Nancy Rommelmann

Author Author

My work life has become completely about books: writing them, editing them, reviewing them (latest: A Covert Affair: The Adventures of Julia Child and Paul Child in the OSS, by Jennet Conant), reading them (currently, Erik Larson's In the Garden of Beasts: Love, Terror and an American Family in Hitler's Berlin, which is spectacular), and doing research for the next two books of my own.

There is also time to interview authors about their work, for instance, Molly O'Neill on her latest book, One Big Table, and what's wrong with $8 bunches of organic arugula tied with twine, and why she needed to get out of "the little girls' ghetto" where cookbook writers tend to be corralled. The interview posted today, on Culinate.com, and it is one of my favorite ever. All props to Molly, for being so smart and so tart.

And then there is the author elbow-rubbing, such as last night's, with John Sayles, before his reading at Powell's from his latest novel, A Moment in the Sun.

 

Sayles and Maggie Renzi are friends of my mom's. I told her yesterday, I would be going to the reading, and she insisted I introduce myself. I told her, mom, it's going to be mobbed; I am not going to bother them. And then I walked in and Sayles was standing right there, so I did, and he was very nice, and Maggie put her arms around me and said, "We've heard so much about you," and insisted a photo be taken of she and I, to post on the blog for the book and their latest film, AMIGO.

"Now you and John," Maggie said, and scooted us together, making me as you can see very happy, and prompting a woman in the audience to ask, "Are you one of the actresses in his movies?"

 

 

Another Bullshit Night in Suck City Hearts Ristretto Roasters

My daughter Tafv (pictured left) is working in the art department of the film adaptation of the Nick Flynn memoir, starring Robert DeNiro, Paul Dano and Julianne Moore. They're filming in New York. I send them six pounds of coffee a week. They sent their appreciation this morning. 

The Dream of the 90s is Alive in Portland

I have never before had the experience of laughing out of my mind, but only on the inside. This did it. It's a promo for the IFC series "Portlandia," passed on to me by a reader, who thought I might like it (boy, you can say that again) in light of my recent article, "Is Portland the New Neverland?" Enjoy.

 

Bad Day Movie

Back in the day, back in LA, everyone was making videos and short films. I wrote "Drive Baby Drive" for Paul Rachman, and this L7 video (which is sounding freakin' good this morning, seriously) for one of my best friends at the time, Modi Frank. Modi has a huge body of work, including a film she made with Exene Cervenka, called "Bad Day," which I think they started in about 1987...

It's just been digitally released. You can see in its entirety if you hit the link. I watched a million bits of it over the years, during editing. Go ahead and download it -- there are some big big stars in it, though back then, they were just the people sitting in your yard at night drinking beer and smoking pot. 

An email Modi sent reads, "Viewers will be able to pay whatever they want for the download in order to view AND a portion of the proceeds from “Bad Day” are going to Gulf Coast aid organizations that help the people affected in the Gulf region."

By the way Modi: you look totally hot in that photo xx

Look Where Tafv Is!

Working a pre-production photo shoot atop the Pierre Hotel  xx

 

They're Kidding, Right?

Roger Ebert nails it

Lynn Redgrave, RIP

What a wonderful actress

Deep Water

If you are like me, certain books, songs, words take up residence deep in your brain pan. I don't know why I have Veronica and The Collector and the chorus to "Baby, Now That I've Found You" on some sort of ever-running background loop, but there they are. They don't demand a lot of me, and are not what I would say inform me. The latter is certainly shame, gods and gobs of shame, I am bouyed in whipped cream clouds of shame, some of which clears away in the big gusts of work and the good life. I don't say this in a sad way. For the most part, shame makes for good calories.

Nevertheless, I last night watched Deep Water -- a  film I sense has just moved in permanently -- with my hands nearly around my throat, oh, the strangulation, the self-set trap, Donald Crowhurst sailing open-eyed toward his denouement. I watched the sinew and steel and preparation of his opponent, Bernard Moitessier. His horizon is the one I want. I already know what happens when one puts on the Crowhurst sweater.

Note: those of you on Netflix can watch it instantly.

The Red Riding Trilogy

When I lived in New York, I went the movies at least twice a week. My friends and I checked out film festivals, and midnight showings, and the once-a-week-for-four-weeks Wednesday night screenings of Berlin Alexanderplatz.

When I moved to LA, I probably went to the movie twice a month, especially to the beautiful old Vista Theatre; Grauman's Chinese (before it became a Mann's); the Egyptian and the pretty spanking nice Arclight.

When I moved to Portland, the number dropped to about five times a year. Sure, Netflix has something to do with it. Also, the comparative lack of aesthetic theatricality that is the movie-going experience, at, say, the Lloyd Center. But I recently realized how much I miss the event that is going out to the movies, the not-knowing if something will be great or awful, the taking of a chance; the unexpected rewards.

2010 is the year of going back to the movies. Today, Din and I will check out the first of The Red Riding Trilogy, in part because of the compelling review it received from my colleague Shawn Levy. Also on the list: Hausu, which my daughter just saw and loved.

All suggestions for movies playing here in Portland welcome x

Dear Zachary: a Letter to a Son About His Father

This documentary is brutal. The circumstances also defy all common sense, and humanity, that two judges saw fit to let this woman out on her own recognizance. What, were they impressed she was a woman doctor from their province? Shame, shame, shame. Just heartbreaking

Tried to See "The September Issue"

The documentary about Vogue's Anna Wintour, with my own clothing designing daughter, who starts college at the Art Institute on Monday, but we walked into the wrong theater, and did not realize it until "Capitalism, A Love Story" started. It was too late to make the other show, so we stayed. It was a Michael Moore movie, by turns funny, spot-on, manipulated bull, full of bathos, and 30 minutes too long. Throwing in Katrina and FDR really bit, and did Wallace Shawn add anything to it? He did not. But! It was worth the price of admission alone for the inclusion of the video below

Movie I Did Not Very Much Care For

Because it was sentimental.
Because it was formulaic.
Because no one who ignores their child for twenty years comes back and gives the sort of speech Mickey Rourke gives in Atlantic City. I really wanted to yell at the TV, "Bullshit."
Because what were they doing with Marisa Tomei's character?
One charming scene: Rourke's first foray behind the meat counter. Pure joy.

I will counterbalance this with a movie I very much enjoyed, and if you missed, you might check out.

Manhattan, Woody Allen, Sex and Beauty

The lovely, charming and talented Foodinista asked me to guest blog, and so I have.