Connect with us

Lifestyle

What happens when a leather mama and a latex daddy fall in love?

Published

on

What happens when a leather mama and a latex daddy fall in love?

Zana Bayne and Mariano Cortez are two of the most low-key yet cultishly-loved designers in L.A. dealing in leather and latex, respectively. They also happen to be a couple. Zana wears Zana Bayne corset, Black Suede Studio boots, Calzedonia tights, Pinsy bodysuit. Mariano wears BustedBrand shirt and pants, Ugo Cacciatori bracelet, Other People’s Property rings.

In a lofty space streaming with hot light on Los Angeles Street, there is a dressing room with heavy red curtains and a door in the shape of a butt plug. A mirror inside captures your reflection in its familiar curvature, and, of course, you pull out your phone to take a picture — because when have you ever seen a butt plug-shaped dressing room before? Across the room, a Wassily-style chair sunbathes in the corner, with a handmade burgundy leather base and back, studs running along the seams. The chair has straps on its armchairs — made for wrists to slip into — with custom silver buckles in the shape of an outstretched woman’s physique. Vintage fetish magazines line the glass table in the center of the room, which smells of fresh paint, leather and latex. On a warm afternoon in August, this space is still under construction, but soon it will be a store: the shared world of Zana Bayne and Mariano Cortez, a physical manifestation of their creative partnership and personal relationship.

Bayne and Cortez are two of the most low-key yet cultishly-loved designers in L.A. dealing in leather and latex, respectively. What people come to Bayne for is her specific style, where all details are meticulously done by hand, and where hardware reigns supreme. (She made the aforementioned chair.) A Zana Bayne piece feels structural to the point of sculptural — a leather crystal-studded corset flaring with hip ruffles that unfold like an accordion; a lace-up corset eyelet skirt that creates a soft, voluptuous curve line away from the body. The pieces are instantly recognizable as hers: hand-laced rivets holding together a bustier in the shape of a broken heart, the way one of her spiked choker handbags seems to defy gravity. Cortez is the Latex King of Los Angeles, known for developing new techniques with the material, or imagining it in completely new contexts. In Cortez’s hands, latex becomes printed as leopard and cowhide, it becomes evening wear, sportswear or business casual — from a football tank to a floor-length dress to a blazer.

Zana Bayne and Mariano Cortez of Bustedbrand for Image Issue 29

And they happen to be in a relationship. Sitting in the room with Cortez and Bayne, there is a gravitational pull that can be felt when in the presence of opposites who speak the same language. Leather and latex being their shared dialect. Fashion is a small world, fashion inspired by fetish wear is even smaller. There is a mutual understanding between the two designers, both about the practical things — like impossible schedules or the kind of obsessive nature you must have to be successful — and the big things, like living a life in dedication to your practice, or what it means to blend the realms of subculture, art and fashion. “What we do is so blood, sweat and tears — every iota of your being at times — and if you aren’t in it, it’s really hard to understand for certain people,” Bayne says.

Advertisement

In February, Bayne posted an image of a photo strip of her and Cortez and captioned it: “Leather mama & latex daddy.” The store, called FETISH and launching in October, is somehow the culmination of this exact description. Which takes us back to the beginning: What happens when a leather mama and a latex daddy fall in love?

starburst graphic section divider

Walking into Cortez’s studio in the fashion district, you are first hit by the distinct smell of rubber, filling your nostrils, washing over your brain in a haze of strangely intimate comfort. Cortez and Bayne are wearing all black in 90-degree heat while sipping on green juices. She is in a Nine Inch Nails 2008 tour T-shirt, thrown over a slip dress with fishnets on, and Cortez is in a T-shirt, cargo shorts and boots. They tell me that earlier that day, Chappell Roan wore a custom Bustedbrand X Zana Bayne look on stage at Lollapalooza for what was said to be the festival’s biggest audience ever. Roan jumped around in a hot pink and electric blue lucha libre wrestler’s outfit made of latex, with iridescent leather accessories including a belt, mask, shin guards and wrist and upper arm cuffs. Bayne started with accessories early in her career — first creating a single harness — back when she was an obsessive fashion documentarian with the blog Garbage Dress, and was enamored by the transformative qualities a small piece could have on an outfit, an aura. “There’s something about a strap of leather and a buckle that can really make people go wild,” she says. “I’m still not sick of exploring that.”

