Richard Brody’s New York Film Festival Picks
Sometimes names are misleading. Arabic numerals originated in India, Chinese checkers are German, white chocolate isn’t chocolate at all. The same does not hold for Pokito, a cozy dive in Williamsburg whose name is a misspelled version of the Spanish word for “little.” On a recent Monday, two patrons walked in during happy hour to find the place empty. An abundance of kitschy wall decorations (fuzzy dice, fake flowers, party streamers) gleamed under flashing lights, casting the room in lurid shades of pink and green. Behind the bar, a creaking dumbwaiter transported dishes up from the basement kitchen. Yelling over the jaunty wails of “Davy Crockett,” by Thee Headcoatees, the guests ordered from a menu of Latin- and Asian-inspired cocktails and small plates and, under sensory attack, opted to sit outside. First came the Toki Highball, a tart mix of Japanese whiskey, plum wine, and lemon-basil tea, topped with a lip-shaped ginger gummy. Thirst piqued, the duo stepped back in to request the Frozen Yuz + Me, a smoky, salt-and-cayenne-rimmed margarita, and chips with a zingy, carrot-based hot sauce. As the sun set and happy hour waned, the dedicated customers raced to the bar for a thirteen-dollar combo of Orion, a refreshing Okinawan lager, and a shot of Suntory whiskey. The drinks settled—perhaps too quickly—and the pair remembered that they had work the next morning. Groaning, they made yet another pilgrimage for one final, cautionary order: hummus, with tangy slices of sourdough from the Brooklyn-based Howling Bread bakery. Licking their fingers, they were soon joined by the bartender, on a smoke break. “Before you run back in,” he smirked, “can I get you anything else?” Red-cheeked and reticent, the duo shook their heads and took their sheepish leave.
This Week With: Kelefa Sanneh
Our writers on their current obsessions.
Chappell Roan at Forest Hills Stadium.Photograph by Ragan Henderson
This week, I loved seeing Chappell Roan at Forest Hills, on the first night of her eight-night, three-city mini-tour—and, apparently, the first night of Halloween. In front of what looked like a haunted house, she sang, strutted, slithered, caught an unexpected view of her own backside on the video monitor (“Oh, my God, I forgot my bottom was just a thong,” she said), and generally acted like the most entertaining pop star on the planet.
This week, I cringed at the uncomfortable face-off between Gervonta (Tank) Davis, the virtuosic lightweight boxer, and Jake Paul, the social-media star who has built a lucrative boxing career by having a punchable face, and also by being a better puncher than you might think. Davis is about five feet five and weighed 133.8 pounds before his most recent fight, while Paul is six-one and weighed 199.4, but no matter: they are scheduled to meet in November for a boxing match that is officially just an “exhibition,” to be aired on Netflix. Paul, shirtless, hulked over Davis, who had his hands in his jacket pockets and feigned boredom, as if the whole thing were beneath him. Maybe it is.
This week, I’m listening to “PACIFIC MODE mix003,” a mix by the Tokyo-based d.j. known as YELLOWUHURU, which is the musical equivalent of that emoji with two spirals for eyes and a squiggly-line mouth. For more than two hours, YELLOWUHURU cycles through warm and woozy variants of house music, with an emphasis on echoing sound, gentle cacophony, and noises that seem to be melting. Apparently, this mix was recorded at 5 A.M., but it’s perfect for any time you feel like getting lost.
This week, I’m still thinking about “Interesting Times,” the mesmerizing podcast from Ross Douthat, the New York Times columnist, which also earns that spiral-eyes emoji—but for very different reasons. Douthat talks to a wide range of guests, nudging them toward unexpectedly cosmic discussions of good and evil and the future of humanity. He asked Noor Siddiqui, the founder of a company that does genetic testing on embryos, what the human race might lose if we stop making babies the old-fashioned way. And he asked the technologist Peter Thiel if he ever worried about hastening the arrival of the Antichrist.
Next week, I’m looking forward to YoungBoy Never Broke Again—also known as N.B.A. YoungBoy—the Baton Rouge rapper whose mournful and sometimes beautiful tracks evoke a reckless life; videos of the chaotic atmosphere at his concerts have been going viral. I’ll be out of town when he hits New York (Saturday, Sept. 27), but I’m hoping to make it to the Prudential Center, in Newark, on Monday, Sept. 29.
P.S. Good stuff on the internet:
