both politicians .
The Bolsonaros deny any wrongdoing . )
Brazil ’ s Supreme Court , which is still independent , has authorized an investigation , and , in the National Congress , calls for Bolsonaro ’ s impeachment are growing stronger .
( In recent days , Brazil ’ s media has published leaked sections of a videotape of a Cabinet meeting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ allegations , in which Bolsonaro is quoted as saying that he wants to fire the police chief because he wasn ’ t going to wait for the Federal Police “ to fuck my family and friends.
” Brazil ’ s Supreme Court , which has possession of the video , is deciding whether to release it publicly , over the government ’ s strenuous opposition . )
Amid the turmoil , the pandemic has reached the indigenous communities of Brazil ’ s Amazon region , who have historically been susceptible to contagion , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
In recent weeks , the state of Amazonas has emerged as one of the region ’ s most heavily affected by COVID-19 , with at least twelve hundred deaths .
Its capital , Manaus , is a national flashpoint ; Brazilians have been horrified by images that show bulldozers digging mass graves in the city ’ s cemetery .
The hospitals are also overwhelmed , and the mayor has made several public pleas for international help .
Many deaths from the coronavirus are likely going unreported , because of the lack of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ system has collapsed .
The official death toll in Manaus is more than five hundred , but the real number , according to public-health experts and estimates of the city ’ s spike in mortality rates , is feared to be much greater .
( A study conducted by health researchers at a number of Brazilian universities concluded last month that , because of the lack of testing , the real number of the country ’ s coronavirus cases could be as many as twelve times those officially reported ; researchers at the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ be sixteen times greater . )

The COVID-19 pandemic has had a knack for stripping politics to their basics. While many leaders have been ill prepared for the crisis, and made errors of judgment about how best to protect their populations, a handful of leaders have shown an admirable degree of statesmanship: Jacinda Ardern, in New Zealand; Sanna Marin, in Finland; and Angela Merkel, in Germany, come to mind. Elsewhere, leaders with authoritarian streaks have felt unleashed; this group includes Rodrigo Duterte, of the Philippines; Alexander Lukashenko, of Belarus; and Viktor Orbán, of Hungary.
In this hemisphere, Donald Trump has alternated between public displays of foul temper and misinformation; this week he claimed that it is a “badge of honor” that the United States has the most COVID-19 cases in the world, because it means that the nation has done a lot of testing. The first couple of Nicaragua, Daniel Ortega and Rosario Murillo, early on in the pandemic, organized rallies called “Love in the Time of COVID-19,” and the government appears to have underreported the number of cases—so far, they claim just twenty-five, with eight deaths—and to have orchestrated “express burials” of suspected victims of the coronavirus. Nayib Bukele, the young President of El Salvador, has asserted emergency powers in defiance of the Supreme Court, and deployed soldiers to enforce the strict quarantine measures he has imposed, which include thirty days’ confinement in “containment centers” for violators and for citizens and residents returning to El Salvador from abroad.
But this misconduct pales in comparison with the comportment of Brazil’s President, Jair Bolsonaro, who is behaving with absolute and deterministic irresponsibility. From the onset of the pandemic, he has dismissed COVID-19 as a “little flu,” and has insisted on holding rallies and personally greeting supporters, pointing out that “We will all die one day.” Perhaps taking a cue from Trump, whom Bolsonaro admires, he has attended protests held by anti-shutdown supporters and encouraged uprisings against state governors who support quarantine measures. In some gatherings, he has been seen coughing repeatedly, though he now wears a mask in public; he was tested twice for COVID-19 after an outbreak among his senior staff, but has refused to release the results.
Each day brings a new Bolsonaro-instigated outrage. In mid-April, he fired the respected health minister, Luiz Henrique Mandetta, after weeks of feuding publicly with him over measures to protect the public. The President later explained his action by saying, “Mandetta’s vision was that of health, of life. Mine is more than life, it includes the economy, jobs.” A week later, on the same day that Brazil’s death toll from confirmed coronavirus cases exceeded five thousand, he asked a reporter, “So what? I’m sorry, but what do you want me to do about it?” Bolsonaro is not only not doing anything about it; he has actively campaigned against efforts to control the pandemic, arguing that quarantining people and stopping economic activity will turn Brazil into an impoverished “African” nation. In fact, Brazil’s social and economic inequalities were well advanced before COVID-19, and redressing them was not a top priority of Bolsonaro’s government.
On May 9th, the prestigious British medical journal The Lancet published an editorial calling Bolsonaro the “biggest threat” to public health in Brazil, and concluding that “he needs to drastically change course or must be the next to go.” By way of a response, Bolsonaro tweeted a taunting message that he planned to throw a barbecue for “thousands” at the Presidential palace. In the end, he went for a spin on a Jet Ski on a lake in Brasilia instead.
In the weeks since, Brazil’s daily death rate has climbed rapidly. Late last week, it passed eight hundred, and on Sunday the official total death toll reached more than sixteen thousand, making the country’s COVID-19 mortality rate the sixth worst in the world. The numbers of new infections and confirmed cases in Brazil exceeded those of Italy and Spain. By Thursday, there had been more than eighteen thousand COVID-19 deaths in Brazil, and the over-all number of cases had surpassed the United Kingdom’s. Within a few days, it will likely pass Russia’s, as well, leaving only the United States with more cases. Based on current trends, the predictions are that more than eighty thousand Brazilians could die from COVID-19 by August. On Wednesday, even Donald Trump, a staunch Bolsonaro ally, acknowledged that Brazil was “having some trouble,” and that a travel ban might have to be instituted.