Zana Bayne and Mariano Cortez of Bustedbrand for Image Issue 29

Cortez and Bayne started their brands at different times, both literally and culturally speaking. In 2011, when Zana Bayne was formed, there were fewer people making harnesses intended to wear at a concert or party, or in broad daylight. Bayne was one of the designers to open that world up for designers like Cortez, who would officially start his brand in 2018. Back then, anything that was made of leather with some rivets would be pigeonholed as strictly fetish wear, Bayne remembers, and there was little focus on the actual quality or design of the garment, which is what her brand was driven by. The term “post-fetish” was something her brand created to describe the kind of clothing she was making (mostly as a diversion for press, which in the 2010s loved to throw “BDSM” in a headline when covering the brand). Her work was rooted in and inspired by bondage, but she decidedly did not position itself as a bondage brand. “That term didn’t exist,” Bayne says. “The term post-fetish was, like, apres ski, like, postmodernism. It was a word play thing, and it worked. Now, there’s hundreds of brands. There isn’t a void to be filled anymore, because it’s its own monster.”

Cortez likes to think of his work as a bridge between fetish and ready-to-wear. “It still comes from a fashion standpoint — my interest was in latex material and what it could be,” says Cortez. “Respecting the roots of what people created this for, and then turning it into a more practical [garment].” One of the many iterations of designer Vivienne Westwood’s iconic boutique, Worlds End which she opened with then-partner Malcom McLaren in the ’70s, was famously dubbed “SEX,” with a huge sign in pink squeaky letters at the top. The store sold fetish wear and had whips and chains on display. Their slogan was: “rubberwear for the office.”

For both Cortez’s and Bayne’s designs, something special happens when they are seen, when they are out in the world. This is when they come to life, when the natural tension of wearing fetish-inspired wear — like one of Bayne’s spiked triangle bras, or Cortez’s latex cat suits — in a new context rises to the surface and you can see it in action. For the wearer, there is also an obvious dedication necessary to wear the pieces — both leather and latex, specifically latex, require a particular care process, and getting a piece by Bayne or Cortez on is an entire process on its own. There’s an intensity to the materials that, no matter the context, remains. There is a satisfaction to seeing Beyoncé wearing a full latex outfit on the cover of “Cowboy Carter,” which Cortez designed, or Ariana Grande wearing a full custom lavender leather look in the video for “Rain on Me,” which Bayne made. While on some level it feels as if they are positioning themselves towards the subversive through the code of fabric, it is also a straightforward appreciation of the designs themselves.

Advertisement
starburst graphic section divider

Bayne is mostly self-taught. She grew up in San Francisco, where she attended the San Francisco Art Institute and got a degree in conceptual art. “The first corsets I made came out of nightlife and subculture,” she says. “In San Francisco at that time, everyone was doing everything all at once. You go from a leather bar to a drag show to a punk show to a noise show. We’d go to soul night and then some rave off the train tracks. It was just this mix of subcultures and fashion.” Then she moved to New York, which is when her brand got its legs. Slowly and organically, stylists were pulling pieces for their clients, custom celebrity requests started coming in and eventually she became a highlight at New York Fashion Week. “All of a sudden I was making things out of my bedroom for Lady Gaga,” Bayne says.

Cortez is from Temecula, where he grew up in punk scenes, going to the desert, skating and doing BMX — which people still recognize him from, Bayne adds. He got injured at one point from BMX, and wasn’t able to walk for a year, which is when he put all his energy into learning about fashion on Tumblr. He moved to L.A. as a teenager, where he got an internship-turned-job at L.A. Roxx, a custom design house specializing in leather. They’d get calls from people constantly, inquiring if they worked with latex, which piqued Cortez’s interest. “It was curiosity,” he says. “People not knowing, also me not knowing, just made me dive deeper.” He’d go on to learn the craft under an L.A. fetish latex designer before starting Bustedbrand on his own terms.

