Sunday, March 1, 2009

informed wandering















I'm not sure the exact moment when I connected my first trip to San Francisco to the film Vertigo. My father is a huge Hitchcock buff, perhaps even scholar (he has been published in the Hitchcock Quarterly) and considered the Alfred Hitchcock canon essential to early-childhood education, so I have known the movie since I was quite young. Though The Birds and Psycho were a little too much for the mind of an eight-year-old, most of these films I adored ... Notorious, To Catch a Thief, North by Northwest, Rear Window ... but Vertigo was my favorite. I remember watching the climactic scene closely with my father. He must have been writing something on the film, for he was intent on deciphering Kim Novak's hysterical outbursts just before her death. As Jimmy Stewart's character of Scottie drags her up the bell tower, she screams, "You can't, you're afraid!" This was a point of contention at the time, for it was long before one might just google scripts, and my father thought she might be saying something about fate. We watched it again and again to be sure, though today as I watch that scene the dialogue seems fairly clear to me.

In any case, at some point last month I decided to structure my first trip to San Francisco around the movie. I found a dozen or so location shots on imdb.com, which I scribbled down the night before my departure, deciding that I would visit these spots while my host was at work during the day. Coincidentally, there is an official Vertigo tour that I'm sure is quite comprehensive, but completely out of the budget of high-school teacher. I would have to go at it on my own. I've always hated group tours, anyway.

I arrived in the city in the morning, and after getting settled, I began simply driving ... wandering is a constant theme of the film. It didn't take long before I saw a sign for the Legion of Honor, and I quickly veered onto the drive up to the museum, mentally checking this off the list. I love a project, and take on a good many in my life, but only manage to do so by staying extremely focused. Therefore, I tend to be all business. Though I did see most of the museum, I confess that most of the artwork I looked at was simply being assessed for any similarities to the Carlotta Valdes portrait. I finally found a Renoir that would work , and elicited the help of a patron while I struck a fitting pose.

I stopped by the gift shop on my way out, looking for a present for my host, when I found Footsteps in the Fog: Alfred Hitchcock's San Francisco. This book covers all of Hitchcock's California films, with a 90-page chapter on Vertigo. I purchased it as a gift, but for the next several days I kept it in my bag, studied it over breakfast, navigated with the postage-stamp sized maps, had it autographed, and eventually left it in San Francisco well-worn, even battered.

Now that my wanderings were more informed than serendipitous, I continued on to Nob Hill, where the bulk of the movie takes place. As I drove along the northern bay, I passed a sign for Lombard Street and turned, searching for number 900, Scottie's home address in the film. Lombard Street goes through many phases so dramatic that it almost seems as if sections of the street should have different names. I began on a strip rife with motels and chain stores, but then the street began winding upward. Then winding became an understatement. Changing from pavement to small red brick, Lombard Street began doubling back on itself,
leaving hardly enough room for an oncoming vehicle, and every turnoff led to driveways of homes hovering high above the bay. I later learned this street has been dubbed "the crookedest street in San Francisco." The road began to straighten out, and I saw a house I recognized on the left. 900 Lombard Street is gloriously similar to its 1958 depiction. Using a strategy in which I would become adept in the next few days, I parked, hopped out of the car, took a quick shot, and continued on.

That first day I found the former York Hotel (the Empire Hotel in the film), the site of the now-demolished McKittrick Hotel, the Union Pacific Club, the Brockleback Apartments, and the Fairmont Hotel. The York Hotel, called the Empire Hotel in the film and where Kim Novak is found living after Scottie's breakdown, is now called Hotel Vertigo. It completely caters to fans, as does the cocktail bar Vertigo around the corner. A bellboy gave me a tour of the 5th floor, pointing out the original carpeting, Vertigo-inspired furniture and mirrors, and a vertigo-inducing stairwell that has no real bearing on the movie, but is pretty cool to look down.