Despite all this, Bolsonaro has pushed to reopen the country’s economy, and last week he took the first steps to do so, apparently without consulting his medical experts. Last week, his new health minister, Nelson Teich, appeared dumbfounded when a reporter asked him about Bolsonaro’s decision to reopen hairdressing shops and gyms as “essential economic activities.” On Friday, after less than a month on the job, Teich announced that he was quitting. Last month, in a separate scandal, Bolsonaro fired his federal police chief—the equivalent of the F.B.I. director—prompting the resignation of the popular justice minister, Sérgio Moro. Moro seemed to imply that Bolsonaro fired the chief because of investigations involving some of the President’s allies. (The inquiries reportedly include two of his sons, who are both politicians. The Bolsonaros deny any wrongdoing.) Brazil’s Supreme Court, which is still independent, has authorized an investigation, and, in the National Congress, calls for Bolsonaro’s impeachment are growing stronger. (In recent days, Brazil’s media has published leaked sections of a videotape of a Cabinet meeting that appears to confirm Moro’s allegations, in which Bolsonaro is quoted as saying that he wants to fire the police chief because he wasn’t going to wait for the Federal Police “to fuck my family and friends.” Brazil’s Supreme Court, which has possession of the video, is deciding whether to release it publicly, over the government’s strenuous opposition.)
Amid the turmoil, the pandemic has reached the indigenous communities of Brazil’s Amazon region, who have historically been susceptible to contagion, and have little access to health care. In recent weeks, the state of Amazonas has emerged as one of the region’s most heavily affected by COVID-19, with at least twelve hundred deaths. Its capital, Manaus, is a national flashpoint; Brazilians have been horrified by images that show bulldozers digging mass graves in the city’s cemetery. The hospitals are also overwhelmed, and the mayor has made several public pleas for international help. Many deaths from the coronavirus are likely going unreported, because of the lack of testing. The city’s health system has collapsed. The official death toll in Manaus is more than five hundred, but the real number, according to public-health experts and estimates of the city’s spike in mortality rates, is feared to be much greater. (A study conducted by health researchers at a number of Brazilian universities concluded last month that, because of the lack of testing, the real number of the country’s coronavirus cases could be as many as twelve times those officially reported; researchers at the University of São Paulo say it could be sixteen times greater.)


newyorker--2020-05-22--Do Yoga at Wave Hill—from Home

Do Yoga at Wave Hill—from Home

Wave Hill , the twenty-eight-acre horticultural gem in the Bronx , is closed temporarily , but its public programs continue @ @ @ @ @ July 26 , it hosts Zoom yoga classes taught by Susie Caramanica ( pictured ) @ @ @ @ @ the Hudson Valley .
Registration is required on wavehill.org , where visitors can also download @ @ @ @ @ as Zoom backgrounds .
Practice lotus pose in an aquatic garden , or perfect tree @ @ @ @ @ cherry blossoms .

Wave Hill, the twenty-eight-acre horticultural gem in the Bronx, is closed temporarily, but its public programs continue. On Sunday mornings through July 26, it hosts Zoom yoga classes taught by Susie Caramanica (pictured), from her home in the Hudson Valley. Registration is required on wavehill.org, where visitors can also download thirty virtual landscapes to use as Zoom backgrounds. Practice lotus pose in an aquatic garden, or perfect tree pose under a canopy of cherry blossoms.


newyorker--2020-05-22--The Case for Letting the Restaurant Industry Die

I don ’ t know if I like that .
There ’ s a conflation there of a safety net with employment—and with precarious employment , at that .
It ’ s sort of like saying that because we don ’ t have socialized mental-health care in this country , that prisons and jails are the closest things we have to that , and so if we close down prisons and jails , we ’ re leaving these folks no option but to be on the street .
I ’ m not equating restaurant work to being in prison , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ employment in general—anywhere in the world , but especially in the U.S.—is lack of choice .
The existence of precarious jobs is not the same as security .
On the face of it , that perspective sounds like an excuse to keep an industry going that ’ s problematic .
It sounds terrible .
It ’ s like somebody saying , “ Stay in this marriage , even though you are suffering terribly .
Stay in it for your children.
” I think she meant it critically—critical of America , as well as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ restaurant employment .
Oh , well , in that case—as long as it ’ s not being used as an excuse to save the industry , then I agree with her .
I don ’ t think we should save anything that causes pain and destruction .
I want to be clear that I ’ m only talking about the pain and destruction that restaurants cause .
I don ’ t think they cause pain and destruction to the exclusion of everything else .
They do contribute value .
In your hypothetical rebirth @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ways you think we can lessen the pain and destruction , and increase the value ?
There are things restaurants can do , but it ’ s hard to do them in a system that doesn ’ t already , to use your word , affirm those values .
It ’ s not like I care about restaurants or workers more than a restaurant owner or a chef , but I do think they are loath to see a future other than what already exists .
That ’ s because of their investment @ @ @ @ @ @ @ them .
I don ’ t mean to say that the benefit they accrue is so large and so bountiful that they ’ re consciously trying to keep workers down , though I ’ m sure that ’ s true for some corporations .
What ’ s more true is that privilege and power become invisible when you have them .
Even restaurant owners who may care about their workers ultimately care more about themselves .
Workers care about themselves , too , but they don ’ t have the power to act @ @ @ @ @ @ @ losing my point .
What was the question ?
Are there affirmative things restaurants can change to create a more equitable system ?
The options available to workers are limited when this larger system exists as it does .
It ’ s super strange right now to see all this energy around organizing for the benefits of owners and the ownership class .
If there ’ s anything I think should be done , it ’ s that restaurant owners should abandon entirely their pursuit of a bailout specific to the industry , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that support people generally .
If everyone had access to health care , housing , leisure , education for their children , education for themselves—all these things I think are rights—and if all these things they had access to were of high quality , I ’ m sure some business owners wouldn ’ t even return to ownership .
The only truly affirmative and sustainable response is a governmental response—one that ’ s universal , that ’ s agnostic of industries , at least initially , and that focuses on developing a really @ @ @ @ @ @ @ don ’ t have to rely on unfortunate , fake safety nets like poor restaurant jobs .
The “ Let It Die ” video was based on footage you ’ d shot pre-COVID-19 , for a different series .
What was that originally supposed to be ?
It was going to be a show—the working title was “ Hard to Swallow : A Food Show Not About Food ” —where we wanted to show the consequences of the production and consumption of food .
Our first episode was going to be about New @ @ @ @ @ @ @ black city , the food is black , the folks that visit there come for all that black shit , but black chefs don ’ t get the attention .
They don ’ t get the awards .
They don ’ t get the same recognition as white chefs , which they are due .