Cortez knew of Bayne’s brand long before he started his own, and says that a lot of her designs were a big inspiration when he started out, and still are. Bayne quips in response: “I thought that some things looked slightly familiar. However, I always maintained the opinion that Busted had the coolest latex designs, the most relevant designs, and that their branding was better than anyone else’s who was in the game. I was both somewhat annoyed and appreciative. I couldn’t help but be like, ‘Yeah, you’re doing a great job.’”

Bayne is a Virgo, Cortez is a Pisces — sister signs that, in theory, are on opposite sides of the spectrum, but, in practice, serve as each other’s balance. It checks: Cortez is quiet and stoic, with a subtle warmth that reveals itself as he gets comfortable, while Bayne’s dark humor, sharp intellect and charisma serve as a magnet. Cortez regularly giggles at her dry jokes. It’s clear they share a shorthand, inside things that they don’t care to explain. They seem to complement each other in ways beyond just a shared aesthetic. “I think we’re both very stubborn people,” Bayne says. “An interesting thing to learn was how we’re saying the same thing, but in totally different ways.”

Zana and Mariano standing.

Zana wears Zana Bayne dress, Bustedbrand bra and underwear, Givenchy shoes, The Great Frog and Other People’s Property rings. Mariano wears BustedBrand T-shirt and jeans, Other People’s Property bracelet and rings.

Advertisement

Their work kept being featured in the same editorials, on the same artists for years — Beyoncé, being one. People would come into Bayne’s studio carrying a Bustedbrand bag. And she’d think: “There it is again.” They’d physically been in the same room many times as well, and were cordial to each other, but hadn’t communicated beyond a head nod. “I’m mean,” Bayne jokes.

“She made a personal [Instagram] account and I had followed [it],” Cortez remembers. “Then I saw she started hanging out with my friend, Britton [Litow], and I asked, ‘What’s up with Zana?’ I told her I was interested.” Litow texted Cortez a couple days later and said that Bayne was interested. “I was like, ‘He can ask me out,’” Bayne says. No moves were made until Litow’s birthday dinner a couple months later at Mr. Chow, when she sat Cortez and Bayne next to each other. “He was wearing sunglasses,” Bayne remembers. “At night.” Their first date was at a bar where Bayne wore a “really intense outfit,” which was one of her own pieces.

Being in a relationship with another designer has been a comfort for Cortez. He’d never been able to share the highs and lows of the business with anyone else like this. “Zana definitely helps me be a little less one-track mind and enjoy what just happened,” he says. “That’s been pretty leveling, grounding. It’s been really nice that we share these experiences.”

“It’s really cliche for people to say, ‘I want to be with someone who challenges me.’ And I’ve never felt that way before. That’s never something I’ve looked for, but I think we definitely challenge each other,” Bayne says. “You remind me of what I love about what we do and where it can possibly go.”

Bayne says Cortez is constantly curious, with a brain full of “a million question marks at all times.” “I think curiosity has brought me to a lot of really interesting new techniques,” he responds. There is a spaceship-looking machine behind him that takes up an entire corner of the massive studio space, a laser cutter that he uses for his latex work. This is part of a production system Cortez developed for himself, which has further allowed him to think of latex in new ways, including using traditional garment techniques like sewing — something you usually don’t do with latex — which makes it possible to create some of his silhouettes, like a voluminous bomber jacket or a boxer short.

Advertisement
Zana on black gown.

Zana wears Rick Owens gown, JW PEI shoes, Other People’s Property rings, The Great Frog rings, Alighieri earrings.

Mariano in suit.

Mariano wears Entire Studios suit and tank top, Akila sunglasses, Other People’s Property bracelet and rings.

(Natalia Mantini / For The Times)

It’s a moment of expansion for Bayne as well, who is in the process of releasing a run of non-leather items for the first time inspired by the visual language she’s built over the last 13 years.