The Union Pacific Club is directly across the street from the Brockleback Apartments, where Gavin and Madeleine live, so one assumes that this club holds the lounge where the two men meet. The intimidating building, taking up the bulk of a city block, seems strangely separate from its surroundings - it is gated and guarded, ensuring that only members (and only men) enter. I snuck up to the front door and got a quick shot through the iron gate. At the Brockleback, I elicited the help of a doorman to photograph me leaving the building (reenactment had become appealing to me at this point, as I quickly tire of pictures without people), but he seemed rigid when he said, "I can't do that, ma'am." The Fairmont, across the street, was more accommodating. I was allowed to walk right in and directed to the Venetian Room, where Scottie and Judy ballroom danced in the film, and where Tony Bennett sang "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" in real life. Urban lore says he buried a crystal heart under the floor.










At this point I called it a day and went out with friends. I don't want to lead readers to believe that this was the only thing I did on my first trip to San Francisco, because that would be embarrassing. I'm thorough,
but not obsessed, so I worked on this strange introduction to the city only in the mornings, when I would have been on my own anyway. Just to my credit.

Okay, so Day Two:
I woke up early and it was a crystal-clear day in San Francisco, so I drove for my second viewing of the bridge, this time up close. I parked at an overlook in El Presidio and hiked down to Fort Point, the spot underneath the bridge where Scottie and Madeleine first make contact.I had my photo op, and then began walking back to the car. As I walked along the path in the early morning sun, a van pulled up beside me and a young man offered me a ride. "You know, I'm just sort of driving around the city," he said. "I'm just wandering too!" I replied, marveling at this spontaneous reenactment, and wondering if maybe I should throw caution to the wind and get in a stranger's van in honor of cinematic synchronicity. I thought better of it, and sent him on his way.

After driving back to Nob Hill, I did a particularly miraculous parking job on the 1800 block of Taylor Street, where the opening rooftop chase scene takes place. This is only a few blocks from the Brockleback, and you can actually see the Elsters' apartment building in the background shots of this scene. I began to walk down the block, pondering how I might manage to get up on the roof. I noticed a realty-company sign in front of the corner building, and called, asking if the apartment had rooftop access. "Absolutely not, rooftop access is strictly forbidden."
I was unfazed, and walked in the open front door and made friends with the Mexican man painting the hallway. Happily, he had no problem whatsoever with my going on the roof to enjoy the view. This was my true guerrilla moment of the Vertigo tour, standing on the roof overlooking San Francisco Bay, contemplating making a few jumps over to the roof in the distance that had original shingles. The painter came up to check on me, and I decided a few shapshots would suffice. I thanked him, and continued on my way.









I stopped at a deli across the street and talked with the the older gentleman running the place. It was he who told me that I'd inadvertently crossed paths with another film location shot. It happened that this was the very deli where Steve McQueen had made an appearance in the 1968 film Bullitt.



My next stop was Claude Lane, an alley so small that it does not even appear on detailed maps of downtown San Francisco. This is the alley door through which Scottie follows Madeleine into a flower shop - an incongruous shot geographically, but I decided this was apt since my own reenactment was not in chronological order. The flower shop, which has moved to a strange neighborhood underneath the freeway, did not provide a good shot when I visited it. It is more like a factory today, catering to large wedding orders but probably very few walk-in customers. I scoured the streets for the flower stands for which San Francisco is allegedly well-known. I learned this was because the Italian founder of the Bank of America loved to wear a fresh carnation in his lapel, and created a lenient licensing policy for the flower vendors. The shot of me buying a nosegay is sadly absent from my final product.

I walked down Sutter Street to the Argonaut Book Shop, the basis for the Argosy bookstore in the film. The real Argosy is a New York bookstore, but the current owner swears the film character who owns the bookstore, Pop Liebl, was based on his father. The name Pop Liebl was borrowed from a candy store owner in the Western Addition, whom screenwriter Samuel Taylor fondly remembers from his childhood. The man who runs the Argonaut today is featured in Footsteps in the Fog and humored me with a photograph and a signature, greatly increasing the value of my guidebook. I asked how many Vertigo lovers wandered into his antiquarian shop, and he told me that about a dozen a year showed up.