But then COVID-19 happened , and it ’ s such an overwhelming story , it touches everything—this is , in essence , what our show would have been about anyway .
So we decided to re-cut some of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ tell a story about COVID-19—one which is about more than the “ resilience , ” and I ’ m using scare quotes there—of the restaurant industry but instead is a larger story , one that ’ s historically grounded in other disasters that have affected communities and industries .
What came from that ?
Who can we expect to win , who can we expect to lose ?
Spoiler : it ’ s the same people who win , the same people who lose .
Why did you choose to focus on Reem @ @ @ @ @ @ @ California—for the first episode ?
I think Reem is interesting .
Now that I think about it , in a way , she parallels Barack Obama .
She ’ s an organizer , she ’ s someone who is an idealist and doing radical work , but who also thinks that the way to actualize her vision of the world is by working within a more conventional system .
She thinks about it like , if she ’ s on the inside , she can change things from there .
The first half @ @ @ @ @ @ @ before COVID-19 , is the two of us dancing around that question : Can you renovate a burning house ?
Can you renovate a single room in a burning house ?
I do think , after that conversation , I had convinced her to be less optimistic about working within the system .
But , as she says in the show , she believes that you can have a dual existence , that you have to occupy multiple lives .
One of the lives she occupies is running a business that sustains her @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the lives pushes for a future that is abundantly equitable .
But then , for “ Let It Die , ” we interviewed her again—this time after the pandemic hit—and she ’ s now like , “ This shit is crazy , and I can ’ t continue to do the work that I said I could do .
You can ’ t make concessions , because any concessions you make will help you forget or ignore that a radical system can hardly exist in a conventional space.
” That ’ s interesting @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a level of complexity , in a person , that ’ s hard to find .
In the video , after your initial conversation , you do say you think you ’ ve made her more cynical , but you also say that you might be a little more open to her belief in changing things from within the system .
I don ’ t think I was converted , though .
There ’ s a difference between cynicism and pragmatism .
With cynicism comes a certain dourness , and with pragmatism comes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I guess what I was saying was that after our conversation I felt less sad .
Not that I was any more convinced that what she was doing could work .
I definitely believe in making money so you can survive , and I would like to think that the work I do is grounded in numbers and lives .
What I believe and what maybe Reem could believe—but she didn ’ t exactly say this—is that I don ’ t think money is a solution .
I do believe that not having @ @ @ @ @ @ @ part where money is not a solution is so important .
It takes us back to the idea of restaurants as a safety net : not having money is a fucking problem , and that ’ s why people need to work .
But having money is not a solution , especially when you don ’ t have enough .

Tunde Wey, the New Orleans-based activist-artist and cook, has a radical vision of a more equitable culinary world. Photograph by Edmund D. Fountain
In late March, not long after the coronavirus brought America’s restaurant industry to a tense and precarious halt, the writer, cook, and artist Tunde Wey posted, to Instagram, the first part of an essay titled “Don’t Bail Out the Restaurant Industry.” “We’re on the cusp of something… ordinary,” it begins. “We’re on the cusp of everything remaining the same.” The piece, which Wey released in ten installments in the course of a week (and later posted in full in his e-mail newsletter), mounts a forceful, deliberately provocative case against the survival tactics that restaurants have turned to in the past two months. Wey, who is thirty-six years old, was born in Nigeria and moved to the U.S. as a teen; after his visa expired, he spent a decade as an undocumented immigrant before finally receiving his green card last year. He’s spent the bulk of his life in America working in and commenting on the restaurant industry; in his Instagram essay, he outlines its racial and economic segregation, its reliance on destructive agricultural practices, its central role in gentrification and community displacement—and argues that, after past destabilizing tragedies like Hurricane Katrina, the rebound of culinary culture only reinforced and deepened those inequities.
Wey punctuated his essay with a refrain: “Let it die”—a phrase that also serves as the title of a video that he released, on May 9th, to kick off what he hopes will be a series about the restaurant industry at a time of COVID-19-driven uncertainty. (“This is the first of a few episodes, or maybe this is the first and last episode,” he says in the opening voice-over. “We’ll see how this thing goes.”) In the eleven-minute video, shot by Wey and a producing partner, he visits the Oakland restaurant of Reem Assil, a Syrian- and Palestinian-American chef whose political activism has put her in a national spotlight. In virtually all respects, Wey and Assil are comrades in arms, both of them horrified by the injustices of capitalist white supremacy and passionately committed to fighting against it. But Wey hasn’t come to listen and nod—he’s come to fight. In front of the cameras, the pair argue about whether a rigged system can ever be changed from within, and whether the work of consciousness-raising is even work at all. Assil has faith; Wey is unconvinced: “If you … still can’t, within this framework, deliver anything more than important but incremental steps, then maybe is the whole project a wash?”
This sort of charismatic confrontationalism underscores all of Wey’s work. His multimedia œuvre comprises writing, videos, and an ongoing series of high-concept events and pop-up businesses that often blur the lines between commerce and performance art. A preferred medium is the price tag: in New Orleans, where he currently lives, he once ran a lunch cart that asked white patrons to pay more than double what he charged people of color, reflecting the city’s racial income disparities. In Nashville, he hosted a series of dinners where hot chicken was free for the neighborhood’s black residents, while white diners were asked to pledge a hundred dollars for one piece, a thousand dollars for four, and the deed to a property for a whole bird plus sides. Rather than provoking the ire of the culinary establishment, Wey’s events, writings, and criticisms have electrified and entranced them. In a 2019 GQ profile of Wey—a story that is currently a finalist for a James Beard Award—the writer Brett Martin described him as running “an abattoir for food-world sacred cows.”
Wey spoke to me recently on the phone from a public bench in the Uptown neighborhood of New Orleans. The city is a COVID-19 hotspot, where, as in so many other cities, infection and mortality rates are dramatically higher among black residents. “Right now I’m in a park and people are smiling and taking walks, they have their dogs. This is next door to the reality of folks who don’t have work, who can’t apply for unemployment, who need to to put themselves in positions that are dangerous and unhealthy so they can survive,” he said. “That difference is the shit I want to address in my work. Not because I’m Superman, but because if I don’t, I’m going to be affected.” This conversation has been edited and condensed.