Charli XCX starts bumping on the speaker that is connected to Cortez’s phone — “maybe we go like one notch down?” Bayne asks, laughing. Charli wore one of Bayne’s skirts for a recent spread in British GQ. A non-exhaustive list of Bayne’s clients — mostly custom — include Rei Kawakubo, Kim Petras, Eartheater, Kim Kardashian, Brooke Candy, Doja Cat, Debbie Harry and she’s in the process of making some pieces for L.A. billboard icon Angelyne. For Cortez, that list includes 2 Chainz, Rico Nasty, Hailey Bieber, Ye, among others. They’ve collaborated on custom looks for artists, including Roan. And earlier this year, they collaborated on an exclusive collection, featuring micro triangle bras and belts in classic Bayne construction with a Bustedbrand flair through the leopard print and star appliques. “We have brands that work seamlessly together,” Bayne says. “It’s a no brainer.”

Advertisement
starburst graphic section divider

The ultimate collaboration will be the new store opening. Cortez’s father built the butt plug cut-out for the fitting room. “I told him it was a spike,” Cortez says, laughing. “The next day after I sent him the photo and the dimensions he was like, ‘That’s a butt plug.’”

Cortez and Bayne want the space to feel “clean and sexy.” “We’re building our universe,” Bayne says, which means the store will feature their pieces and exclusive collaborations, but it will also be a home to their musical inspirations, beloved objects and design references. They want the experience to be one of discovery. “There’s beauty, there’s severity with what we do, but there’s going to be playful elements,” Bayne says. The store is also an opportunity to continue presenting leather and latex in the contexts in which Cortez and Bayne imagine them in. Spending time in the space itself feels like sitting in on a conversation between Bayne and Cortez, which is a rarity, given the intentional mysteriousness around them as a couple.

“It’s really special what we get to do, and what we do [is] really f—ing hard,” Bayne says. “It takes a chunk of your soul constantly, but there’s got to be a part of us that loves what we do.”

“I told myself that the other day,” Cortez says. “I love what I do. And I’m glad I get to share it with Zana.”

Zana wears black gown and Mariano wears black suit.
Zana Bayne Bustedbrand

Makeup Selena Ruiz
Hair Adrian Arredondo
Lighting Nick Shamblott

Advertisement
Continue Reading
Advertisement
Click to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Lifestyle

The jury's in: You won't miss anything watching this movie from the couch

Published

on

The jury's in: You won't miss anything watching this movie from the couch

Nicholas Hoult (front row, center) plays Justin Kemp in Juror #2.

Warner Bros.


hide caption

toggle caption

Advertisement

Warner Bros.

There’s been a bit of consternation flying around about the fact that the theatrical release of Juror #2, directed by Clint Eastwood, was very muted. (It’s now on Max.) It has struck some people, particularly some Eastwood fans, as unfair to give short shrift to the 94-year-old director’s latest work.

But this is a movie that is perfect to watch at home. It belongs at home.

(Some mild early-plot spoilers follow, but they are not important to your enjoyment of the movie.)

Advertisement

The film has a terrific premise: Justin (Nicholas Hoult) gets called for jury duty, which he’s not excited about, since his wife is extremely pregnant and he’d rather just get out of it. But he can’t, and he ends up serving on a case where a man (Gabriel Basso) is accused of beating his girlfriend to death and leaving her by the side of the road after they had a drunken fight at a bar. But Justin quickly realizes that he was at the bar that night, and while he didn’t drink, he was upset. When he left, he took his eyes off the road and hit a deer — or so he thought. Now he wonders: Might he actually have hit this woman himself? And what is he supposed to do now?

The maneuvering that has to happen to make this even mildly plausible is impressive in its precision: He is a recovering alcoholic who went to a bar but didn’t drink, but his sponsor (Kiefer Sutherland) assures him that nobody will believe he was sober and he will rot in jail if he tells the truth. There are both a giant deer-crossing sign and a bridge at the exact point where the incident happened, so that when, in flashbacks, Justin gets out of the car to find out what he hit, he sees the sign, but might just miss the woman’s body, because it may have flown over the side of the bridge.