I drove to the aerie neighborhood of Telegraph Hill, where Midge's house is perched at 296 Union Street. These apartment scenes were shot at Paramount Studios - this is testament to Footsteps in the Fog authors' attention to detail. Of all the apartments on Telegraph Hill, they concluded that this building and only this building could have provided the background shots Hitchcock used. It was a quick walk up to Coit Tower from there, whose view is no more exciting than any other view, but the elevator operator makes it worth the five dollar fee.

I returned to Mission Delores, which we'd driven past the day before. I had more time to enter the Basilica and see the garden cemetery. This was a popular destination after the film was made. Everyone wanted to see Carlotta Valdes' grave, but the Mission requested it be removed out of respect for the real bodies buried there.





















I was done for the day, and did some shopping and had some drinks in the Mission District with my friend. We swung by the Portal of the Past on the way home. This is a monument in Golden Gate Park, facing a little pond. It is not a true location shot, but it is referenced in the film. Gavin Elster says that his wife spends all of her time there, staring into the distance in a bewitched sort of way. My photos from the Portal of the Past came out the best, understandably because this was the only time I had assistance from a friend on my tour.














The next day was my final one in San Francisco. I felt that I had covered a huge amount of territory in two days, and felt satisfied. I had only a few more spots to visit before I drove out of town on the coastal highway. I unwittingly drove past Haight Ashbury, a landmark I had completely forgotten about due to my strong focus on Vertigo. A few blocks past was Buena Vista Park, and up on the hill lay the old sanatorium where Scottie has his breakdown. The building is still there but is now, surprise surprise, condos.











My final city stop turned out to be my favorite neighborhood - Dogpatch, the old shipping district where Scottie first visits Gavin Elster. Definitely my first choice for a warehouse apartment were I to move to San Francisco. It reminded me acutely of my own Brooklyn neighborhood of Red Hook six years ago, with its abandoned piers and waterfront industry buildings. No residents in sight, only a security guard who commented as I walked by, "What do we have here? Annie Liebowitz?"
I made a joke that my pink digital camera must have given me away as a true professional. We talked about cameras for a while, him showing off his Canon G9, when an older man biked up and offered to take me for a sail. I was truly sad to be leaving town and have to pass.

I began my trip south on Route One, my ultimate destination being Los Angeles. There are three scenes in Vertigo shot outside of San Francisco, luckily for me, all to the south. The redwood scene is often mistaken for Muir Forest in the north, but was actually filmed in Big Basin. I drove along the coast for a way, and then began to get the sinking feeling that I'd gone too far. I pulled over and asked two unbelievably fit bicyclists in their 60s if I had missed the forest. "Well, I've hiked there from here but I'm not sure you can drive. What made you think you could get into the forest from the coast [subtext: you silly girl], did you look at a map or anything?" I said, "Kind of ...", omitting the fact that I'd been navigating completely from detail maps in my movie book, and had copied a crude map of the southern scenes into my notebook in order to leave the book as a gift for my friend. I was now guideless, and completely reliant on the help of sometimes judgmental strangers.

The women told me I had gone too far, but gave me excellent directions to the Mission San Juan Bautista. Slightly disappointed, but too eager to get to my hotel in Big Sur by sunset, I drove on. When I passed a sign for Route 9 North into Big Basin, I decided a quick detour might be worth it. I drove on this road for all of ten minutes when I found some (comparatively mediocre) redwoods, but damn big trees just the same.
I got the shot and was back on my way.

The Mission San Juan Bautista was by far the most magical location I visited. It is truly identical to how I remembered it from the film. With the widest church of California's 22 missions, it still holds bilingual masses on the weekends and functions as a museum the rest of the time. The most striking difference is the bell tower. Hitchcock himself was disappointed by this when he arrived to shoot in 1957 and discovered the bell tower had been removed. He created this scene at Paramount, and the belltower there today bears no resemblance but still gave me a chill in my spine.