The thesis of your essay is that the restaurant industry is so broken that it’s not worth saving. Did you already feel that way before the coronavirus shutdowns sent the industry into crisis?
I had never said those words explicitly—“let it die”—but I don’t think the sheer force of the idea is anything new.
I will say that with most of my work, I’m always a little circumspect. So even though the sentiment has always been “let it die,” I had never said those exact words. And it wasn’t like I was super comfortable saying it! I have people who I care about who are part of that industry. So, in a way, the essay is euphemistic—only because I know it’s not going to happen, I know the restaurant industry is not going to actually die, so I have the space to be very forceful.
But it wasn’t just an essay about letting things die, it’s also about what can rise from the rubble. There is something better on the other side.
Is there something unique to the restaurant industry that makes it particularly deserving of death?
I don’t think there’s anything inherent about the restaurant industry that makes it more worthy of death than any other industry. But it’s an industry that manages to encompass all the different realities of United States life—and I say “United States” because “American” isn’t the right label to encompass all the folks who live here. I’ll be very specific: let’s say you walk into Momofuku at Hudson Yards. You have your transaction: you’re going to buy whatever they sell, and you’re going to leave. But your money is going to Momofuku, which is owned, in part, by David Chang, and owned, in part, by [the real-estate billionaire Stephen Ross’s investment firm] RSE Ventures, which owns multiple companies. The financing of Hudson Yards was done through private capital but also speculative capital, so there was debt involved. But not any kind of debt, a specific debt: commercial mortgage-backed securities. So, all of that is to say that what makes the restaurant industry possible is maybe different from, say, the airline industry, or mining, or some shit. It’s at the intersection of capital, finance, social life, food production, sustenance. It’s all those things. So I think it offers a very important lens to examine the choices that we make.
It makes me think of something the Minneapolis restaurant critic Dara Moskowitz Gruhmdahl tweeted in the early days of the coronavirus crisis, which has been on my mind a lot: she wrote that restaurants are the closest thing the United States has to a social safety net. If you lose your job, you try to find work in a restaurant. If you’re formerly incarcerated, you can get a job in a restaurant. If you’re undocumented, restaurants will hire you.
I don’t know if I like that. There’s a conflation there of a safety net with employment—and with precarious employment, at that. It’s sort of like saying that because we don’t have socialized mental-health care in this country, that prisons and jails are the closest things we have to that, and so if we close down prisons and jails, we’re leaving these folks no option but to be on the street. I’m not equating restaurant work to being in prison, but I think the biggest issue with employment in general—anywhere in the world, but especially in the U.S.—is lack of choice. The existence of precarious jobs is not the same as security. On the face of it, that perspective sounds like an excuse to keep an industry going that’s problematic. It sounds terrible. It’s like somebody saying, “Stay in this marriage, even though you are suffering terribly. Stay in it for your children.”
I think she meant it critically—critical of America, as well as sort of hand-wringing about the state of restaurant employment.
Oh, well, in that case—as long as it’s not being used as an excuse to save the industry, then I agree with her. I don’t think we should save anything that causes pain and destruction. I want to be clear that I’m only talking about the pain and destruction that restaurants cause. I don’t think they cause pain and destruction to the exclusion of everything else. They do contribute value.
In your hypothetical rebirth of the industry, are there affirmative ways you think we can lessen the pain and destruction, and increase the value?
There are things restaurants can do, but it’s hard to do them in a system that doesn’t already, to use your word, affirm those values.
It’s not like I care about restaurants or workers more than a restaurant owner or a chef, but I do think they are loath to see a future other than what already exists. That’s because of their investment in the current system, which benefits them. I don’t mean to say that the benefit they accrue is so large and so bountiful that they’re consciously trying to keep workers down, though I’m sure that’s true for some corporations. What’s more true is that privilege and power become invisible when you have them. Even restaurant owners who may care about their workers ultimately care more about themselves. Workers care about themselves, too, but they don’t have the power to act on that care. I’m losing my point. What was the question?


newyorker--2020-05-22--“The Painter and the Thief” and “The Trip to Greece,” Reviewed

An icy night in Oslo , and a junkie walks along , wheeling a small suitcase .
He is on his way to get clean .
Suddenly , in the middle of the street , he pauses .
A hand covers the camera lens , blocking your view , and you hear a murmured transaction .
What ’ s the deal ?
Then it hits you : this guy is buying heroin en route to rehab .
If you don ’ t know whether to laugh or cry , do both .
The sequence comes from a new documentary , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” by the Norwegian director Benjamin Ree .
The title has the tang of a fairy tale , and , as in the best fairy tales ( or the worst accounts of drug addiction ) , the mood is quaveringly dark ; even when things get better , you wait for them to plummet once again .
Consider the man with the suitcase .
His name is Karl-Bertil Nordland , usually known as Bertil—or , as he signs himself at the end of one e-mail , “ The Bertilizer.
” He is , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ pale , restless , and richly illustrated .
Tattoos furbish his neck and shoulders .
Inked across his chest is the legend “ Snitches Are a Dying Breed , ” which is more of a threat than a lament .
Also , as he points out with a hint of pride , “ I have two demons on my arm controlling things .
We fight .
But I let them out at times.
” If you say so , Bertil .
To judge by this movie , the demons come and go as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in “ The Painter and the Thief.
” Bertil becomes a picture .
One day , in 2015 , he and an accomplice break into a gallery in Oslo and steal two large oil paintings—removing them from their frames , rolling them up like rugs , and leaving through the back door .
We see the robbers in the act , captured on CCTV , and they are soon apprehended .
The works of art , however , are nowhere to be found .
At the ensuing trial , the artist who created @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and asks politely where they might be .
“ I can ’ t remember , ” he says , and you believe him .
Unfazed , she ventures another request : “ I ’ d love to make a portrait of you.
” “ That ’ s possible , ” Bertil replies .
Such is the unlikely beginning of the friendship , or the pact , that lies at the center of Ree ’ s film .
Having heard of the case in its early stages , he is there to chart its @ @ @ @ @ @ @ crazy crime of Bertil ’ s , this time at the wheel of a car , leaves him barely able to walk and lands him back in prison—and the more surprising highs .