The legal plot, too, has so many holes in it that it’s more holes than plot itself. As the prosecutor (Toni Collette) prepares to bring the case, nobody thinks that maybe this woman found by the side of the road who left a bar in the dark in the rain was hit by a car, rather than beaten to death with a weapon — of which there’s no sign? (The case against the defendant, her boyfriend, amounts to “we don’t know what happened to her, so she was probably, what? Beaten to death? And it was probably you, since we don’t know anybody else who would have done it.”) Justin’s sponsor (who’s a lawyer!) doesn’t point out that it’s still entirely possible he did hit a deer, given that sign, and that proving otherwise would be a very tall order, especially after they put somebody else on trial?

Suffice it to say that this is a classic hum-through plot, meaning you have to hum loudly to yourself at the silly parts so that you don’t notice how silly they are. But that’s OK! That’s true of many perfectly serviceable courtroom dramas, which is what this is. I miss serviceable courtroom dramas. There should be more of them. And I’ve got nothing against this one, particularly. Clint Eastwood is an experienced and knowledgeable director; you’re not going to suddenly get a bad product. It’s fine!

But the serviceable courtroom drama is a genre that’s well-suited to being watched at home. They could have made this a mid-level Max streaming series, to be honest, dragging it out to six episodes or so, and that would have been fine, too. (Might have given J.K. Simmons, who has a strangely abbreviated role as a fellow juror, more to do.)

Advertisement

It would certainly be nice to see a healthier theater environment, where courtroom dramas could become hits like they could in the olden days (A Few Good Men was the tenth highest-grossing movie of 1993!) The same could be said of sports movies, romantic comedies, adult dramas – I mean, the rest of the domestic top ten of 1993 includes Jurassic Park, The Fugitive, The Firm, Sleepless in Seattle, Mrs. Doubtfire, Indecent Proposal, In the Line of Fire, Aladdin and Cliffhanger. This year’s domestic top 10 (thus far) is nine sequels and Wicked. That’s a bummer.

But that’s happening across the board. Clint Eastwood was not singled out for disrespect; the couch is just where people see regular movies now. And if viewing is going to shift toward home, this film, which is thoroughly and entirely OK, belongs there as much as any.

This piece also appeared in NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour newsletter. Sign up for the newsletter so you don’t miss the next one, plus get weekly recommendations about what’s making us happy.

Listen to Pop Culture Happy Hour on Apple Podcasts and Spotify.

Advertisement
Continue Reading

Lifestyle

No turf wars, no sexism: Meet the queer Gen Z women giving billiards a rebrand in L.A.

Published

on

No turf wars, no sexism: Meet the queer Gen Z women giving billiards a rebrand in L.A.

In the summer of 2023, Alix Max, new to town with a cigarette in their mouth, was shooting pool on the patio of 4100 Bar in Silver Lake. They were pretty good, too — good enough to catch the eye of two regulars, Andrea Lorell and Julianne Fox, who recruited them to join their practice group. Their proposal was simple: “We have this group chat, and we play together and get better. The goal is to beat men at pool.”

It’s a plotline that could be lifted from the classic billiards film “The Hustler: an up-and-coming pool prodigy, James Dean-cool, comes to town and gets seduced by the green-felted world of dive bar pool — an aspiring pool shark meet-cute over an ashtray. A cherished motto Max introduced to the group: “Pool is blue-collar golf.”

The pool night was born after Andrea Lorell, pictured, and other players kept experiencing hostility around the sport at other bars.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Advertisement

The pool-playing group, which started as a group chat titled “Women in STEM,” was composed of pool amateurs, usually young women Julianne “drunkenly met” at 4100 Bar who had a burgeoning interest in pool. Soon, the group chat mutated into a tournament series and community titled “Please Be Nice.” If billiards has the reputation of being a pastime for gamblers, hustlers and hanger-oners, the female-centric biweekly pool tournament at 4100 Bar offers a friendly, supportive alternative. “I don’t know if the goal necessarily was to build community, but it was a natural byproduct,” says Fox. The tournament is both a party and competition where women practice pool, trade tips and compete in an encouraging environment. It was created as an antidote to the prickly, male-dominated world of dive bar pool — all the exhilaration without the bickering turf wars with bar regulars.

 Julianne Fox tallies the score for the "Please Be Nice to Me,"

Julianne Fox tallies the score.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

The founders, Lorell and Fox, began shooting pool at 4100 Bar in April 2023 and were bonded by their mutual hunger for the game. Growing up as an only child, Lorell spent hours playing on her aunt’s pool table. As an adult, she traveled across the country for work, always seeking out pool halls to “find a good hang.” She’s since joined a league and even played in a tournament in Las Vegas, where her team won the Sportsmanship Award. The team that knocked her out was disqualified in the next round. On the patio, she details the melodrama so amusingly that her love for the game is infectious — almost romantic.

The infamous Silverlake Gen-Z TikTok bar 4100 hosts a queer, female-forward pool tournament on Tuesday nights

“It’s a community cheering for each other and seeing each other get good,” says co-founder Andrea Lorell.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Advertisement

Until recently, Lorell lived in a cluttered studio apartment with a pool table beside her bed. She jokes being a pool shark is her dream job. “I give myself a little pep talk before important matches: ‘You’re the greatest pool player in the world,’” she says, laughing with a cigarette in hand. For her, the intention of “Please Be Nice” is to make pool accessible to young women: “It’s a community cheering for each other and seeing each other get good. It expedites people’s learning.”

Julianne Fox, a co-founder, says the tournament also operates as a workshop: “If you’ve never shot a pool ball before, come through. We’ll metaphorically or literally hold your hand.” It’s not about showing up the boys, even if that still happens. “I think it’s even more fun to learn the game to play with your girls,” says Fox. “I want to win, but I also want my opponent to have fun,” she adds, emphasizing the competition’s good-natured energy.

Pool tables in Los Angeles can be hostile places. “I’ll walk into a random bar in Koreatown, and there’s a pool table, and a bunch of older men are playing. You walk in, and they assume you’ll be bad at it,” says Max.

Adds Lorell, “They’re either giving you tips or checking you out, so it’s uncomfortable.”

Advertisement
trhe infamous Silverlake Gen-Z TikTok bar 4100 hosts a queer, female-forward pool tournament on Tuesday nights

Players say there’s a good-natured energy at “Please Be Nice” tournaments.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Molly Sievert, another “Please Be Nice” player, has also experienced sexism while playing pool. She explains that people assume her interest in pool stems from wanting to impress a father or boyfriend. She began shooting pool at 21 in bars across cities and is still baffled by men’s casual condescension toward female pool players. ”Men have never complimented me on my defensive shots because they think it’s an accident,” she says. When they inevitably lose to Sievert, they toss it up to a bad beat rather than their opponent’s skillset. She won her first tournament at “Please Be Nice” and has been a frequent competitor ever since. She’s a proud critic of 4100 Bar regulars — she says people keep walking into her cue stick, throwing off her shots, and not apologizing. “I always have that little part of me that is like, would you do that to a man?”

Sievert explains a personal theory that women take naturally to pool. Above all, it’s a game of brokering one’s circumstances, calling one’s shot, and making one’s own luck. It’s the type of hazards and presentiment that feel inherent to womanhood. Bravado, Molly argues, doesn’t serve the game. “Men will say, ‘I can make shots. I’m a shot maker.’ Many women are like, ‘I like the side pockets and weird angles. I don’t like the long table shots. I don’t like hitting it real. I like to think about the interaction of all the balls.”

April Clark, a comedian and pool player, chalks up antagonism at pool tables in L.A. to a scarcity issue. “When I first got sucked into playing pool, I was living in New York City; there were so many bars with pool tables.” For Clark, the game’s appeal is the spontaneous encounters with strangers that pool invites. The fewer the tables, the worse the ecosystem, the worse the vibe, Clark argues.

Advertisement
 Jaden Levinson, left and Taylor Garcia watch the action in the Please Be Nice to Me pool tournament

Jaden Levinson, left, and Taylor Garcia watch the action.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

It is often remarked that pool halls look like morgues; the dimly lit blue-felted table inside 4100 Bar is no exception. The competitors are in a trancelike state, building a stratagem. The pool tournaments often run till the bar closes at 2 a.m. The players take breaks to socialize, buy drinks and watch each other play.