I ran from the stables looking as anxious as possible ("More anxious!" my photographic assistants yelled), and into the mission, taking a brief break from my flight to buy every type of souvenir they sold. The church was cool and desolate, each of my footsteps echoing throughout the large room. I was humbled, and remained silent.





















I had read that Hitchcock and his crew always took their meals at La Casa Rosa, and that Kim Novak had even returned several times after the completion of the film. The restaurant was closed for lunch, but Charlie Shockey, who acquired the eatery from his family in 1973, regaled me with tales of being a teenage waiter deeply in awe of Kim Novak and exhilarated beyond belief at her appearance in his family's restaurant. He saw her there again several years after the filming, at which point he was managing a hotel pub in the city. When she coincidentally came in to dine at his other job, he couldn't resist pointing this out to her, thus speaking to her for the first time. "Weren't you at La Casa Rosa just last week?" he shyly inquired. "Yes," she replied demurely, "yes, I was."

My last stop: Pebble Beach, where Scottie and Madeleine have their first kiss with the waves crashing dramatically behind them and a lone and twisted cypress tree the only landmark. The cypress tree was brought in by Hitchcock, but it was not necessary for me to find the location. Pebble Beach is not, today, the abandoned beach it seems in the film. In fact, I now know that most Americans are familiar with this district. It is a gated community holding one of the wealthiest zip codes in the country as well as a PGA level golf course. But I am not most Americans. I am a school teacher from Brooklyn with an aversion to golf and the wealthy, and I only knew that Pebble Beach was part the "17-Mile Drive" near Carmel, California.
I should have been alerted to the situation when I noticed a resident entrance at the gate, but I instead assumed I was paying $9.25 to enter a national park. I'd covered about twenty yards of the 17-mile loop when I realized that was not at all accurate. I pulled into a parking lot and asked a man where I might find Pebble Beach. "Well, that's easy. Just park here, cut through the lodge, and you can walk straight across the 18th hole, it's not a problem. That's Pebble Beach." So I parked. I cut through the lodge. I marched indignantly through someone's golf game and set up my camera by the not-crashing waves, and took one of the poutiest pictures ever taken. I
used the bathroom on the way out, carefully folding the toilet paper back into a triangle (it was like I was never there!). As I exited the 17 mile drive, I parked and walked up to the gatemen. To my credit, I first asked what the admittance fee was used for. To which they replied, "Why, that pays for us. We run this place, we do everything! Security, maintenance, landscaping ... everything." I told them I wanted my money back. They replied that the gate fee was non-refundable, but why did I want a refund, did I not enjoy myself? "I do not pay maintenance fees for the wealthy." Their response? "I'm terribly sorry ma'am but you are going to have to write to this address about that." "Oh, I will." I did call Pebble Beach the following week and left a message for the head of security. My phone call has not been returned yet. I would have settled for crashing waves anywhere along the Pacific Coast Highway, but at least I was thorough.

So maybe I didn't make it to many of the hip stores, restaurants, clubs, and bars of San Francisco that
I read about in New York Times' travel section articles. Was my first trip to this amazing city compromised by my project? Absolutely not. I live in New York City, and get my fair share of these things. Also, I feel confident that after three days of wandering, you could plop me down anywhere in that city and I could find my way to Vertigo. I met so many charming people and heard so many stories. Finally, I must confess that I am not a true wanderer. A sense of listlessness descends when I don't have a clear purpose. A little structure in wandering around a new city was just what I needed.

Friday, February 27, 2009

allow me to introduce myself ...













1. i've lived in brooklyn for 6 years now, straight from north carolina.
though i never particularly associated myself with the south, i have cultivated more and more southern pride the longer i've stayed in brooklyn. especially my first full time job in fort greene, i would find myself in lines at at the deli, and hear this wondrous southern accent, and strike up a conversation with the person, directly affiliating myself.



2. the reason i never felt southern was because my family moved there from the new jersey a few years before i was born. though i had a rippin' southern accent as a child, people only distinguish it these days when i'm drunk, or angry, or both. my father is the only one truly from the northeast, yet ironically, he is the only one still living in nc. i now live in the same city and my mother and both sisters. up until a several years ago, i never thought this would be important to me, but now it is one of the first things i tell people about myself.