And Ree is on hand for the most wondrous encounter of all , when Bertil visits Barbora ’ s studio to inspect the picture of him that she has painted .
At first , though it ’ s a sizable object , he doesn ’ t notice it .
Then he does .
His eyes widen , like those of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ given a Christmas present more generous than expected .
Yet the words that emerge from his lips are profanely adult , and his guttural moans could be those of a wounded animal .
“ Fuck me over .
.
.
what the fuck .
.
.
I .
.
.
you did this from .
.
.
no .
.
.
whoa.
” He slumps and weeps .
The plight of Bertil , sadly , is far from unprecedented .
His parents divorced when he was young , his mother left , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ( When you see photographs of him as a kid , blond and blithe , they break your heart , as if you were looking at someone who will soon be heading off to war . )
It ’ s the old story : a deep dread of abandonment , souring slowly into the belief that , as Bertil says , “ I don ’ t deserve to be happy.
” Attention must finally be paid to such a person , as Willy Loman ’ s wife would say , and the bulk @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s movie , is done by Barbora .
Of her own free will , she seeks out Bertil ’ s company , scrutinizes him at length , and reproduces all that she observes .
What ’ s more , her style is hyperrealist , and the figure that emerges on the canvas is unmistakably Bertil—him and nobody else , down to every dot of his tattoos .
But wait .
Salvation yarns are always tangled , and this is by no means a simple film .
Ask not—or not only—what the painter does @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thief might be doing for the painter .
“ She sees me very well , but she forgets that I can see her , too , ” Bertil tells us , and what he sees is a fellow-sufferer .
Barbora is Czech , and , piece by piece , we learn that she previously lived in Berlin , in an abusive relationship , and that some of her paintings bear the scars .
She now has a partner , Øystein , who is almost a parody of mild Scandinavian tolerance , not chiding @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for that ’ s what it is ) but gently voicing a fear that involving herself with such a damaged soul is like letting a child play in traffic .
“ I played in traffic , in Prague , ” she replies .
Not really the answer that Øystein was hoping for .
The list of creative artists who have grown perilously close to their models , or their elected subjects , is a long one .
A burglar every bit as hapless as Bertil , George Dyer , entered the life ( @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , in 1963 , inspired or fomented some of his most torturous paintings , and died of an overdose in 1971 , shortly before a Bacon retrospective opened in Paris .
We also have the unsavory saga of Jack Henry Abbott , the criminal whom Norman Mailer and other writers took under their wing and hailed for the force of his prose : in 1981 , partly as a result of their lobbying , he was released from jail , only to commit murder six weeks later .
Ree ’ s movie is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s a genuine beat of excitement as Barbora , years after the initial theft , hunts for her work in a storage facility—a dungeon of creepy cages .
She is now a raider of the lost art .
If “ The Painter and the Thief ” is occasionally annoying , it ’ s because Ree gives away so little .
He tracks to and fro in time , springing items of evidence upon us without warning , and withholding others .
( Bertil ’ s father , morose and mustachioed , pops @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , however , the film is more modest than sly , as if Ree were conceding that neither he nor we can wholly grasp , or gauge , the near-electric strangeness of the attraction between his protagonists .
At one point , after Bertil injures his hand , Barbora seizes it , and stares at the stigmatic wound .
“ This is Jesus !
, ” she cries , and proceeds to draw it with delicacy and restraint .
The two of them arrive at a happy ending , of sorts , yet @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and the shape of her future , than I do about Bertil .
Other viewers will disagree , and that ’ s why “ The Painter and the Thief ” is such a good lockdown movie , to be watched in the early evening and then argued about over spaghetti—or with spaghetti , if the discussion gets intense .
The last word , though , must go to the Bertilizer .
Asked why he stole the paintings from the gallery , he says , “ Because they were beautiful.
” No arguing @ @ @

An icy night in Oslo, and a junkie walks along, wheeling a small suitcase. He is on his way to get clean. Suddenly, in the middle of the street, he pauses. A hand covers the camera lens, blocking your view, and you hear a murmured transaction. What’s the deal? Then it hits you: this guy is buying heroin en route to rehab. If you don’t know whether to laugh or cry, do both.
The sequence comes from a new documentary, “The Painter and the Thief,” by the Norwegian director Benjamin Ree. The title has the tang of a fairy tale, and, as in the best fairy tales (or the worst accounts of drug addiction), the mood is quaveringly dark; even when things get better, you wait for them to plummet once again. Consider the man with the suitcase. His name is Karl-Bertil Nordland, usually known as Bertil—or, as he signs himself at the end of one e-mail, “The Bertilizer.” He is, you might say, a picture: pale, restless, and richly illustrated. Tattoos furbish his neck and shoulders. Inked across his chest is the legend “Snitches Are a Dying Breed,” which is more of a threat than a lament. Also, as he points out with a hint of pride, “I have two demons on my arm controlling things. We fight. But I let them out at times.” If you say so, Bertil. To judge by this movie, the demons come and go as they please.
But something amazing happens in “The Painter and the Thief.” Bertil becomes a picture. One day, in 2015, he and an accomplice break into a gallery in Oslo and steal two large oil paintings—removing them from their frames, rolling them up like rugs, and leaving through the back door. We see the robbers in the act, captured on CCTV, and they are soon apprehended. The works of art, however, are nowhere to be found. At the ensuing trial, the artist who created them, Barbora Kysilkova, approaches Bertil and asks politely where they might be. “I can’t remember,” he says, and you believe him. Unfazed, she ventures another request: “I’d love to make a portrait of you.” “That’s possible,” Bertil replies.
Such is the unlikely beginning of the friendship, or the pact, that lies at the center of Ree’s film. Having heard of the case in its early stages, he is there to chart its winding course, taking in the lows—another crazy crime of Bertil’s, this time at the wheel of a car, leaves him barely able to walk and lands him back in prison—and the more surprising highs. And Ree is on hand for the most wondrous encounter of all, when Bertil visits Barbora’s studio to inspect the picture of him that she has painted. At first, though it’s a sizable object, he doesn’t notice it. Then he does. His eyes widen, like those of a little boy who’s been given a Christmas present more generous than expected. Yet the words that emerge from his lips are profanely adult, and his guttural moans could be those of a wounded animal. “Fuck me over . . . what the fuck . . . I . . . you did this from . . . no . . . whoa.” He slumps and weeps.