Part of the success of “Please Be Nice” is tied to the recent renaissance of 4100 Bar, which transformed from a neighborhood dive into a Silver Lake nightlife institution thanks to TikTok. Mouse, a bartender at 4100 Bar for eight years, explains the bar’s rise began in 2020 when it became a popular spot for outdoor drinking during COVID restrictions.

The infamous Silverlake Gen-Z TikTok bar 4100 hosts a queer, female-forward pool tournament

Participants of all levels are welcome — even those who’ve never shot a pool ball before.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Advertisement

Now, it’s not unusual to have a run-in with a celebrity at 4100 Bar on a weekend with its new reputation as a charmingly sleazy playground for the internet-famous. Due to TikTok, the bar gained a cult following in Europe and Japan, with tourists flocking to the bar to be photographed in front of the avocado-green wall, Mouse explains. “Foreigners come here just to take photos with the 4100 sign and won’t even order,” he says. “People come and spend 100 bucks on the photo booth and not even get a drink.” The wall, he notes, closely resembled the now-infamous shade of neon green from Charli XCX’s “Brat” album.

For Lorell, the dive bar exists as a third space. “If you spend four out of seven days seeing the same people, you’re not just bar friends on that point; you’re chosen family.”

Diana Brennan sizes up the playing field while participating in the "Please Be Nice to Me" pool tournament at bar 4100.

Diana Brennan sizes up the playing field.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Advertisement

Rumors swirl that 4100 Bar might close in the coming year with the expansion of Erewhon. “Over my dead body,” Fox exclaims.

For the future of “Please Be Nice,” Lorell and Fox hope the pool-loving community develops even further. “We would love to solidify a beginner-centric event since that’s where this all started, learning pool with women and nonbinary people who were too scared to try it at a normal bar,” says Fox. “We hope to continue to train up the troops and run every single table in L.A.,” she adds with a smirk.

There’s a beloved pool adage from “The Hustler,” spoken by the protagonist, Fast Eddie Felson: “Even if you beat me, I’m still the best.” Fox thinks the quote doesn’t align with her attitude toward pool. “There’s something Andrea says all the time when someone beats her, she says: ‘I don’t lose to losers. So you better win the whole thing.’”

Advertisement
Continue Reading

Lifestyle

Is “The Godfather: Part II,” the perfect sequel? : Consider This from NPR

Published

on

Is “The Godfather: Part II,” the perfect sequel? : Consider This from NPR

The “Kiss of Death” in “The Godfather: Part II”, directed by Francis Ford Coppola, based on the novel ‘The Godfather’ by Mario Puzo. Seen here from left, John Cazale (back to camera) as Fredo Corleone and Al Pacino as Don Michael Corleone.

Photo by CBS via Getty Images


hide caption

toggle caption

Advertisement

Photo by CBS via Getty Images


The “Kiss of Death” in “The Godfather: Part II”, directed by Francis Ford Coppola, based on the novel ‘The Godfather’ by Mario Puzo. Seen here from left, John Cazale (back to camera) as Fredo Corleone and Al Pacino as Don Michael Corleone.

Photo by CBS via Getty Images

Given the fact that it seems like Hollywood churns out nothing but sequels, you would think the industry would have perfected the genre by now.

Some sequels are pretty darn good, but many believe the perfect movie sequel came out 50 years ago this month.

Advertisement

Of course, we’re talking about Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather: Part II. It’s not only considered the greatest sequel of all time, it’s also considered one of the greatest movies of all time.

So why does Godfather II work, and where so many other sequels fall short?

NPR producer Marc Rivers weighs in.

For sponsor-free episodes of Consider This, sign up for Consider This+ via Apple Podcasts or at plus.npr.org.

Email us at considerthis@npr.org.

Advertisement

This episode was produced by Brianna Scott and Marc Rivers. It was edited by Courtney Dorning. Our executive producer is Sami Yenigun.

Continue Reading

Trending