3. i have my first baby in my life this year, my niece sylvie. she is about 8 months old and lives downstairs from me. i've seen her every day, most days she's been alive. she has been the catalyst for my most serious thought on the human condition. she has always had a big personality, yet is just a little animal at the same time. in my mind, she is the goal. i aspire to be more like her - fresh, forgiving, and connected.




4. my favorite relative is my grandfather bobby, an ex-pilot and cattle farmer from alabama. he was a self-professed atheist, and
though i think he truly was a non-believer (thanks for legitimizing that O), i think he also liked to shock and awe his high society montgomery friends. he never pronounced the word god, but would spell it out, G-O-D.

5. i have been a public school teacher for 5 years now, but switched to the high school level only last year. those of you who stood by me last fall, thank you. it was harder than my first year of high school and my first year teaching combined. thank you G-O-D, i am quite content now. i adore high school literature, and working with intelligent people, and teaching teenagers during their first few years in the country. a friend of mine compared teaching in new york to being in an abusive relationship - it sucks, and tears you apart, and you wonder why you bother, and tell yourself there are a million other settings where you would be more appreciated, and sucks some more, and then there's a moment . . . that is reinvigorating. after 5 years, i feel like i'm out of that dramatic phase and more just enjoying myself. and sometimes we're reading one of my favorite books from when i was a teenager, and i think to myself, i get paid for this?

5. i am a little long-winded, and am trying to be more concise, starting with #5. so simply, i love hello kitty.

6. my favorite jobs have included pasta-maker, bookkeeper, and late night radio dj. all of which i worked alone. i also used to weld.



7. i am an enthusiastic recycler - i especially like to make things out of trash and things i find on the street. i worked at this restaurant for years and years that did not recycle, at least, our city didn't at that time. i began an initiative in which i was the sole member - i would pick up the boxes full of empty wine bottles each night and take them to the recycling plant, down by the river. behind the building were three massive piles of glass - clear, green, and brown, and i would stand there and throw the bottles as hard as i could. it was an amazingly cathartic way to end a day.

8. i used to be an avid reader, but it has wained in the past few years. the only author i've read in full is haruki murakami. and possibly v.c. andrews, when i was a teenager, before they started ghost-writing her shit. and i don't use the word shit casually. went back and reread my sweet audrina at age 20, and it's straight-up trash. but i loved it at the time. i also loved judy blume's wifey (also pornographic- "wifey's sick of chicken on wednesdays and sex on saturdays ..."). my friend jesse took pictures of blume for an article and somehow finagled me a signed copy, on my bookshelf. today, when i read books below my reading level, i get this specific form of reading guilt, probably stemming from these authors.



7. i used to be part of a burlesque troupe, the rebelles, in asheville, nc. it was seventeen women that constructed an elaborate satire of the patriot act during bush's reign of terror. my character was named bombay saphire, and she was an ex-bollywood film star turned assassin. i did a dance of seven veils, and took belly dancing lessons briefly, to prepare.




8. my cat simon is ten years old this year. he is siamese, and big bitch, but i raised him to be particularly needy and loving. we live on the second floor in red hook, brooklyn. he has a carpeted kitty pole out the kitchen window, and comes and goes as he pleases. god knows where, sometimes i picture him at the methadone clinic around the corner.


10. the perfume i prefer is embarrassing enough called cannabis. at the staff christmas party last year, a guy i work with identified the smell of patrouli on me. this is mortifying, since i've spent a lot of my life making fun of hippies, but i still prefer this particular perfume.

11. i always put on about 5 pounds in the winter. this year it's more like 8-10, but whatever, i look fine. However, a few of my female students have made up that i must be pregnant, and have actually expressed excitement. one of my favorites from last year came for a visit and actually patted me on the stomach, "You putting on some weight?" i couldn't correct her at the time because i was in the middle of a class, but now i somehow don't want to disappoint them. my sister recommends i just get pregnant.