The plight of Bertil, sadly, is far from unprecedented. His parents divorced when he was young, his mother left, and he was raised by his father. (When you see photographs of him as a kid, blond and blithe, they break your heart, as if you were looking at someone who will soon be heading off to war.) It’s the old story: a deep dread of abandonment, souring slowly into the belief that, as Bertil says, “I don’t deserve to be happy.” Attention must finally be paid to such a person, as Willy Loman’s wife would say, and the bulk of the attending, in Ree’s movie, is done by Barbora. Of her own free will, she seeks out Bertil’s company, scrutinizes him at length, and reproduces all that she observes. What’s more, her style is hyperrealist, and the figure that emerges on the canvas is unmistakably Bertil—him and nobody else, down to every dot of his tattoos.
But wait. Salvation yarns are always tangled, and this is by no means a simple film. Ask not—or not only—what the painter does for the thief. Ask what the thief might be doing for the painter. “She sees me very well, but she forgets that I can see her, too,” Bertil tells us, and what he sees is a fellow-sufferer. Barbora is Czech, and, piece by piece, we learn that she previously lived in Berlin, in an abusive relationship, and that some of her paintings bear the scars. She now has a partner, Øystein, who is almost a parody of mild Scandinavian tolerance, not chiding her for her fixation on Bertil (for that’s what it is) but gently voicing a fear that involving herself with such a damaged soul is like letting a child play in traffic. “I played in traffic, in Prague,” she replies. Not really the answer that Øystein was hoping for.
The list of creative artists who have grown perilously close to their models, or their elected subjects, is a long one. A burglar every bit as hapless as Bertil, George Dyer, entered the life (and the bed) of Francis Bacon, in 1963, inspired or fomented some of his most torturous paintings, and died of an overdose in 1971, shortly before a Bacon retrospective opened in Paris. We also have the unsavory saga of Jack Henry Abbott, the criminal whom Norman Mailer and other writers took under their wing and hailed for the force of his prose: in 1981, partly as a result of their lobbying, he was released from jail, only to commit murder six weeks later. Ree’s movie is never so brazenly dramatic, though there’s a genuine beat of excitement as Barbora, years after the initial theft, hunts for her work in a storage facility—a dungeon of creepy cages. She is now a raider of the lost art.
If “The Painter and the Thief” is occasionally annoying, it’s because Ree gives away so little. He tracks to and fro in time, springing items of evidence upon us without warning, and withholding others. (Bertil’s father, morose and mustachioed, pops up from nowhere.) In general, however, the film is more modest than sly, as if Ree were conceding that neither he nor we can wholly grasp, or gauge, the near-electric strangeness of the attraction between his protagonists. At one point, after Bertil injures his hand, Barbora seizes it, and stares at the stigmatic wound. “This is Jesus!,” she cries, and proceeds to draw it with delicacy and restraint. The two of them arrive at a happy ending, of sorts, yet I find myself worrying more about Barbora, and the shape of her future, than I do about Bertil. Other viewers will disagree, and that’s why “The Painter and the Thief” is such a good lockdown movie, to be watched in the early evening and then argued about over spaghetti—or with spaghetti, if the discussion gets intense. The last word, though, must go to the Bertilizer. Asked why he stole the paintings from the gallery, he says, “Because they were beautiful.” No arguing with that.
The boys are back at table. After “The Trip” (2010), “The Trip to Italy” (2014), and “The Trip to Spain” (2017), Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon meet again, this time for “The Trip to Greece.” Not much has changed in a decade of tripping. As before, the director is Michael Winterbottom, and the two stars motor through sylvan landscapes, summoning the raw courage to eat ambrosial meals, and trading impersonations of those more famous than themselves. We get impeccable Mick Jaggers and Roger Moores, and so effortless is the switch to Richard Burton, for Brydon, that he may no longer be conscious of making it. There’s nothing to eclipse the David Bowie contest, from the previous film, in which Coogan and Brydon took care to distinguish early- from late-period Bowie, swooping between the octaves; still, Coogan does unleash his inner Werner Herzog, and gives us not only Dustin Hoffman having his teeth drilled, in “Marathon Man” (1976), but also, courtesy of “Tootsie” (1982), Hoffman playing an actor playing an actress. That isn’t mimicry; it’s an identity heist.
Yet all is not well with our heroes, you sense, as they bandy scraps of Aristotle and tales of the Trojan War. The feast of banter, consumed amid the groves and harbors of the ancient gods, is topped with a fresh sprinkling of testiness. That’s not so much a fault of the film as a deliberate move by Winterbottom, who has striven, more pointedly with each journey, to needle Coogan and Brydon with premonitions of encroaching age. Look at them lunching, at their gratified ease, on a terrace above the shore; then look at them looking at the young, who sunbathe on the rocks below and dive like naiads into the clear sea. Thus might King Priam, crestfallen, have beheld the captive Helen with a sigh.
In one respect, “The Trip to Greece” is unlike any of its predecessors. Rather than saying to yourself, “Mmm, those shrimp look good,” you now think, “These guys are dining in restaurants—you know, those old pre-pandemic joints. With other non-family members sitting nearby!” To see Coogan and Brydon being waited upon by unmasked servers, who carry the plates with bare hands, is to yearn for the touchstones of a mythical past. As one kindly waitress inquires, in a lull between courses, “Do you want to continue?” Yes, if we can. Forever. ♦


newyorker--2020-05-22--What to Stream: Nanni Moretti’s “Dear Diary” and the Power of the Film Camera as Sketchbook

The cinema ’ s elusive dream is to make films with the same spontaneity , intimacy , and immediacy with which a writer can jot down impressions or an artist capture instant observations .
Small movie cameras have been available for a hundred years , but have been largely relegated to amateur use ; some major filmmakers have used lightweight , consumer-grade equipment to great effect in first-person filmmaking , such as Jonas Mekas , Agnès Varda , and Nanni Moretti , who made his first feature , “ Io Sono un Autarchico ” ( “ I Am Self-Sufficient ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Though Moretti quickly entered the realm of professional filmmaking with professional equipment and crews , the film as personal sketch remained an artistic ideal , and he often acted in his own work , sometimes playing an alter ego called Michele Apicella .
