“American Horror Story” premiered last Wednesday to a lukewarm reception from critics and television audiences alike. Being fans of Ryan Murphy and connoisseurs of weird Los Angeles tales, of both the non-fictional and fictional varieties, Surreal L.A. was waiting with baited breath for this new FX series. The bottom line: it’s more “Nip/Tuck” meets “American Gothic” than it is “Glee,” but is it authentic L.A.? We examine further:
So, last week after witnessing an apropo Tarantino-esque car chase on Lincoln Blvd., Valley Girl and I went to Pann’s, sat in the bad motherfucker booth and had breakfast for dinner. It was bullet-hole beautiful, like a Tarantino film in wide screen format.
David Lynch is the master of manifesting his dreams (and nightmares) into reality. Take the opening of Silencio — the upscale bar inspired by Mulholland Drive‘s fictional theater Club Silencio.
Naturally, every little dark nerve in my body screamed with anticipation as I imagined listening to a Dorothy Valens look-a-like croon “Blue Velvet,” as a backwards speaking midget poured me a glass of garmanbozia in a lounge draped with deep red curtains.
Oh, we can dream . . . but sometimes we wake up and realize that our dreams are being built in Paris.
With all due respect, Mr. Lynch, that club belongs in the dark, dream-like tendrils of the greater Los Angeles area. [Read more...]