12. i have volunteered at the international center for the past year as a conversation partner. i have met weekly with a 25 year old korean filmmaker, and it wasn't until our last few meetings that we got to the really good stuff (his obligatory military service, my burlesque troupe ...) we had our last meeting last week, and he gave me a chopstick set as a gift, but if i see i cheap ticket to korea this year i'm absolutely going.

13. most of my closest friends i've known for years and years. like since elementary school. two of them live in europe, and the past few years we have met in one of their cities for a visit. i take great pride in my ability to maintain relationships and return phone calls.
video
Utrecht, Netherlands with Karen and Karla

14. the best thing in my apartment is my couch, it was a custom-made hand-me-down worth more than i would ever pay. it wouldn't fit in the door and i had to google furniture dismantlers at 9 PM on a weeknight. 30 minutes later two incredibly adept guys were taking the fabric off and cutting it into pieces to get it into my apartment, then moving it in and reupholstering it. it was amazing, and totally worth the fee plus after-hours add-on. now i'm scared to move.


15. i have been in the dangerous territory of dating for the past 9 months, which i don't enjoy at all. i prefer having a friendly antagonistic conversation cuddled up of the couch. after a couple good dates that didn't work out, i was feeling like i was lacking in some way, til i heard the phrase "a walk in the garden." whatever, we were just taking a walk in the garden, don't mean nothing.






16. i just took my first trip to san francisco and drove the PCH south for ten hours, alone. it was magical. stayed in big sur at a little inn and met a true california crazy who had expatriated to the national forest. he asked me where i was from, and i said new york, and he said, why doesn't that surprise me. i looked around for what gave me away and realized not many people probably order lattes to go at this particular inn.

17. my all time favorite joke is, knock knock. who's there? fuck. fuck who? fuck whom.

18. when i was 21 this guy was courting me and we were sitting on my couch with an electric typewriter. it had a feature where you could type something with no reaction, then when you pressed enter it would type everything all at once. we sat up late one night typing each other sweet messages that way and passing the typewriter back and forth.




19. my last relationship was with a really lovely guy, who unfortunately had voted for bush. twice. i didn't find out til too late, you never would've guessed. this tore me apart but in the end i feel like i really grew from the experience. more dealings with people, other than those who are just like me. as i lamented the situation to a friend, he reduced it to two cliches - "you know, louise, you just gotta choose ... birds of a feather, or variety is the spice of life." the final verdict seems to be birds of feather.




20. i went to a movie alone last week that left in me in the theater crying, even after the credits. i hadn't had that experience with a film since boyz in the hood, when my mom was there to console me. i actually invited her to this film, but she dismissed me, saying, "oh louise, i'm not interested in seeing a Cartoon."





21. speaking of my mother, she's amazing. she retired to new york a few years ago and has become obsessed with the man who is responsible for the schools in new york being as beautiful, architecturally, as they are. she leads walking tours about them, and is writing a book (currently seeking a publisher). coincidentally, both schools i've worked in have been designed by this man, cbj snyder.



22. i lived in italy for a year, and worked for a man whom i've kept in touch with. he called on my birthday this year, and i was actually able to hold my end of a 30 minute conversation in italian. i am very interested in relearning this language, as well as serbo-croatian and portuguese.

23. i'm a fool, because i've had a masters in tesol (passport!) for three years now, and haven't taught abroad.

24. i just applied for a second masters in library sciences, which would qualify me to be a librarian or an archivist (just in case i ever decide to opt out of my board of ed package). i applied on a city employee scholarship program, but there is only one scholarship for this degree available for this program for the entire city! though the scholarship is not much at all, i'm not sure i'll go through with it if it don't get it.

25. and last but not least, (i can't believe i typed this all at once!), i live dead on the buttermilk channel, at the mouth of the east river. i recently learned the name has something to do with taking milking cows over to governor's island to feed, on boats. there is a pedestrian pier where i like to go to watch the toxic sunset over jersey. i could write another 100 random facts about myself that clutter my mind, but when i'm sitting on that bench, i like to let my mind go blank.