My Weekend with Marilyn

Last Saturday was wet, and Los Angeles is not designed to cope with rain – there are no drains or run-offs on the road, so water gathers and pools on the tarmac.  Water gushes out onto the sidewalk from random down pipes and flooding occurs very rapidly.  Driving anywhere is not a great deal of fun.

Looking for something local to do we made the mistake of visiting the Pasadena Museum of California Art, just a couple of blocks away from the apartment.  The museum is housed in a large building with a surprisingly small doorway.  There is nothing on the door to advertise the fact that you are entering the museum, presumably that’s to keep out the plebs like me.  PMCA is one of those places that appears to be aimed at that elite band of “people in the know” as opposed  to encouraging the artistic enlightenment and self-improvement of Joe Public.  

LA Raw - Abject expression in Los Angeles 1945-1980, is the title of the current exhibition,  a rather grisly collection of graphic images of severed limbs and body parts, and yes you can guess exactly what particular predominantly female body part is mostly on display.

I know I have a predilection for art to be easy on the eye, but if it isn’t easy on the eye then at least it should be meaningful and thought provoking.  The only thought this sleazy collection provoked in me was how soon could I leave.   I felt I was intruding on someone’s personal nightmare and it was a very unpleasant way to spend the afternoon.  If the PMCA wants to enhance the cultural experience of the average Pasadenian then it really needs to come up with something less pretentious and more appealing than this.  I actually left the building thinking that rather than charging an entrance fee they should be paying me to go in; it really was that grim. 

So in need of some light relief we decided to head off to the cinema.  The previous weekend we had gone to see Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy which was also pretty grim and made 1970’s England look so grey and depressing I wonder how anyone made it out of the decade alive. The weekend before that we'd seen The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. This week we really did need entertaining.

Having recently sat through a whole load of movie trailers promoting action packed, high kicking explosive big budget forthcoming Hollywood releases, we decided to go instead to the art deco Laemmles Playhouse on Colorado Boulevard and sit in a theatre the size of a living room to watch My Week with Marilyn. The sun was shining in 1950’s England; the film was beautifully shot and the story intelligent, quirky and amusing. Nobody died; nobody got blown to kingdom come, and there were no severed body parts. It was definitely a good choice and more than made up for the depressing afternoon at the PMCA.

Fortunately by Sunday the streets of Pasadena were once again dry and the sun had come back out.  A big sigh of relief all round the Bubble Household, no need to venture into any more art galleries.

Independence Day

Being British I do feel slightly awkward about Independence Day celebrations.

Last year we made the mistake of  going to Huntington Beach where unbeknown to us there was quite a significant Independence Day Parade taking place, lots of flag waving and pledging of the allegiance. It was a display of American patriotism at its very best, but we kept our heads firmly down and tried not to draw attention to ourselves, feeling distinctly like we'd gatecrashed a private party.

Various sections of American military personnel marched proudly past to rapturous applause followed by an assortment of local school bands, decorated floats and some elderly townsfolk who had presumably done something significant with their lives apart from just being old.

Huntington Beach was packed – people were crammed into the sidewalks; homeowners were perching on their roof tops; there were families having BBQ’s in the front yard where the sofa had been dragged outside so grandma could get a better view.

This year we knew better so we decided to keep a distinctly low profile.   No parades for us.

It was very hot and seeking refuge from the heat we decided we’d go to the movies where it would be nice and cool inside.  As I’ve mentioned before we are very lucky in Pasadena because we have a positive plethora of movie theatres all within walking distance and I wanted to go and see the latest installment of Pirates of the Caribbean. 

  

It’s very indicative of just how many more movies come out here than back in the UK because films tend to come and go from the big multiplexes very quickly.  Even blockbusters like Harry Potter don’t hang around here for more than a couple of weeks before the next big thing arrives, but with an abundance of movie screens I knew we’d be able to catch those Pirates somewhere.  Sure enough – they were showing at the “Academy 6” a very small movie theatre at the less salubrious end of main street Pasadena, a building reminiscent of something which  we would have lovingly  referred to back home as a flea pit.

At $2 a ticket it was almost cheaper than staying at home with the air conditioning on – and I got to sit and watch Johnny Depp for two hours.  That’s not bad.  The place was certainly better on the inside than the out, and exceeded my expectations with regard to comfort of seating and internal décor. It did take us a while to choose a seat however - every time we sat down we appeared to be viewing the screen at a slightly odd angle.  There were the usual disturbances of other people filtering in and out throughout the course of the film, including a couple with a dog (that’s a first) and there was also a rather annoying fuzzy green line which appeared down the middle of the screen half way during the film and stayed right to the very end, but hey, at $2 a ticket what can you expect?

At the end of the show we were thrust back out into the brilliant sunlight and the ghostly quiet of mid-afternoon Pasadena.  The streets were deserted – where was everyone? Were they really all sat at home watching Independence Day TV marathons? (Yes I saw these being advertised in the run up to 4 July – a whole day of watching and re-watching repeats of your favourite show - what a great way for US citizens to celebrate their independence from us Brits – slob out watching crap TV all day with a fast-food takeway.)

Later on we walked downtown and ate a meal in half empty restaurant, where rather ironically we noticed that the background music had a distinctly British feel about it - Mumford & Sons, Florence & the Machine. There we were a few weeks ago in Boston, walking the Freedom Trail and standing before a large bronze statue of American hero Paul Revere, famous for his midnight ride to warn the American revolutionists of imminent attack with his cry of "the British are coming, the British are coming".

Who'd have thought, 235 years later and, funnily enough, we're still here.