He realized this ideal to its greatest extent in his 1994 feature , “ Caro Diario ” ( “ Dear Diary ” ) —which is now available to stream , from Lincoln Center , in a new restoration .
Moretti , starring as himself , sets the film up as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , starting with the most sketch-like and diary-like , titled “ On My Vespa.
” In his ruled notebook , he writes , “ There ’ s one thing that I like to do most of all ” —riding his scooter around Rome , where Moretti was born and has lived all his life .
He wears a white helmet and is followed by a camera mounted on a car , so the image shows something like his own point of view with him placed inside it .
Moretti ’ s voice-over—ruminative and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , skeptical asides and empathetic observations—conveys that double sense of free-ranging thought merging with the delight of smooth and fast motion through the varied cityscape .
The episode isn ’ t only contemplative—it ’ s punctuated with brief , gracefully interwoven comedic interludes that must have taken some careful setup .
One involves Moretti ’ s delight in dancing ( which he displays at a zesty outdoor party ) , leading to his “ accidental ” encounter with the actress Jennifer Beals and her husband , the director Alexandre Rockwell , on a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ funniest sequence about a film critic that I ’ ve ever seen in a movie : Moretti , going to see “ Henry : Portrait of a Serial Killer ” on the basis of an enthusiastic review , walks out on it in disgust , goes to the home of the critic ( played by a real-life director , Carlo Mazzacurati ) , awakens him from slumber , and derisively recites the review ’ s hyper-intellectualized and experience-impoverished text aloud to him .
There ’ s one sequence , though , which cleverly @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and which serenely and joyfully invokes a grand cinematic idea .
“ Even in other cities , I only like to look at houses , ” Moretti says in voice-over .
“ What would be great is a film just of houses .
Panning shots of houses.
” Then the camera car following him veers off the course of the Vespa to go down another street and film buildings , exactly as Moretti suggests .
For the next minute or so , that ’ s just what viewers see : shots of apartment @ @ @ @ @ @ @ past them , as if seen from the perspective of a motorcyclist looking off ( dangerously ) to the side .
The alluring images , along with Moretti ’ s plainly loving recitation of the neighborhoods where the buildings are found and the years of their construction , evokes the urbanistic version of Rousseau ’ s solitary walker , eliciting a delight in the daily experience that is exalted by the passerby ’ s gaze .
Moretti ’ s fanciful sketch is matched by a pair of New York City-based short films ( @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Anthology Film Archives is offering , for free , on its Vimeo channel : undated , silent outtakes , from decades past , by the filmmaker Lowell Bodger .
The two clips are also untitled and referred to on the site as “ [ NYC—Downtown ] ” and “ [ W 8th Street Heading West ] .
” The former , which runs about eleven minutes , appears to date from the early sixties .
It ’ s shot in a sombre black-and-white palette and seems to have been filmed largely in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by far its best , sequence shows Astor Place and surrounding streets , with an emphasis on the dramatic urban vistas that the area ’ s avenues offer and the heavy majesty of the buildings that hulk around it .
The streets are shadowed , passersby and cars are scant , and Bodger gives the impression of focussing on the emptiness of the square and the open breadth of the streets as much as on their contents—vistas that are now occluded with modern skyscrapers .
He pans past buildings that no longer exist @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the square ’ s southern border ) and long-vanished storefronts ( the Astor Place Luncheonette , Astor Neckwear ) .
He shows street furniture , such as traffic signs on poles held in place by rickety cement-bucket bases , and streetlights and traffic lights and street signs in vanished ornamental styles .
The latter clip , “ [ W 8th Street Heading West ] , ” is a single take , seemingly made ( judging from cars and clothing ) around 1970 .
A roving , jittering shot , done in color , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ daytime strollers .
His camera captures plaid pants and bell-bottoms , longer hair on men and mod styles on women , along with the signs and logos of shops and restaurants that are also long gone ( Experiment One , Mr. Waffle , the Stag Shop , and the Kramer Jewelry Studio , with its psychedelic swirls ) , as well as a huge billboard dominating the view at Sixth Avenue .
Where Moretti roves through Rome with a more abstracted sense of swaths of time layered thickly in the present ( a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ an extended concluding tribute to the filmmaker Pier Paolo Pasolini , realized with a simple yet deeply moving ride to the site where he was murdered ) , Bodger distills immediate experience into emblematic details .
What Bodger films , above all , is what there is in an ordinary glance at city life , for that glance itself is a matter of history on the wing .
The clips are a reminder , above all , of the extreme difficulty of knowing what one is seeing , whether while filming or even @ @ @ @ @ @ @ thick curtain of habit and familiarity gets in the way .
These films ’ nostalgic charm has a particular poignancy right now , when urban public life is thin , passersby are sparse , and many retail businesses are in danger of vanishing owing to the economic fallout from the coronavirus pandemic .
The shutdown is a similar threat to filmmaking : even if Hollywood productions are preparing to relaunch , with elaborate and expensive sanitary measures meant to keep cast and crew safe , independent filmmaking will be unlikely to absorb the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ may stay shuttered much longer .
Yet every smartphone is a movie camera , and , if the shutdown of productions can do anything at all for filmmakers , perhaps it will restore to them the practice of using their cameras as sketchbooks , filming what ’ s at hand and what ’ s in the street with a diary-like impressionism .
Far too much of the ostensible process of filmmaking is shunted to filmmakers writing and refining scripts , and far too much of the image-making process is relegated to the visualization @ @ @ @ @ @ @ offers an opening to film the public spaces that are menaced , to preserve the sights that may vanish .
If the shutdown of production lets directors take back images with hands-on work—and pushes them to pierce the curtain of familiarity to see and record life anew—then the reopening , when it happens , may well be no mere return but a leap ahead .

