Dans Paris
Our cold and gloomy weather came to an end overnight, and although it wasn’t blisteringly hot, we were back in August. I had promised myself that, if it were still showing, I’d see Christophe Honoré’a Dans Paris, even though that would mean going to the IFC theatre for the first time. Shocking – but I hadn’t yet been. With the small independent theatres, I never know what to expect, and I’ve been feeling rather unadventurous lately, probably because, ahem, I’ve been launching a new site. Curiously, what sold me on Dans Paris was the late first show, at 12:40. Ordinarily, that’s far too late for me to be starting the day, but it was just right this morning. I took the 6, the V, and D trains to West Fourth Street, and didn’t get there a moment too soon.
Afterward, I ambled up West Fourth to Seventh Avenue, where I had lunch at the Riviera Café, a survivor that I last visited in the early Eighties. After reading a bunch of pieces in The London Review of Books – including Jenny Diski’s brightly scathing review of the latest book about Princess Margaret – I paid the bill and caught the train at Sheridan Square. I took the 1, the S, and the 6, and I got to 86th Street with plenty of time for Barnes & Noble. Note to Max: I finally have a Robert!*
¶ Dans Paris.
*Collins Robert French Unabridged Dictionary.