Streetcars and Green Fairies

Last Wednesday, Marc and I had an evening in Old Hollywood. The LA Conservancy has a series called Last Remaining Seats where they screen movies in the lush movie palaces of yesteryear. A friend of his had invited him along to see “A Streetcar Named Desire” at the LA Theatre. Somehow, they ended up with an extra ticket, and I got myself invited at the last moment.

I’d been meaning to check out a film through Last Remaining Seats for a long time. Additionally, despite having acted in a production of the play in college – I had one line, “Flores, flores para los muertos” – and in spite of a healthy appreciation of Marlon Brando’s physical attractions as a young man, I had never seen the film in it’s entirety. The film is still powerful, albeit not exactly a pick-me-up, and neither Mr. Brando’s looks nor his performance disappointed. Watching the film in such a spectacular setting definitely added to the experience.

After the film, Marc and parted way with his friends Candace and Sherri and headed back over to our new favorite bar, The Edison. We went to the Edsion for the first time the previous Thursday with Heather and Johanna. On this first visit, Marc got burned by the dress code policy. I thought we’d done our homework – all I found online was “no athletic attire.” It turns out that a collared shirt is also required for men. Marc’s very nice sweater was therefore, unacceptable.

Not to be easily done-in – especially since we were supposed to be meeting Heather inside very soon – we asked the bouncer if he had any suggestions as to where we could quickly purchase another shirt. He directed us to the tobacco shop around the corner.
That’s right, the tobacco shop around the corner.

The folks running this shop were very sweet and helpful, but let me tell you, they’re definitely familiar with the problems caused by the Edison’s dress code. They are stocked and ready for just such an occasion. One of the most heartbreaking things about having my camera stolen is that it still housed a series of pictures of Marc modeling his fashion finds at the tobacco shop. We met another guy in the shop who had also been caught by the dress code technicalities buying a pair of shoes for himself and a shirt for his friend. So the shopkeepers are definitely profiting from the Edison’s shirt and shoe requirements. Can you blame them though? They saw a problem, and now provide the goods to correct the problem. Capitalism at work. End of tangent.

Despite the hoops we had to jump through to finally get into the place, we fell in love pretty much as soon as we arrived. I can definitely understand the hype on the place, and am now a believer as well. (Although I’d never dare to go on a weekend – I bet it’s insanely crowded)

I was expecting a small lounge with a speak-easy vibe. What we found was a much bigger operation – in every sense. A staircase leads you down into a cavernous, gothic 1930’s netherworld with two bars, various different nooks and enclaves, and burlesque dancers strutting around the band on stage. Exposed beams, pipes, and other antique architectural and mechanical elements hint at the building’s history. Old school black and white cartoons are projected onto a large brick wall, serving to pretty much keep Marc permanently hypnotized. On the whole, it's kind of like going for drinks at the Hotel from Disney's Twilight Zone Tower of Terror.

The cocktails are a little on the expensive side, but they are good and done well. At the point I was debating whether I wanted to spend another $13 on a cocktail, a beautiful, sparkly Green Fairy came by and offered me a flask of absinthe for a more reasonable $8 in an adorable little glass flask. I’m a sucker for a Green Fairy. It’s true. The lore, the ritual, the historical connection to artists, writers and poets – send a girl in a Green Fairy costume my way, and I’m pretty sure to buy the absinthe. The Green Fairy was named Danielle, and very sweet – as a group, we bought lots of drinks from her. (I think this definitely helped Johanna in her endeavors to get Marc out on the dance floor. He initially looked like a boy at his first junior high dance in his uncertainty as to what do with the girl in front of him, but she did succeed in getting him to dance for quite a while.) The Green Fairy also told us all about how on Wednesday nights acrobats perform all around the bar.


How could we resist? So sure enough, after “Streetcar” we made our way back and it was even better. In addition the Burlesque dancers a man in gothic make-up and a top hat would weave his in and out of the crowd on stilts; a buxom aerial artist wound herself around a tissue hammock suspended from the ceiling; and girls on swings danced on the walls – one twirling a red umbrella. On this particular evening, even the bar tenders got in on the action and jumped up on the bar and started dancing. Marc and I took this all in from our firmly established spot at the bar while simultaneously people watching and criticizing the antics of the other bar patrons, as we stuffed our faces with grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.