The cinema’s elusive dream is to make films with the same spontaneity, intimacy, and immediacy with which a writer can jot down impressions or an artist capture instant observations. Small movie cameras have been available for a hundred years, but have been largely relegated to amateur use; some major filmmakers have used lightweight, consumer-grade equipment to great effect in first-person filmmaking, such as Jonas Mekas, Agnès Varda, and Nanni Moretti, who made his first feature, “Io Sono un Autarchico” (“I Am Self-Sufficient”), with a Super-8 camera. Though Moretti quickly entered the realm of professional filmmaking with professional equipment and crews, the film as personal sketch remained an artistic ideal, and he often acted in his own work, sometimes playing an alter ego called Michele Apicella. He realized this ideal to its greatest extent in his 1994 feature, “Caro Diario” (“Dear Diary”)—which is now available to stream, from Lincoln Center, in a new restoration.
Moretti, starring as himself, sets the film up as three chapters of his own life story, starting with the most sketch-like and diary-like, titled “On My Vespa.” In his ruled notebook, he writes, “There’s one thing that I like to do most of all”—riding his scooter around Rome, where Moretti was born and has lived all his life. He wears a white helmet and is followed by a camera mounted on a car, so the image shows something like his own point of view with him placed inside it. Moretti’s voice-over—ruminative and combative, filled with self-doubt and self-affirmation, skeptical asides and empathetic observations—conveys that double sense of free-ranging thought merging with the delight of smooth and fast motion through the varied cityscape.
The episode isn’t only contemplative—it’s punctuated with brief, gracefully interwoven comedic interludes that must have taken some careful setup. One involves Moretti’s delight in dancing (which he displays at a zesty outdoor party), leading to his “accidental” encounter with the actress Jennifer Beals and her husband, the director Alexandre Rockwell, on a leafy residential street. Another is the funniest sequence about a film critic that I’ve ever seen in a movie: Moretti, going to see “Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer” on the basis of an enthusiastic review, walks out on it in disgust, goes to the home of the critic (played by a real-life director, Carlo Mazzacurati), awakens him from slumber, and derisively recites the review’s hyper-intellectualized and experience-impoverished text aloud to him.
There’s one sequence, though, which cleverly combines loose rumination and subtle direction, and which serenely and joyfully invokes a grand cinematic idea. “Even in other cities, I only like to look at houses,” Moretti says in voice-over. “What would be great is a film just of houses. Panning shots of houses.” Then the camera car following him veers off the course of the Vespa to go down another street and film buildings, exactly as Moretti suggests. For the next minute or so, that’s just what viewers see: shots of apartment buildings, recorded with a camera moving past them, as if seen from the perspective of a motorcyclist looking off (dangerously) to the side. The alluring images, along with Moretti’s plainly loving recitation of the neighborhoods where the buildings are found and the years of their construction, evokes the urbanistic version of Rousseau’s solitary walker, eliciting a delight in the daily experience that is exalted by the passerby’s gaze.
Moretti’s fanciful sketch is matched by a pair of New York City-based short films (or, rather, clips) that Anthology Film Archives is offering, for free, on its Vimeo channel: undated, silent outtakes, from decades past, by the filmmaker Lowell Bodger. The two clips are also untitled and referred to on the site as “[NYC—Downtown]” and “[W 8th Street Heading West].” The former, which runs about eleven minutes, appears to date from the early sixties. It’s shot in a sombre black-and-white palette and seems to have been filmed largely in the early morning. Its first, and by far its best, sequence shows Astor Place and surrounding streets, with an emphasis on the dramatic urban vistas that the area’s avenues offer and the heavy majesty of the buildings that hulk around it.
The streets are shadowed, passersby and cars are scant, and Bodger gives the impression of focussing on the emptiness of the square and the open breadth of the streets as much as on their contents—vistas that are now occluded with modern skyscrapers. He pans past buildings that no longer exist (such as a low-slung one at the square’s southern border) and long-vanished storefronts (the Astor Place Luncheonette, Astor Neckwear). He shows street furniture, such as traffic signs on poles held in place by rickety cement-bucket bases, and streetlights and traffic lights and street signs in vanished ornamental styles. The latter clip, “[W 8th Street Heading West],” is a single take, seemingly made (judging from cars and clothing) around 1970. A roving, jittering shot, done in color, it shows Bodger pushing through knots of daytime strollers. His camera captures plaid pants and bell-bottoms, longer hair on men and mod styles on women, along with the signs and logos of shops and restaurants that are also long gone (Experiment One, Mr. Waffle, the Stag Shop, and the Kramer Jewelry Studio, with its psychedelic swirls), as well as a huge billboard dominating the view at Sixth Avenue.
Where Moretti roves through Rome with a more abstracted sense of swaths of time layered thickly in the present (a tone that rises to philosophical heights with an extended concluding tribute to the filmmaker Pier Paolo Pasolini, realized with a simple yet deeply moving ride to the site where he was murdered), Bodger distills immediate experience into emblematic details. What Bodger films, above all, is what there is in an ordinary glance at city life, for that glance itself is a matter of history on the wing. The clips are a reminder, above all, of the extreme difficulty of knowing what one is seeing, whether while filming or even just while walking in the city—because the thick curtain of habit and familiarity gets in the way.
These films’ nostalgic charm has a particular poignancy right now, when urban public life is thin, passersby are sparse, and many retail businesses are in danger of vanishing owing to the economic fallout from the coronavirus pandemic. The shutdown is a similar threat to filmmaking: even if Hollywood productions are preparing to relaunch, with elaborate and expensive sanitary measures meant to keep cast and crew safe, independent filmmaking will be unlikely to absorb the extra costs of such measures, and may stay shuttered much longer.
Yet every smartphone is a movie camera, and, if the shutdown of productions can do anything at all for filmmakers, perhaps it will restore to them the practice of using their cameras as sketchbooks, filming what’s at hand and what’s in the street with a diary-like impressionism. Far too much of the ostensible process of filmmaking is shunted to filmmakers writing and refining scripts, and far too much of the image-making process is relegated to the visualization of dramatic characters. The current crisis offers an opening to film the public spaces that are menaced, to preserve the sights that may vanish. If the shutdown of production lets directors take back images with hands-on work—and pushes them to pierce the curtain of familiarity to see and record life anew—then the reopening, when it happens, may well be no mere return but a leap ahead.