Monday, 1 October 2012

The glamour of the movies

Today I had the delicious escape of going to the cinema, alone.
I caught the bus into town, bought lunch to eat in the cinema (white roll with egg mayo, tomato, sweetcorn and lettuce, cheese and onion crisps and bottle of water - yes, my breath stinks!) walked-ran to the Lighthouse Cinema in Smithfield, and breathed a sigh of relief.
After a full-on week just to be sitting on the bus, not talking to anyone, not checking someone is safely seated, both boobs in my clothes, it was a little piece of heaven. The bus ride had my head on full blast though, thoughts, words, ideas, until I realised I had nothing to do only enjoy myself for a few hours, then I relaxed.

Walking through Dublin is still such a beautiful treat. My love affair with the city is only growing the more I learn about it. From the Hoggen at College Green, the gallows in St. Stephen's Green, the gunshot marks in Daniel O'Connell's angels, I'm living and learning, reading and soaking in our city's history. Forget Paris (for this year at least), I'm loving Dublin. My local library has never seen so much of me, and I'm getting a whole new perspective on the city.

But on to the movies. Or the fil-um, or the flicks, or the "picture house" if you're a true Dub.

I went to see "Diana Vreeland: The eye has to travel". Open any fashion magazine recently and she is in there, her aquiline profile and regal demeanour surrounded by dramatic red upholstery. She edited Vogue, and was basically the driving force behind fashion merging with music, photography and art as art forms. She was a predecessor of Anna Wintour, a real "grande dame" who you wouldn't mess with, and had such vision and instinct when it came to fashion, she inspired many of the big-name designers we know today. She grew up in the 20s, was a dancer with a bit of a reputation, and never lost her irreverence for the social mores. She hung out with Coco Chanel, Warhol, Warren Beatty, Anjelica Huston et al in Studio 54. Her life was one fabulous experiment, she worked every single day from the age of 30 (was a terrible mother, but something has to give, right?!) and ended up being sacked from Vogue for being too extravagant. Fabulous, dahling.
Not a conventional beauty, but she made the most of herself. As I think Estee Lauder said "There's no such thing as an ugly woman, only a lazy woman" or some such anti-feminist statement.

The movie is wonderful as a glimpse into fashion from the Belle Epoque to the 60s, with footage of performers, films and street life in each era. It seems to be a fair enough representation of the life of Vreeland, there is enough critique of her shortcomings as well as sycophantic gushing from her contemporaries.
The Lighthouse Cinema has never had my custom before, and I'm sorry I haven't discovered it sooner. It is beautiful inside, spacious, light, arty, minimalist without being pretentious. I didn't taste the popcorn, but the beer was good, and there were no noisy urchins throwing wrappers (my kids were at home, fnar, fnar) nor idiots on mobile phones. A decent clientele.
After, I was just about to peruse some decidedly dodgy fake LV and Dior bags, sunglasses and hairclips in an Asian market on Smithfield square, when I got "the call". The call that says "Time's up mama, someone wants to suck on your boobs now", so I had to leave the plastic tat for another day. Probably better off.
The "getting ready" was as fun as the outing. A whole morning spent ironing (yes, I even Ironed!), thinking about what I'd wear, getting dressed, doing my hair and make-up in between bathing a baby, playing with nephews, getting snacks, diplomatic interventions when they both wanted the wind-up rat, etc, the usual stuff.

I ended up wearing black jeggings, hidden wedge boots, biker jacket with a white oversized shirt underneath, with my new red bag, and my newly dyed Pinkissimo hair in a top-knot. No photo, but I looked good if I may say so myself, and added some red lipstick, as I feel a rockabilly phase coming on.

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